Deadly Obsession

Deadly Obsession by Patricia A. Rasey Hard Shell Word Factory This story copyright 2000 by Patricia A. Rasey. All other rights are reser ved. Thank you for honoring the copyright. Cover Art by: Dirk A. Wolf Published by: Hard Shell Word Factory. PO Box 161 Amherst Junction, WI 54407 [email protected] www.hardshell.com Electronic book created by Seattle Book Company. eBook ISBN: 0759928649 All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of th e author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. These characters are not even distantly inspired by any individual k nown or unknown to the author, and all incidents are pure invention. Acknowledgments I would first like to thank Officer and Evidence Technician Mark T. Miller of the Fairview Park Police Department who shared his knowledge and experti se, and as a brother, lent me his shoulder. Thanks, also, goes to Dr. Michael Dean Carpenter who answered my questions concerning forensic dentistry, Terry Bartels, and to Serita Stevens who t ook time to answer my last minute questions. Any mistakes in this book are my own and are in no way the fault of those w ho lent their hand. A special thanks goes out to Tina Haack, a.k.a. Tina St. John. What a bles sing from God you have been to me. And to Terry Herbin and Paulette Brewst er, a.k.a. Melody Morgan, for your support. Without Paulette's suggestion that I write something darker, Deadly Obsession might not have been born.

And of course, to my editor Michele Bardsley, but more than that my frien d. Thanks for the wonderful job you did with Deadly Obsession's edits and thanks for the many, many laughs we've shared. Looking forward to many m ore to come! I'll even let you borrow my coffee mug should you need it. Dedication To Ruth "Gram" Baldwin. You are my grandmother by marriage, but more im portantly, my grandmother by heart. To my very own hero, my heart, my husband, Mark. Without your love and s upport, I would have never realized my dream. Table of Contents Prologue Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28

Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Epilogue Afterward

“I used to fancy that life was a positive and perpetual entity, and that by c onsuming a multitude of living things, no matter how low on the scale of creat ion, one might indefinitely prolong life. At times I held the belief so strong ly that I actually tried to take human life...” -Bram Stoker’s Dracula

Prologue Blood. Thehands , face, and shirt are soaked with it. The heart pumps the hot liquid through arteries and veins; the tortured soul stops it. God creates lif e and Satan destroys it. “Dear God,” the anguished soul cries to the blackened heavens, offering taint ed hands, falling to its knees. The heels of the palms shield the torment in its dark eyes; the stench of life’s vital fluids permeates the air. A muffled query is heard. “Why have you forsaken me?” But the soul knows it will strike again. The hunger for spilled blood is too in tense. Another life will be taken. And they will be too ignorant to stop it. Rising on shaken limbs, the virulent figure flees from the shadows and into the darkened night.

Chapter 1 Cole Kincaid sat up abruptly. His breath came in short, shallow pants, his h eart hammered in his chest. The air hung heavy with humidity, but that was n ot what dotted his brow with sweat or caused his skin to cling to the sheets of his bed. His conscience granted him no respite, terrorizing him in the f

orm of a reoccurring nightmare. “Damn,” he cursed aloud, though no one was there to hear. Aloneness had become his companion as of late. He ran rough hands down his unshaven face, wiping away the perspiration. He exhaled through pursed lips, willing away the all too vivid images that re mained from the dream. The phone jangled and Cole jumped, his heart lurchin g in his chest. He glared at the ebony phone sitting on the bedside table a s though his mere wish could stop it from ringing again. Another shrill sou nd split the dead calm; he glanced at the alarm clock glowing green in the darkness. Two o’clock in the morning. Cole snatched up the receiver and growled into it, “This better be good.” “Sorry, Cole, Jack Douglas here...seems a body has been discovered in Bain Park near Coe Ditch. White female, possible murder.” Silence followed as Cole digested the information. This was Fairview Park, for crissake. These things simply did not happen here-ever. He had done his homework well; Fa irview Park had only two murders in the last thirty-five years. Three year s prior, Cole packed all his belongings and left Cleveland far behind him to avoid just such occurrences. “Two units have been dispatched to the sce ne.” “Who?” Cole asked, clenching his jaw. The ache traveled to his temples, endi ng with a ring in his ears. “O’Riley and Cooper.” “O’Riley? Shit!” Cole jumped to the floor in search of his jeans, haphazard ly discarded the night before. “Radio Cooper, tell him to secure the area an d put O’Riley in charge of crowd control before he walks all over my evidenc e. Call the chief and apprise him of the situation.” “Right away, Cole.” If Jack Douglas had any more to say, Cole didn’t hear it as he slammed the r eceiver onto the base and went in search of a T-shirt-preferably a clean one . A red haze from the after effects of the nightmare seemed to distort his vie w of the night as he pulled a shirt over his head. Cole mentally shrugged of f the remaining images of the dream, going off to find the keys to his Ford Ranger. Now was not a time to dwell on his awry misconceptions of life. By the sofa in the living room, he stepped over a pair of discarded jeans, a ripped T-shirt, a woman’s skirt, and silk blouse. More clothes trailed to t he apartment’s second bedroom where a male’s muffled voice and a woman’s sof t moan filtered into the living room. Cole chuckled. His roommate, Damien, h ad to be the luckiest son of a gun alive. Cole was definitely in the wrong l ine of business. Groupies flocked to rock singers like flies to fly paper. Cole spotted his keys on the breakfast bar, separating the kitchen from the l iving room. Shoving his bare feet into a pair of worn Nikes, he stuffed the k

eys into his pocket, and grabbed his Cleveland Indians ball cap, placing it o n his head backwards. Not exactly appropriate attire, but at this time of nig ht, who the hell would care? Moments later, his black Ranger was traveling northeast on Lorain Road head ing for the station. Guns n’ Roses, “Welcome to the Jungle,” filled the air waves. How appropriate, Cole scoffed, thinking of the irony. He would have to stock his car with the necessary evidence collection kits be fore heading to the scene. The detectives’ cars didn’t remain stocked at all times, simply because things like this just did not happen here. The night was quiet as usual with very few cars on the road. Cole noted each passerby as though already searching for his perpetrator. Hell, he had not even been to the crime scene and he was already trying to get into the mind of the assailant. Christ, would he never quit? He pulled into the parking lot, jumped from the cab of his truck, and jogged up to the door leading into the back of the station. Jack Douglas was waiti ng. He shoved a piece of paper with the specifics of the location into Cole’ s hands and followed Cole to the locker room. Cole threw open his locker; the metal door clanged loudly against the neigh boring one. He took his Smith and Wesson nine-millimeter from where he had stuffed it in the top of his jeans, snapped in a magazine, tucked his panca ke holster into his Levi’s, then sheathed his gun. “What time did the call come in?” “One forty-five.” Cole looked at his watch. “Damn,” he cursed. Forty-five minutes had already passed. “I’ve stocked your car,” Douglas said as though he had read Cole’s mind an d handed him a thirty-five millimeter camera. “You’re ready to go.” Cole took his hat from his head and hung it in his locker, raking his fingers through his disheveled hair. Then he withdrew a worn blue blazer from the lo cker and hastily shoved his arms into the sleeves as he returned to the back of the station. “I’ll call in with any findings,” he said over his shoulder. He took a set of keys from the hooks by the back door and left. Cole opened the trunk to check for the kits. Satisfied, he slammed down the lid, then climbed into his car, not wanting to waste another moment. He drove around a slight bend in South Park Road minutes later when he spot ted the flashers of the white cruisers about four hundred feet away. As he pulled up behind the last car, he noted curious neighbors and media mongrel s had already gathered. “O’Riley,” Cole called out, spotting one of the uniforms. “Control this situ ation and get these people the hell out of here. This isn’t a media circus. W here the hell is Cooper?”

O’Riley pointed between two of the three houses on the north side of the ro ad, then placed his hands in front of him as though he meant to bodily remo ve each and every person from the crowd. By the size of him, the idea was n ot preposterous or improbable. Cole walked between the houses to a section shrouded by trees. Stepping into the dense covering, he spotted one of the station’s evidence technicians, F rank Cooper, standing several feet away from the covered victim, lying on th e south side of the ditch. Too-raw flesh, feces, urine, and blood permeated the air. The smell alone would have attracted attention. A slight sheen covered Cooper’s upper lip. Cole recognized the use of Vicks VapoRub ointment; the camphor and mentho l ingredients overpowered the smell of the decomposing body. He had witnes sed one too many such situations and knew that within three minutes the ol factory nerves in his nose would go numb, no longer able to detect the vil e odors. Cole withdrew his notebook from the pocket of his blazer. “Who phoned this in?” “Sarah Jones. We’ve placed her in a cruiser. She’s agreed to go down to the station,” Cooper replied as he stood with his hands behind his back, careful not to move. “Who’s been in this area?” “Just Miss Jones, O’Riley, and me.” “How did she find the body?” Cole asked. “Said she couldn’t sleep, went for a walk. The smell caught her attention-sh e vomited by the ditch.” He pointed to a spot slightly northeast of where th ey were standing. “Did anyone touch the body?” Cole stopped writing and looked up. He watched Cooper shuffle from one foot to the other, peering at a spot over Cole’s s houlder. He clenched his jaw, fearing his teeth might just crack under the pressure. “O’Riley?” Cooper’s gaze snapped back to Cole’s. “He lifted the head, sir. Her throat wa s slit-damn near from ear to ear.” “Didn’t he learn anything at the academy?” Cole shook his head in disgust. He slipped the strap of a thirty-five millimeter camera from his shoulder an d snapped pictures of the victim and the surrounding area. He took a pair of rubber gloves from the inside breast pocket of his blazer, slipped them on, then knelt beside the body and lifted the corner of the blanket. “Who covered the victim?” Cole asked. “That’s the way we found it.” “Go tell O’Riley to note the license plates in the vicinity, though I doubt it will do much good. By the looks of things, this one’s been dead a couple of d ays.”

Maggots crawled in and around the ears and over the body as beetles feasted on the skin. Cole replaced the blanket, again covering the victim’s head. “Call the coroner’s office, have them send someone to pick up the body. We need to establish a time of death. Be careful where you step, Cooper. I don ’t want you messing up my crime scene. Get the kits from my car.” He tossed the keys at the officer. “Seal off the area. The son of a bitch had to lea ve footprints somewhere out here. We’ll take some soil samples from around the body, secure the hands for traces of the perp’s skin and blood, and pro tect the neck wound. I don’t want anything left undone.” He paused, looking at the unmoving officer. “What the hell are you waiting for, Christmas?” Cooper turned and carefully stepped his way toward the houses. Even if the y took every precaution in gathering evidence, Cole knew he would find not hing of importance. This body had been dumped here. They’d find no signs o f struggle, no blood, nothing. “Damn.” Cole’s curse was the only sound amidst the distant murmurs of the crowd of neighbors and media. Even the animals seemed to have gone silent over the evil that had been played out. Cole knelt beside the body again and lifted the corner of the blanket. The vi ctim was a white female, seeming to be in her late teens to early twenties. A ccording to her state of dress, she appeared to have been a prostitute. From his years on the force, he could easily spot a hooker with their thigh high b oots, too short skirts and a top that barely covered their cleavage. She lay face down in the dirt, arms out to the side, legs askew. Not the way she died , Cole thought. Postmortem lividity clearly showed she lain on her back for s everal hours after her death. Rigor mortis had already left her body. But bec ause of the elevated temperature of the last couple of days and her slight bu ild, rigor probably lasted no more than twenty-four hours. After disposing the body, the perp used a blanket to cover the victim. Hidi ng her from view? More likely, he was ashamed of what he did. While working as a detective in Cleveland, Cole learned about profiling criminals from F BI agents called in from time to time to help solve impossible cases. He wa s sure they were looking for a white male. This kind of murder rarely cross ed racial lines. A chill ran down Cole’s spine. Intuition told him the murderer would strike again. Though the assailant was ashamed of his deeds, the bite marks on th e side of the neck and around the wound showed that he acted out of a passi on for blood. The lab would check to see if the victim had been raped, but Cole would lay odds she hadn’t been. The sexual draw was related to taking blood from the victim. The nature of biting, of taking blood from a human, was an intimate act. Sexual almost. Any sexual angle would be related to th e bloodletting not to physical intercourse. If anything, he would masturbate following the crime. They were dealing wit

h one sick son of a bitch. But then again, weren’t all murderers? Find the unknown subject and match his teeth marks to the wounds surroundin g the neck. Cole exhaled the breath he held, let the blanket fall into plac e, and stood. He took off his gloves and picked up his notebook and pencil and began a sketching the area. Cooper returned and cordoned off the scene, then both Cole and Cooper measured and triangulated the body. The head lay four feet from the ditch, the feet, nine and a half. The victim’s hands were sealed in paper bags as were several dirt samples, each one marked with evidence tags. The area was searched; no weapon was fo und, no usable shoe prints. All in all, they had very little to go on. They had a body and they had Sarah Jones, whom a uniform had taken to the stati on. The coroner’s assistant arrived and supervised the body’s removal. Sealed in a black body bag, it was taken away on a stretcher. Another statistic. Five hours later, tired and frustrated from searching for more clues and cou ntless interviews from neighbors, Cole walked toward his vehicle. “O’Riley,” he called to the uniform still guarding the area like a sheepdog tending hi s herd, “when relief arrives, tell them to make sure the scene stays secured . I want to come back later to make sure I didn’t miss anything.” “No problem, Lieutenant.” Hell, by the looks of O’Riley, one would never know he just spent the last five hours standing in one spot. Cole would have chuckled had he not felt s o damn distraught. As he reached his car, Cole leaned against it, his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans and his gaze trained on nothing in part icular. Chances were, their unknown subject was hundreds of miles away. He’ d check with law enforcement in the surrounding areas to see if any crimes matched the modus operandi or signature of his case. The MO might change, b ut the perp’s signature, his taste for blood, would remain a constant. Rubbing a palm over his whiskered jaw, Cole debated about going home. What he needed most now was sleep, though he’d likely not get rest anytime soo n. He pulled off his blue blazer and tossed it into the passenger seat thr ough the open window of his car. He grabbed the handle to the door. “Excuse me, Detective Kincaid?” Cole startled, unaware anyone had approached. He spun around. A woman of s light build and height stood near. She wore her deep auburn hair in a seve re knot at the base of her neck and stared at him unblinking through large doe eyes. “Detective? Any word for the press?” “I have no comment at this time.” He dismissed her, opening the door to hi s car. But before he entered, she placed a well-manicured hand on the fram e, drawing his attention and noting the absence of a wedding ring. She was pretty-he would give her that much. “Look, Miss-”

“Michaels,” she said, holding out her hand. “Laurie Michaels. I’m with the newspaper, Westlife . What’s your assessment of the situation?” “Talk to Officer O’Riley.” Ignoring her hand, his gaze traveled to the large man standing on the freshly cut lawn, arms crossed over his chest, his expr ession bored. “I already did, Detective. I want to talk to you.” Her lower cinnamon-painted lip protruded slightly farther than the upper. Co le thought she had a sexy pout, and only imagined how sweet it would taste h ad he the notion to draw it between his own lips. His gaze traveled back to hers and by the flush of her cheeks, he could tell she knew exactly the type of thoughts he entertained. He looked at the notebook and pen she clutched in her free hand. Cole frown ed. “You made an unwise choice, Miss Michaels. I don’t talk to journalists. ” Undaunted, she stiffened her stance and held her ground. “The public has a right to know what happened here.” “And it’s your duty to inform them.” “I believe we understand one another.” Laurie punctuated her statement with a lift of her pouty lips; his gaze was once more drawn to her mouth. Hell, he was a man after all. Disgusted for even noticing how desirable she was, he grumbled a “No comme nt,” again as he attempted to enter his car. Her small hand landed on his shoulder. Heat traveled the length of his spine , ending with a dull ache in his groin. His gaze snapped to hers; she withdr ew her hand, obviously aware of her mistake. She raised one finely arched brow. “Detective, I’m just doing my job. Who is the victim? What was the cause of death?” “Miss Michaels, I’m just doing my job and if you continue harassing me, I’ll have that nice officer over there arrest you.” Her eyes rounded, anger sparking in their depths. “For what?” “Interfering with police business.” Cole glared at her, hoping she would take the hint and leave him the hell alone. The last thing he wanted right now wa s to be held up by an overzealous reporter, let alone a woman, and a pretty o ne at that. This wasn’t the time to be thinking about his sex life or his lac k of one. Her shoulders squared. “Detective Kincaid, I’m not interfering in your inve stigation. Had I approached you in those trees beyond the house-” “You would have been arrested on the spot,” he grumbled. Exhaustion poured through him. To hell with it. “What’s it going to take to get rid of you? ” He knew she had won the first battle as a smugness settled into her warm brown eyes. For God’s sake, what was she wasting her time as a reporter f or? She could have made a mint as a model.

“Was the woman found in the woods murdered, and, if so, do you have any suspects?” “We have a white female, a possible murder. She was found in Bain Park on So uth Park Drive, about four hundred feet off Eaton Road, by Coe Ditch. No det ails of the death are available; there’s no I.D. of the victim.” Cole ended the interview with a curt smile, then climbed inside of the car, shut the do or, and started the engine. Miss Michaels gaped at him in astonishment. “That’s it?” Cole’s smile returned. He threw his car into drive as his foot rested on the brake. “That’s it. We’ll issue an official statement to the press at a later time.” He pulled away from the curb, watching Miss Michaels in the rear view mirror, fists on hips, her note pad extending like an appendage to one hip, g laring at him. He chuckled. She had spunk. But he still hated journalists. And she would b e no exception.

Chapter 2 The newsroom buzzed with tapping keys and running presses, all a soft unde rtone to the murmuring of hushed voices. The topic? A dead body found in B ain Park. Murdered. Not in Cleveland or another big city, but in their own backyard. Fairview Park. A place where everyone knew each other. A place that was peaceful, safe; where their children played without fear. A place that would no longer feel secure, protected. Laurie Michaels bit into her pastry, tearing a large chunk from the sugary delicacy. She was angry; angry enough to march over to the police station a nd wipe off that condescending smirk right from Detective Kincaid’s face. H ow could he brush her off as if she were no more than a pesky mosquito? She knew there lay a story, a huge story, about this murder. Something bigg er than just a woman’s unfortunate death. Detective Kincaid was holding out on her. Laurie stared at the blank, glowing screen of her computer. What d id Kincaid expect her to report? Found dead, white female, possible murder in Bain Park. Details to follow la ter. Maybe her father had been right and she didn’t have what it took to follow up on the stories or the nerve to coerce one from a reluctant source. But s he realized no amount of persuasion would make Detective Kincaid open up. W ithout his cooperation, her biggest story to date was through with, finishe

d. Her best bet would be a weak link further down the chain of command. She had talked to O’Riley; he was a stubborn jackass. That left the other of ficer at the scene, Frank Cooper. Frank had been on the force for more than eight years, and according to her sources, had always been helpful to the pr ess in the past. He had a personable disposition and enjoyed the limelight t he press could give. Not like Detective Kincaid. Laurie stared at the open file before her-not much to go on. Cole Kincaid be came a detective with the Fairview Park Police Department three years ago, a nd had kept a low profile. Beyond that, his life seemed a closed book. Cole Kincaid was not born at the age of thirty-two when he walked into this city; he’d had a life somewhere else first. He obviously disliked what she did fo r a living, and of course, there had to be a reason. It was a good place to start. If the source would not cooperate with her, then she would dig into h is past and find out what made him tick and what kind of life he had. Her life, on the other hand, was common knowledge. She grew up in an upper -class section of Fairview Park, the daughter of wealthy parents. Througho ut her high-school years, she led the life of a popular girl. She’d been a cheerleader who dated the captain of the football team. Everyone thought, including her, they would grow up, go to college and, one day, marry and have a house full of children. No one was more surprised than she when he announced his plans to move to California-without her. He needed to grow, he told her. Now here she was, two months past graduation, a communications major at Cle veland State University, and she had landed this job in Westlake, Ohio that bordered Fairview Park. Granted, Westlife was a small press, but it was a starting place. With a story like this unsolved murder under her belt, she might land a job at the Cleveland Plain Dealer sooner than she had hoped. Laurie released the breath she held as she continued to stare at the blank scr een, tapping the eraser of her pencil on the desk’s surface, resting her chin in the palm of her other hand. Dead, white female . Who was she? Where had she come from? Was she one of Fairview Park’s own? So many questions. Laurie had no idea what this unknown woman looked like, how she died, or what motive the killer had. If she knew half of the answer s to her questions, she might have a story. As it was-she had squat. Laurie dropped the pencil to the desk. The tapping sound of keyboards conti nued in the small room as fingers flew across the surface, metering out the daily news. At least the other reporters had stories to run. She placed he r face in her palms and sighed, then dragged her hands through her hair. Sh e had been up since two-thirty in the morning when her boss, George Haskins , had called and sent her to the murder scene, pronto. He had heard over th e police scanner a body had been found. Get the story, Laurie , had been hi

s exact words. Now’s your time to prove your worthto this paper. More likel y, he had needed a pretty face to charm the story out of Kincaid, though th e ploy hadn’t worked. Why else send a rookie to do a seasoned veteran’s job? And here she was, hours later, with nothing to prove her merit. But this wa s not her fault; it was Kincaid’s. How was she to know getting him to open up would be like prying into a can of beans without a can opener? “How’s the story coming, Laurie?” George asked, startling her. She should have anticipated that sooner or later he would check on her. “What do you have? I expect to find something on my desk before today’s deadline.” “There’s not much to tell.” Her shoulders slumped in defeat. “What?” George’s thick eyebrows shot upward, reminding her of a caterpill ar as it arched its back before inching forward. Keyboards ceased their ta pping as all eyes turned on her. Heat rose in her cheeks. “A body has been found murdered in Bain Park and we don’t have anything to report? Are you going to make me regret sending you out there to get a front-page story? What in the Sam-hill were you doing all night, Michaels, sleeping?” “Detective Kincaid wouldn’t tell me a thing.” She knew the excuse sounded feeble. George chuckled, the sound rumbling up from his barrel-like chest. “Did you think it was going to be easy, Laurie? Don’t ever expect them to just give you what you want. Cops are like vaults. But with each turn of the handle, you’re that much closer to opening the door. Trust is the key here. You go t to get them to trust you. Don’t give up on Kincaid-hound him like a dog. Go after him with zeal.” “And if he throws me out of the police station?” “He’s won one battle.” A side of George’s thick lips curved up. “Wait for hi m outside. Follow him home if you have to. Eventually he’ll crack. If for no thing else, just to get you off his back. From what I hear, Detective Kincai d is one tough son of a gun, but he has a weakness-we all do. Find it, Lauri e.” Laurie watched George’s retreating back. He had suggested everything short of sleeping with Kincaid to get the story, but Laurie doubted he thought th at was out of the question. Whatever it takes . Laurie rolled her eyes in d isgust. With a sigh of resignation she grabbed her notepad and headed for t he door. Who would crack first? Her, or Cole Kincaid? Cole walked into the back of the station, hung his keys on the hook, then he aded for the chief’s office. By seven in the morning, he knew John McCray wo uld be sitting behind his desk with a cup of very black coffee. Cole never c ould get used to the chief’s coffee. Hell, Cole preferred to drink it, not s poon it. But right now, he could use the extra kick of caffeine. John’s eyes widened as Cole walked into the office, his gaze taking in Cole’

s state of dress. “Couldn’t you find something a little more appropriate to wear, Kincaid?” Cole took off his blazer and threw it across the back of a chair. “Don’t push me this morning, John. It’s been a long one.” The chief let out a sigh, then steepled his fingers in front of him as he lean ed back in his high-back leather chair. “Coffee?” The office walls sported certificates and awards, all attesting to the chie f’s worth. There were pictures of him shaking hands with the mayor, FBI age nt John Douglas, and President Clinton, not to mention a few other well-kno wn people. John McCray was a well liked man and a good cop. Cole couldn’t h ave asked for a better boss. Cole walked to the coffeepot sitting on a table to the side of the room and poured himself a cup. The first sip caused him to wince from the heat; the t hick taste hit him a second later. “Think you could have added another scoop , John?” “If I wanted hot water, I’d drink it. Sit down, Cole.” His arm indicated one o f the chairs across from the desk. John’s forearms were large and his shoulders broad like a linebacker’s, tho ugh soft from age. He would have made a formidable opponent in his younger days. Hell, he made one now. John’s face was clean-shaven and his hair cut close to his head, military style. Cole settled into the padded leather chair, and rested his head against the ba ck. “Sarah Jones still here?” “She’s in the interrogation room, but you can’t expect her to wait there all d ay.” “Who’s talked to her?” “Cooper. What do you have for us, Cole? Please, don’t tell me, ‘Nothing.’” “I got a dead body-that isn’t nothing, and I got Sarah Jones. All I can do at this point is send my detectives to question people in the neighborhood to s ee if they saw anything unusual.” “Damn, this piece of work didn’t leave us with squat.” John grabbed his St yrofoam cup from the desk and took a large swallow, then returned his atte ntion to Cole. “What’s your opinion?” Cole eyed the chief through the rising steam from his cup. “I only have intu itions, John. Not much to go on.” “I trust your intuitions. They’ve never been far from the truth.” “You want to know what I think? I think the son of a bitch isn’t done. He’s just starting. The young woman lying in the morgue at this moment might have been his first, maybe not. But she sure in the hell won’t be his last. She appears to have been a prostitute, which tells us this was probably a random killing.”

“That’s not what I want to hear.” John rubbed a large hand over his square j aw. “What are we going to tell the press, for crissake? They get wind of this , they’ll be all over us.” “They already know. Someone from Westlife was out at the scene this morning. I didn’t give her much to go on, but I doubt it’ll keep her at bay. I’ll gi ve the press an official statement this afternoon. The newspapers and the TV stations will be here. They’ll want something.” “I don’t want your hunch about this possibly being the first killing of many in the paper or on the evening news. Keep this case under wraps as much as possible. This kind of crime will set Fairview Park on its ear.” He paused, his face red from the outburst. His eyes narrowed as he looked at Cole and a sked, “Any other intuitions about the case?” “He’s probably a white male, who already feels remorse for what he did.” “So what’s your strategy?” “I say we go proactive-use the press to publicize the burial. Maybe our guy w ill show up. We should keep surveillance on the gravesite. I have a hunch he’ ll visit it...then we get our man before he strikes again.” The chief shifted in his chair and placed a hand on one armrest, leaning to the side. He worried his lower lip between his teeth. Finally, he said, “Y ou really think he’d be that stupid? Come on, Cole. He probably didn’t even know her. She was a prostitute he more than likely picked up in Cleveland and dumped her in our backyard. Why would he visit her grave? Besides, even if he did, we have no evidence to pin him to the crime.” “We have the body and the body has his teeth marks around the neck wound. Any forensic dentist can match the perp’s bite to the wounds on her neck.” John chuckled, shaking his head. “He may be a sicko, but he’s not too smart. Damn, but that’s almost as good as leaving us a latent.” “He isn’t counting on getting caught. Without a suspect, the bite wounds giv e us nothing.” “So what makes you think he’ll visit her grave?” “After he dumped her, he covered the body. That tells us he felt remorse for what he did. Look, it’s worth a shot. We publicize this woman’s burial; she ’s someone’s daughter. We take note of the license plates at the cemetery. T hat’s all I’m asking.” “If that’s what you want-we’ll put one of the dicks on the surveillance. It’s your case, Cole. Handle it the way you see fit. The only thing I ask is that y ou catch this piece of crap.” “We don’t even know what jurisdiction the crime took place in. If the victi m is from Cleveland, as you suggested, and murdered within their limits-thi s case would belong to them as well.” Cole stood, grabbing his blazer. “I b etter go question Miss Jones so we can send her home. She won’t be able to

tell us anything. She just found the body. Wrong place, wrong time.” A fewshort hours later, Cole’s intuition proved right. Sarah Jones could te ll them nothing beyond the time she had strolled through the woods and for what reason. They had no other witnesses and not much else to go on. This c ase could go unsolved. But not if Cole could help it. He wanted this perp b efore he could do anymore damage. Two walls of Cole’s office sported windows, one facing the front of City Hal l, the other a side street leading to the back of the station. The final two sides were painted white-not much more than a cubical. No pictures graced t he office. His awards were all tucked away in the bottom of one of his filin g cabinets, collecting dust. Papers scattered his desk, waiting to be filed. While several documents sat in the IN basket on his desk, none had been pla ced in the OUT. Cole knew he should attempt to organize his office, but it was a menial task he would rather leave for later. At this point, he had a case to think abou t and needed to visit the scene again, though he doubted he would find anoth er shred of evidence. But one could never be too careful. He stared at the sketch he had drawn of the scene. The body lay under the co ver of trees, beneath a wool blanket. That, along with her clothes, was on i ts way to a crime lab in Cleveland for analysis since their community was no t large enough to have one of their own. And until the autopsy identified th e remains, or the detectives questioning the neighbors came up with somethin g, there was little else he could do. Laurie Michaels walked into the police station just as a dark-haired offic er was coming out. Laurie remembered him from the crime scene earlier this morning. Sam O’Riley. “Excuse me,” Laurie said, stopping him. “I’m looking for Detective Kincaid. I kind of wanted to surprise him.” Sam seemed to ponder the ramifications, then smiled. He had more than likel y been charmed by her looks or wanting to annoy his superior. Either way, s he didn’t care as it gained her admittance. He shrugged his beefy shoulders. Laurie somehow expected the material of his shirt to give at any moment and have it bursting at the seams like a scene from the old series, The Incredible Hulk. “I don’t think it should be a prob lem,” he said, and led her down the hall to an opened door at the end of the corridor. He pointed to the office then left her. Being a woman, in a very short skirt, certainly had its uses and had charme d more reluctant sources into giving information than not. She hoped Cole K incaid was just as easy. Peeking in, she watched the man she had encountered at the scene of the mur

der. He rummaged through papers littering his desk, studying one in particu lar. He was so engrossed in his work he hadn’t noticed her standing there, one shoulder against the doorjamb, arms crossed over her chest. His black hair, cut short, fell attractively over one of his coal black eyes , shielding it from view. Each brow slashed upward from the inside out, over shadowing his deep-set eyes, lending to his devilish handsome appearance. Hi gh cheekbones graced his lean face accented by a straight aquiline nose. But his best feature was his mouth. Lips so full, one could only dream about wh at they might offer. Her stomach fluttered with butterflies at the mere thought of those lips to uching hers. God, how pathetic was she? She didn’t even know this man and h ere she stood, entertaining sinful thoughts about him. Laurie cleared her throat, drawing his attention. His gaze registered surpris e, but he quickly masked the reaction. He was not happy to see her; that much was apparent in the fixed set of his jaw. “Detective,” Laurie nodded in greeting, pushed off the doorframe, and exte nded a hand as she approached him. Trust is the key here. “Miss Michaels.” Cole rose from his desk. He reluctantly shook her hand. H is eyes narrowed, bringing his brows together above the bridge of his nose . “I didn’t realize we had an appointment. Had I known, I might have gone home and dressed a little more appropriate.” “We didn’t. Officer O’Riley showed me in.” Cole’s expression hardened and Laurie knew Cole would reprimand O’Riley la ter. Cole retook his seat and returned his gaze to the paper he’d been stu dying a moment ago. “Then I have nothing to say.” How could he dismiss her with such little regard? “This is big news-front p age headlines.” Cole looked up, his gaze thoughtful. “Miss Michaels, I told you there would be a press conference this afternoon. I would be happy to answer your ques tions then.” “Detective, you know more about the body that was found this morning than yo u’re telling me, and I aim to find out what it is.” She punctuated her assur edness with a smile. Laurie was accustomed to getting her way; after all, sh e had been Daddy’s little girl. An answering grin split Cole’s face. “And just how far are you willing to g o to get that exclusive, Miss Michaels?” One brow arched upward in challeng e. Laurie’s heart skipped a beat. Cole had somehow detected her reaction to him . The implications of his question should have had her slapping his smug fac e, but instead, his allure had her thinking of how his lips could make parts of her body sing. She stiffened her spine. “I won’t offer myself in exchange for an exclusive,

if that’s what you’re implying, Detective. But I will get answers-one way o r another.” But before he could respond, a small trim-bodied man stepped through the o pen door. “Lieutenant, we got a positive ID on the murder victim.”

Chapter 3 Cole rose from his desk and brushed past the annoying Miss Michaels. He had a case to solve and he’d be damned before he allowed some over-eager repor ter-beautiful or not-to get in his way. Moments ago, he entertained the ide a of pushing aside ethics and letting Laurie Michaels know exactly how she could earn that exclusive. Her cinnamon lips and lush body, not to mention his lack of a social life, tempted him. If she hadn’t been a so-called jour nalist, he might have pursued her. “Detective Kincaid?” he heard her call after him. The thump of her heel on the tiled floor told him she had actually stomped her foot. A chuckle rose to the surface as he smiled at the absurdity of a young woman throwing a temper tantrum. He would lay odds, had he turned aro und to glance at her, her arms would be crossed beneath her ample breasts a nd her lower lip would protrude in a pout. He burst into the chief’s office and closed the door, barring all intruders. “What do we have, John?” Cole stood in front of the chief’s steel-framed desk . “Word reached more than Westlife , Cole.” The chief’s voice held a slight edge to it. “Seems someone from WEWS was out at the scene, too, though for tunately for us, they had no cameras. Sort of stumbled across the case, I should say. They ran a small piece on the morning news about a body being found in Bain Park. White female.” “Not a lot to go on.” “Enough that Mrs. Darby called in. Her daughter’s been missing almost a y ear. Runaway. She went to the morgue and positively ID’d her daughter.” “Damn, tough break.” “I’d say. Shana Darby was the victim. Brown hair, brown eyes. Seventeen-ye ars-old. The last her mother knew, Shana had been spotted on the streets i n downtown Cleveland. Probably a prostitute-just like you thought.” “Jesus,” Cole blasphemed, raking a hand through his hair. He paced the floo r in front of the desk, then stopped and turned once again to the chief. “Ho w’s the family handling it?”

“Not well. The mother’s in the interrogation room crying her eyes out and t hey have yet to contact the father. Seems they’re divorced and the father’s out of town on a business trip. Went to California. We’ve been unable to c ontact him by phone.” “I’ll have someone call a department over there-see if they can’t locate h im. Did Mrs. Darby say when he was due back?” “Not until the end of the week. She doesn’t even know where he’s staying-ju st has his cellular phone number.” “We’ll locate him. Any other family?” The chief shook his head. “Only child.” The blood drained from Cole’s face. Taking a deep breath, he shook his head . This was the reason he left Cleveland behind. He no longer wanted to look into the distraught face of a mother whose only child had been brutally sl aughtered. His own life had taken enough tragic turns that he just wanted t o live in peace in a small town where the worst crime to report was the rob bery of a convenience store. And damn, here he was, about to confront a mother who just lost the most pr ecious thing she had-a child. Cole released the breath he held, then turned to leave. The chief called ou t to Cole, stopping him at the door where he looked back at John solemnly. “What?” “When you collected evidence at the scene-did you happen to notice a ring o n the victim’s hand?” “She wore no rings. Why?” His interest piqued, he turned and returned to the desk, bracing his palms on the cold surface. “The mother claims she was given a ring on her sixteenth birthday and notic ed at the morgue it wasn’t on her hand.” The air in the room grew frigid, hampering Cole’s breathing by some unknown force. Cole had felt the strange stirring of his soul before. Evil was at pl ay here. Pure malignancy. He tried to shake off the feeling. “She could have pawned it.” “I don’t think so, Cole. Mrs. Darby said it belonged to Shana’s grandmother . Apparently her grandmother’s death hit her hard. When she was given the r ing at the reading of the will, Shana told her mother it was like having a piece of her grandma with her. “ John paused. “You said yourself, Cole, you didn’t think this would be his only murder.” “Jesus! He took a trophy from the victim.” A weight settled in the middle of Cole’s chest and he doubted it would abate until they caught this twisted individual. Mass murderers struck out of anger , taking nothing from their victim. Serial killers were usually sexual devian ts, collecting trophies from each victim to help them relive the event in the ir own sick fantasies.

The son of a bitch was probably looking at her ring at this moment, masturb ating in the corner of some god-forsaken hole. “Our best plan of action is to go after this piece of crap with a vengeance a nd stop him before he strikes again, “ said the chief. “Let’s hope we’re wron g.” “There’s always hope. But if he hasn’t already left the area-we’ll find anoth er body.” Cole opened the door to the office and stormed past Laurie Michaels, who stoo d in the reception area, still waiting for her story. “Detective?” she called after him, ready to pursue, but Cole whirled around and fixed her with a malicious glare. Her mouth snapped shut, her innocent ey es glistened, making him feel like a heel. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time-or the last. “I suggest, Miss Michaels,” he hissed her name with contempt, “you quit follo wing me around and find someone else to pester, or I’ll have your pretty litt le rear end thrown out of here-derriere side up.” Wisely, she kept her lips s hut for once, though he detected a slight tremble. He almost felt bad. Almost . “I’ll issue a statement to the press at three o’clock. If you want my view of the case, you’ll just have to wait until then. I don’t want to see your fa ce, no matter how nice it is to look at, even one second before the conferenc e. And, this is on the record, keep your nose the hell out of my business.” Without giving her a chance to respond, he stormed down the hallway to the interrogation room where Shana’s mother waited. Cole was a man of few words , but this slip of a woman brought out the worst in him. If not entertainin g ways to get her into his bed, he contemplated ways to keep her lips close d. Both ideas held a certain amount of appeal. Mrs. Darby sat in the small room with her head bent, mopping her red swolle n eyes with a well-used Kleenex. Cole watched her from the one-way glass, w aiting for the courage to enter the room. He could stand here all day and n ever find the nerve to approach her or know the right things to say. What c ould he say to someone who had just lost a child? Unfortunately, he knew th e feeling of losing a loved one all too well, and “Sorry” never cut it. Cole grasped the cold handle to the door and entered, drawing the sullen w oman’s gaze. She sniffed and wiped the Kleenex beneath her nose as a fresh wave of tears flowed down her cheeks. “I’m Lieutenant Cole Kincaid, Mrs. Darby. I’m in charge of finding the pers on who killed your daughter.” Cole took a chair on the opposite side of the table. He grasped one of the woman’s icy hands within his. “I assure you I will do everything I can to find the murderer.” “Do you know anything?” Her voice trembled; her jaw tightened, attempting to stop the tears from falling. “I’m so sorry,” she apologized, placing a fist

upon her lips. “It’s all right, Mrs. Darby. Take all the time you need. We are currently try ing to locate your ex-husband-” She chuckled nervously, ending it with a hiccup. “You won’t find him, Mr. Kincaid.” “Call me Cole.” “Nicholas is the master of disappearing. If he doesn’t want to be found-you won’t find him.” “It’s our business to find people, Mrs. Darby.” “Marge...my name is Marge.” Cole slid the box of tissues toward the grieving mother. She pulled two fres h ones from the box and tossed the used one in the gray metal trash containe r beside the table. Cole waited for her to talk. He knew the personal questi ons he had to ask wouldn’t get the responses he needed. “She was only seventeen you know.” She glanced at a spot over his shoulder, then down at the table. “She was a baby yet. I know what you’re thinking. She was a prostitute. But she was just mixed up, Cole. She didn’t know what she wanted. She only knew she didn’t want to live with her father or with me. This is all my fault.” “This is not your fault, Marge. You can’t blame yourself or the grief will c onsume you.” Her tears fell anew as her shoulders shook; Cole squeezed her hand in reas surance. He sat silent, watching the lamenting woman, feeling her pain as though it was his own. The pain of four years past washed over him like it was only yesterday. This poor woman’s anguish reminded him too much of hi s own. He’d find the son of a bitch who killed Shana. She turned her sad gaze on him. “Do you know what it feels like? To los e someone you adore? Someone who means so much to you?” “Unfortunately, I do.” “Someone stole my daughter’s life. How can you pretend to know what I fee l?” “I lost someone unfairly. Believe me, Marge, only time will heal your wound s.” Cole paused, watching the emotion in her gaze change to one of trust; s he’d accepted that he knew, really knew what she was experiencing. “I need to ask you a few questions. If you’re not ready, I’ll have an officer take you home. I can come by later.” “That’s all right. You can ask me anything.” “Some questions may hurt or anger you, but I have to ask them.” “I said it’s all right. I just want to get it over with.” Cole suddenly hated the cold gray room they sat in, but the small station of fered them little else. He pulled his note pad and a pencil from his back po cket, laying them on the table. He glanced at Mrs. Darby. She’d probably bee

n a young-looking woman for all her forty years. But at the moment, it appea red as though she’d aged a lifetime. Black circles ringed her puffy eyes; he r cheeks sagged from the gravity of the events. “When was the last time you saw your daughter alive?” “About six months ago. My ex-husband and I hired a private detective to fi nd Shana. We were desperate. We’d looked for her nonstop-she’d been gone f or six months. We were so worried.” Her lips trembled. She placed her fing ers lightly over them, swallowed, then continued. “We brought her home. Bu t after she found out nothing had changed-she left again. We didn’t even b other looking for her the second time she disappeared as we had exhausted most of our funds the first time. Besides, we knew it would do no good. Sh e’d just run away again.” “What do you mean by ‘nothing changed’?” “About three years ago, Nicholas was spending more time at his office than at home. I eventually figured out he had been spending time with his new secretary, Kay. When I confronted him about my suspicions, he flew off the handle and accused me of not trusting him.” Again, she paused and looked at the wall. She blew out a slow unsteady bre ath, then turned back to Cole. “He accused me of being the one who was che ating. Imagine that,” she scoffed, shaking her head. “I didn’t go anywhere . How was I supposed to meet men? I waited on Nicholas hand and foot. I to ok care of our daughter, his house, his laundry. My God, I did everything . He never appreciated what I did.” “They rarely do.” “Anyway, about a year after I accused him of sleeping with Kay, I found pa nties in his briefcase. He told me someone had given them to him as a joke . I might have believed him, but they were used. We had a hell of a fight. It turns out that Kay was one woman in a long line of many. Nicholas had been cheating on me since one week after our wedding. One week!” Cole said nothing. He jotted a few notes and waited for her to continue. “I hated him more than I hated anyone in my life. I kicked him out. Told hi m I would fight him for full custody of Shana and get his rights taken away . Now I realize my mistake.” “How so?” “That’s when things went downhill for Shana. I never thought about how muc h she might love her father. I just wanted to hurt him-and I knew he loved Shana more than anything else in his life. Especially me.” Cole scribbled “bitter” in his notes. He felt sorry for Marge, for Shana. “ How old was she when your marriage ended?” “Fifteen.” “Was there a reason she was an only child?” Anger flashed in her eyes as she looked at Cole; she wasn’t happy with his

question, but she answered anyway. “Our sex life wasn’t great. Truth be t old, he was always too tired. Probably from screwing other women. We rarel y had intercourse, Lieutenant Kincaid.” Cole noticed that Marge had slipped back to the formal use of his name and that told him she hadn’t liked where he was going with his interview. “Re member, I have to ask these questions. Any time you don’t want to answer, stop me and we can do this later.” “If it will help you find the man who killed my daughter, I’ll answer your qu estions. But digging up the past is painful.” “I’m sorry, Marge.” He paused to give her a moment to compose herself. “If Shana was fifteen at the time of the divorce, what caused her to runaway a year later?” Marge stared at the cold gray surface of the table, then ran her hands over he r face. Finally, she looked at Cole, her eyes haunted, full of self-blame. “She was supposed to go with her father to Cedar Point in Sandusky for the day.” She glanced at the one-way glass. “Can you really see through those o n the other side?” Cole’s gaze mimicked hers, staring at his reflection in the mirror, knowing one of the station’s secretaries, probably Cally, witnessed the interview. I t was standard procedure when a male officer interviewed or interrogated a f emale. “Yes,” he replied. Marge glanced back to Cole, holding his stare. “I wouldn’t let her go. That same night, she ran away. Two days after her sixteenth birthday. Nicholas blamed me...said he’d never forgive me for losing his daughter. And now...s he’s gone forever.” Marge placed her face in her palms as a fresh round of tears wracked her bo dy. Cole sat quietly waiting for the wash of emotion to subside. Minutes la ter, she grasped a fresh tissue and dabbed at her eyes. She placed the tiss ue beneath her nose and blew, the sound echoing about the empty room. “Have you seen her at all in the last six months?” “No.” “When she had been home six months prior, what did she talk to you about? ” “She wouldn’t. She stayed in her room, hating both her father and me. Said s he would rather live in the streets than in either of our homes. She hated m e for divorcing her dad and hated him for leaving us for his sleazy secretar y.” “Kay?” “Yes, he lives with her now.” “Shana never discussed what she did for survival? Never mentioned a pimp? ”

“Heavens no! We didn’t discuss her life on the streets at all. I didn’t want to hear how she spread-oh, God! What’s happened to my life?” she wailed. Cole paused, giving Marge time to compose herself. “Did Shana have a pro blem with drugs?” Marge narrowed her gaze. “No. “ “Had she been abused in any way? “ “No! “ she said with conviction. “Why would you even ask?” “Two of the major causes for teenage girls to prostitute themselves is either drug usage or being abused in the home. I’m trying to establish a reason for Shana doing so. “ “You can rule them both out. We gave our daughter a good home. At least we tried to.” “What about the ring, Marge? Is there any possibility she might have pawne d it to get money?” “No! She loved her grandmother dearly.” “But she also needed money to survive-” “No! Shana would not have pawned her ring. She would have sold herself...” Her vacant gaze returned to the one-way glass as her thoughts likely drifte d off. “Look, we’ll end the interview for now. I’ll have someone drive you home. I f you hear from your ex-husband before we do, please call us. I’d like to q uestion him.” “He won’t want to talk to you. He’ll blame everything on me.” “Don’t worry, Marge. We’ll take care of Nicholas Darby. Thank you for ans wering my questions. I’ll send someone in to see you home.” As Cole headed for the door, Mrs. Darby called out to him. “Cole, do you h ave any children?” He took a deep breath, then answered, “No, Marge, I don’t.” “You’ve never been married?” “Once,” he paused, thinking of a time that felt like an eternity past. “A long time ago.” He grasped the doorknob and exited the room, leaning against the door’s cool , metal surface. He shut his eyes and let out a slow sigh. “ Lieutenant Kincaid!” Cole’s eyes snapped open as he stared at the approaching man. It was the same officer who had alerted him earlier to the fact they had identified the vict im. The blood in his veins ceased to flow. His breath stayed lodged in his th roat. Gooseflesh popped to the surface, raising the hairs on the back of his neck. “Another call came in, Lieutenant. They’ve found another body.”

Chapter 4 A mirrored ball sent diamonds of light circling the room as spotlights of r ed, blue, green, and yellow shot through the cigarette smoke of the dark cl ub. Battered Formica tables and red-padded wooden chairs were scattered hap hazardly as people sat about, drinking, waiting for the night’s attraction to appear on stage. Two televisions were mounted behind the bar, playing re runs of NYPD Blue . A DJ in a booth off the balcony spun CDs from the ninet ies as a large neon green clock slowly ticked time away. Cole had driven into Cleveland, only to wind up at a nightclub called the Agora. He had not forgotten the day’s events; he just wanted to dull the m emory of it. Twenty hours and no sleep had a tendency to numb anyone’s sen ses. His eyelids were heavy, his breathing labored. But his mind was far f rom tired; it was keyed up and sleep would not have come easily had he cho sen to go home. Two bodies in twenty-four hours. The same amount of murders within Fairvie w Park’s limits in the last thirty-five years. Cole shook his head, then t ossed back the remaining Jack Daniels from his glass. He slammed the empty container back on the bar. A slender female refilled his drink. She wore short cutoff jeans, her rear en d hanging out, and a cropped white tee with the word Agora printed in bold bl ack letters stretching attractively over her ample breasts. Cole reached into his pocket and threw a few bills on the polished surface. Tolling bells filled the room as the band took the stage and began their firs t set. A tall thin man, head bent with hair hanging over his face, began the guitar riff, sending the crowd into cheers as many held their fists up, bobbi ng their heads in time with the music. Metallica’s “For Whom the Bell Tolls” rocked the club, bringing the patrons to their feet. A large man with straight, waist-length hair made his way to center stage. He grasped the microphone in a hand painted with black fingernails, swaying back and forth in time with the beat. When the drums picked up, he, too, b egan bobbing his head, sending his black hair flying. Raking a hand through the strands, Damien Vincent tilted back his head, cu rled his lips, and growled the beginning lines into the microphone. His vo ice, deep and husky, matched that of James Hetfield. Cole had seen his roo mmate, Damien, play many times before; Cole was a big fan of heavy metal m usic. Cole had met Damien in a club similar to this, introduced by a mutual frien d. Damien needed a place to stay-only temporarily, he had said. Two years l

ater, they still shared the same apartment. The arrangement had been perfec t. They split the bills fifty-fifty. While Cole worked eight to four, Damie n slept. And while Cole was home, Damien worked the clubs. They rarely ran into one another. Tonight he had come to the Agora to forget. Tomorrow would be soon enough t o contend with the mess he had left at the station. After going to the scen e of the second murder, Cole confirmed it was the work of the same perp. Th e MO and the signature matched, though the second body had been dead for se veral weeks. The victim, covered like the first, a white female, also appea red to have been a prostitute. The throat had been slit, but the body was t oo far decomposed to tell if bite marks had surrounded the wound. No driver s license, no ID. Either the perp had taken it or she hadn’t carried any. Someone had phoned the police station complaining about a foul smell near Coe Ditch around the Bain Park area. The officers on duty had followed up on the call and found the second murder victim. After securing the scene, Cole had collected what little evidence could be found, and returned to the station to give his press release. He told the m edia very little-only that two bodies had been found near Coe Ditch. Both v ictims had been prostitutes and were more than likely murdered somewhere ot her than Fairview Park; it was unfortunate luck that the city was being use d as a dumping ground. Cole assured them there was no reason for citizens t o be alarmed. A face wearing an expression of disappointment flashed through his mind. La urie Michaels had looked at him at the end of the conference in shock. “Tha t’s it?” she squeaked at him, again. Cole chuckled at how she persistently followed him all over to get her story, even out to the second site, only to be told little more than she had after the first victim was found. She had been angry. Hell, she had been furious. “Detective.” The voice now sure to haunt his dream-filled nights brought h im from his musings, as if the mere thought of her had conjured her up. Cole spun around on his bar stool, coming eye to eye with the same woman who had been hounding him non-stop all day. A sly grin turned up the side of his mouth. “I do believe you’re following me, Miss Michaels.” “Guilty as charged.” Laurie laughed, her cheeks turning a flattering red. She ran the tip of her shoe across the worn floorboards as she looked at the gro und. “I guess I have been a little annoying today.” “A little?” Cole raised a brow in challenge. “More like damned persistent.” She brought her gaze from the floor and boldly met his. Mistake. He liked her eyes a little too much. He liked all of her a little too much. “Can we talk?” she asked. Cole grasped his short glass from the bar, took a deep pull, then leveled his

gaze on her. “Nope.” She looked hurt, but what the hell did he care. Laurie walked around him, sat on the stool to his right, and gave her attention to the bartender. “I’ll have a gin and tonic.” Cole turned and pulled out more money from his pocket. “I’ll have another Jac k and take the lady’s drink out of this.” He slid a ten across the surface of the bar. Laurie tapped cinnamon-painted nails that perfectly matched that of her lip s, on the smooth surface. “Why, thank you, Detective.” “Call me Cole. I’m off duty.” “Then we can talk?” “Not if it has anything to do with two dead prostitutes. I’d rather forget ab out work tonight, if you don’t mind. Besides, I don’t want anything I say on tomorrow’s front page.” The bartender placed their drinks in front of them. Cole drank the fiery liqu id, feeling the answering warmth all the way to his toes. Laurie wrapped her slender fingers around her glass, staring into the depths of the clear gin an d tonic. She ran the lime slice around the rim before squeezing the remaining juice into the liquor then dropped the rind into the glass, sinking it with her straw. Laurie turned her head to the side, gazing back at him, smiling warmly. She tucked one side of her shoulder length hair behind her ear. She dipped one f inger into the gin, then stuck the tip into her mouth and sucked off the liq uid. Cole’s groin tightened at the innocent gesture, though he doubted she k new the effect it had on him. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Anythi ng you say is off the record.” “Why should I believe you?” “I’m here because you’re an interesting person, Cole. I want to know more a bout you.” His grin widened as he chuckled. “There isn’t much to know.” “Oh, but I think there is a lot that lies beneath your surface.” “And do you intend to…to probe my surface?” “I’m a reporter. It’s my job to probe. Although, as I said, anything you say is strictly off the record.” His gaze traveled to the TV. He ran a hand over his whiskered jaw. He woul d have to shave before going to work tomorrow or John might give him the o l’ “professional look” speech again. He returned his gaze to Laurie. “But if you don’t mind, tonight I would prefer not to think about those two wom en and the twisted individual who slaughtered them.” She laid a small warm hand atop his, adding to the ache already plaguing his groin. “You have my promise. I won’t ask you anything about today. I’m tire d, too, and could use a little shut-eye.”

“This isn’t exactly a hotel room.” “What is that supposed to mean?” “For someone who wants to get some rest, this isn’t the place to be. It doesn’ t really look like your kind of entertainment.” “What makes you say that?” “Is it?” Her smile returned as she toyed with the napkin beneath her glass. “No, not r eally.” “So what do you listen to, Laurie?” The use of her first name brought her gaze to his. Their eyes met and held for a long moment. Finally, she broke contact and glanced at the TV then ba ck to him, shrugging. “I don’t know, Hootie and the Blowfish maybe. I don’t listen to a lot of music. Just the radio now and then when I’m in my car.” “And I bet you listen to that for the news,” he said dryly. She laughed. Cole enjoyed the teasing smile that curved her lips. “Guilty. A gain. But here you sit watching reruns of a cop show.” He placed a hand over his heart as though wounded. “I’ll have you know, I’m here for the band. A true bona fide groupie.” Laurie chuckled again. “So, you like this kind of music?” Of course.” The band began their rendition of Led Zepplin’s “Stairway to H eaven.” Cole stood and held out a hand. “Would you like to dance?” Laurie’s face grew serious as she glanced from his hand back to his eyes. “I. ..well, I don’t think...I’ve never been too good at dancing.” Cole grasped her hand and pulled her from her stool, then led her to the da nce floor where other couples, most younger in age than him, gathered about , swaying slowly in time with the music. Cole drew Laurie within his arms as the breath caught in her chest. She had danced before-many times in fact. But never had she been in the embrace of a man so electrifying, compelling. A sense of raw danger seemed to be part of his aura. Laurie’s heart slammed against her ribs, and as close as they were standing, she was sure he could feel it as well. Desire shot through her like heated candle wax. Had he the notion to let her go, she feared her veins would thic ken and stop her right where she stood, just as wax away from the flame does . One of his hands rested on the small of her back while the other remained in the center. Laurie intertwined her fingers loosely behind his head, revelin g in the feel of his warm embrace. The musk scent of his cologne filled the air. She inhaled deeply, deciding Cole’s cologne would be her favorite scent from this moment on. If he swept her off her feet and carried her to some w aiting bed, she wouldn’t be able to resist.

“See, I knew you could do it.” Laurie was startled by his observation. Surely, he could not be privy to her thoughts. “Do what?” “Dance.” She smiled. “It’s not hard when all you have to do is be wrapped within som e man’s arms and turn slowly in a circle.” “Just any man’s will do?” His deep, whisky tone taunted her. Laurie’s kne es weakened; her limbs numbed. She replied, “Not just any.” “So you do enjoy being in my arms?” Laurie knew by the lightness of his tone, he had been jesting. She responded in kind. “Being in your arms serves a purpose.” Cole’s hold slackened, his brow furrowing as he looked down at her. “Purpo se?” “Yeah.” She chuckled. “I was chilly by the bar. I’m not anymore.” The song ended, leaving them standing in the middle of the dance floor, the seductiveness of the night life around them, their gazes held hostage by des ire. “Another slow one, Cole?” the lead singer bellowed into the microphone. Laurie glanced at the singer whose gaze focused on her dance partner. “Yo u know him?” “Unfortunately,” Cole replied as he led Laurie off the floor and back to their bar stools, his hand in the small of her back. “We have time for one more, then we go for a break,” the singer growled, ho lding up his empty beer bottle. The crowd roared in approval. The slow guitar riff of another song filled the room as the man’s voice dee ply stroked the words. Women seemed drawn to the enigma on stage. There was definitely something alluring about the man with his silky black hair and his black eyes. He had high cheekbones, a long slim nose, thin lips, and st ood at least six foot five as he loomed above the other band members. Lauri e might have found herself captivated, had she not already been with the be st-looking man in the room. They were only having drinks-and she had invite d herself. But the detective enchanted her, nonetheless. She pulled away. T he story had been the objective, not her attraction. “So how do you know him?” she asked Cole, drawing his attention from his nearly empty glass. Cole’s brows drew together. “Why? Need a date?” Laurie flinched at the tone of his voice. “Certainly not.” He’d returned to his usual surliness. What could have possibly happened to change his mood? Had he noted her watching the singer and reacted out of je alousy? Of course not. His mood swings had little to do with her. But he ob viously had issues with the singer. She wondered if any of his dates had di

tched him for this guy. “Why the curiosity about the singer? Oh, I forgot, you’re a reporter. It’s yo ur job to know these things. Or maybe you’re just interested in a one-night s tand with him.” Anger heated beneath the surface, rising to the top. She had half a notion to smack the snarled look off his face. “Mr. Kincaid-” “Back to that are we?” She paused and stared blankly at him. “Back to what?” “Mr. Kincaid. I thought we dropped the formalities when I paid for your dri nk, Miss Michaels .” “You bought me a drink, Detective. That does not give you the right to tell me who I can and cannot sleep with.” “So you do want to sleep with Damien.” “Who the hell is Damien?” she screeched just as the music ended, making he r voice seem loud even to her. “The singer.” “I don’t want to sleep with him.” “Oh.” He shrugged, his face relaxing as he tapped his glass on the bar. The b artender grabbed it. “Another for the lady, too.” “For crying out loud, Cole. What ever gave you the idea I wanted to sleep w ith this-this Damien?” “Intuition.” “Let’s hope your intuitions about the murders aren’t as far off base.” “Cole, what have you been telling the pretty lady here about me?” Laurie turned to see the topic of their conversation standing behind her. S he wondered how much he’d heard. “Laurie Michaels,” Cole turned on his stool to face the man, who looked mu ch taller standing in front of her than on stage, “this is my charming roo mmate, Damien Vincent.” Damien grasped one of her hands and brought it to his lips. A shiver travel ed through her body as she fought the urge to jerk her hand from his grasp. It was as though a cool breeze had passed through the room, chilling her t o the bone. She glanced into the cold eyes of the singer. This man exuded s omething akin to evil. Had she not known better, she would swear she stared into the eyes of Lucifer himself. Was not Damien the name of Satan’s son? A tremor passed down her spine; the intense shiver reminded her of how ice splits when a pick is shoved into it. “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Michaels.” His hypnotic voice caused Laurie to stare into his eyes unable to say a word. Seconds later, she regained her senses; she noticed the annoyance on Cole’s face and pulled her hand free. “You may call me Laurie.” “Who’s the new guy?” Cole asked, nodding toward the stage. A man, slightly

smaller than Damien though still large by any means, bent over knobs and buttons on the front of an amplifier. Damien glanced at the stage and shrugged. “He’s been with my band for a c ouple of months now. Chad left and I needed a new guitar player. I had an audition and he’s who I ended up with. Sandy Brown.” “Sandy?” Cole’s eyebrows rose. Damien chuckled. “His mother must have hated him. But he’s a hell of a guit ar player.” “I noticed. You guys sounded good tonight.” Something about Damien unnerved Laurie, though she was unable to figure out why. Her skin crawled just being near him; she felt an urgent need to get out of his presence. “Well, I really should be going.” “I’d tell you I’d hope to see you around, but then we both know the truth to that, don’t we?” “I don’t give up that easily, Detective.” As she turned to leave, she knocked her drink to the floor. The glass shattered, the shards glittered on the woode n surface. Laurie bent over to pick up some of the pieces, but the first one s he touched pierced her forefinger. “Ouch!” She stood up and held her injured digit between two of her fingers on the opposite hand. A drop of blood welled to the surface. “Let me see that,” Cole said, a note of concern in his voice. Before she could show Cole the injured finger, Damien grasped it, taking it to his mouth, suckling the blood. Laurie stared into the singer’s eyes, mesm erized and repulsed at the same time. She pulled her hand from his hold. “Thank you, Mr. Vincent.” She frowned. “I think.” Why would a man she’d just met perform such an intimate act? Cold fear seized her. She turned to Cole and said, “I have to go.” She di dn’t bother to wait for a response; she hurried away from him and Damien, careful not to look back should the wickedness of the room swallow her w hole. Tomorrow would be soon enough to confront Detective Kincaid about t he sort of company he kept.

Chapter 5 Cole rolled to his side and kicked his feet free of the covers, glancing at t he glowing green clock. Two a.m. His gaze shot to the ebony phone sitting bes ide the clock on the nightstand; he half-expected it to ring. Phone calls in the middle of the night were rarely good-and he feared anothe

r victim would be found. But the phone did not ring, nor did his alarm go of f, so what the hell was he doing awake? Releasing his pent-up breath, he rol led onto his other side, using an arm as a pillow, and glanced at the window . Light from the street lamp seeped through the Venetian blinds, causing stark white lines across his gray carpeting. His body needed rest. Hell, twenty-f our hours had passed. He should be exhausted, but still, he could not sleep. Cole flipped onto his back and stared at the ceiling. Though he wore no mor e than a pair of plaid flannel boxers and the air-conditioning unit blew a s teady stream of cooled air into his room, Cole’s body was damp from sweat. Someone out there had killed two girls. The unknown subject had a taste for blood. His sexual draw likely came from the spilling of another’s life fluid s. Images of blood splattering from the wounds came to mind, covering a face less man as he tried to get closer, tried to drink from the fresh cut. Cole cringed in disgust. They were not dealing with a human; they were in communion with a vampire. Even though he knew these supernatural beings di d not exist, he was damned tempted to believe this was exactly the type of evil they had staring them in the face. In his past work, he had studied two cases of serial killers. Richard Chas e had been labeled “The Vampire of Sacramento.” In 1978, after disemboweli ng his victims, he dipped cups into their bodies and drank their blood. Ch ase had been a schizophrenic who had been easily caught. Dead of a drug ov erdose from his medication; the human race was better off without him. Peter Kurten received the name “The Vampire of Dusseldorf.” An amoral person ality, who began to kill in the late 1920s, and like Cole’s killer, received his satisfaction from attempting to catch the blood from the wounds of his victims and drinking it. He’d been caught and lost his head in the guillotin e in 1931. If reincarnation were possible, Cole feared his perp was Chase or Kurten reborn. A cool breeze swept through the room, raising the hairs on his skin as a fe eling of foreboding settled within his gut. Cole glanced to his closed wind ow then grasped the sheet tangled around his feet and pulled it up to his n eck. He chuckled softly to the dead air of the night. His imagination was f ar too active. But, he made a mental note to look up the cases of Peter Kur ten and Richard Chase come morning to refresh his memory. Maybe studying th ose cases again would offer some clues into his current case. Desperately trying to fall asleep, Cole conjured up the image of a well-cu rved woman, one with hair of auburn and eyes of melted chocolate. He would not have minded had she the notion to follow him home instead of running from the nightclub like she spotted some sort of fiend in Damien. It had b een some time since Cole had slept with a woman, and in Laurie’s presence, his body reminded him almost painfully just how long it had been. The sim

ple thought of her made his body stir in places he would rather remain pla cid at the moment. Cole rolled to his side. Damn, but this was going to be one long night. Laurie lay in her pale yellow room, staring at the ceiling fan as the wood en blades spun round and round, sending small bursts of chilled air to cool her heated body. She had tossed and turned for nearly two hours and sleep was still no closer to coming. In the morning, she doubted she would be abl e to concentrate long enough to tap the keyboard of her computer and form a ny type of coherent story. George would fire her on the spot. Especially after the lame story she turne d in on the Fairview Park killings. But with someone like Detective Kincaid running the cases, her leads were not likely to get any better. He protected his privacy better than Guardian Alarm secured her home. Though the night air held little scent, she could almost smell the musk he had worn. Laurie rolled to her side and clutched the pillow beneath her hea d. She had not entertained the thought of a man since Jeff walked out of he r life six months ago. Being unfaithful and unable to keep promises came wi th a man’s basic nature, part of his DNA makeup. Besides, with the money fr om the trust fund her grandfather left her and her salary at the paper, wha t did she need a man for? Laurie glanced around the room and at the luxuries her wealth afforded. How many people fresh out of college could buy themselves their own home, let alone one in the upper-class section of Fairview Park? Her parents lived ne arby, about ten minutes away. Close enough to visit, yet far enough to prov ide her privacy. She wanted to curse Cole Kincaid; he reminded her body how truly alone she had been the last few months. Jeff Carlton had been her first and only bo yfriend. She started dating him her sophomore year of high school and they had stayed together through their college years, where they had eventuall y consummated the relationship. He had offered her marriage. Then, after g raduation approached, he announced his plans to go to California and had a sked her to return the engagement ring. She had thought her life was over and her future grim. But, six months late r, she had her own career, a home to cherish, and a dog to keep her company . Laurie moved her foot across the sheets to where her Miniature Pinscher, Zeke, lay curled up in a ball. The movement brought him from his sleep to t he top of the bed, showering her face with kisses. Laurie smiled and shooed him away. “Down, Zeke. Go night, night.” She gently pushed him from her. The black dog bent his head in rejection and trotted to the foot of the bed where he laid down and placed his head on his paws, looking at her through s

addened eyes. Not exactly the kind of kisses she had been dreaming of as of late. Cole’s da rk image came to mind with his black hair and dark eyes. With six feet of hei ght, a taut body, and lush lips, her thoughts never strayed far from her carn al nature. Laurie rolled her eyes as she tossed to her back. She was pathetic. With any luck, as long as George continued to keep her on the case, she wou ld see a lot more of Cole Kincaid. Her first impression of the detective ha d been that he was arrogant, rude, and downright wretched. But tonight she had seen another side to him. As long as she was not discussing his life or his case, she might even deem him personable. Laurie sighed. She could only hope to dream of the man she ran from so qui ckly. But when she closed her eyes, a darker, taller, more formidable man came to mind. Damien Vincent. Opening her eyes, Laurie glanced at the small cut on her hand, no more than a dark line in the dimness of her room. A shiver traveled down her spine. He r gut tightened, remembering all too well the feeling of immorality that had invaded her soul as the tall singer suckled her injured finger. Satan’s hand at work. Not in novels or movies, but here in Fairview Park. Someone took pleasure in ending the lives of people. And if evil was not in the form of Damien V incent, then who? Blood. Asimple word, a simple fluid. But without it, one cannot survive. And the soul cannot function.Why not, then, can the soul take what is readily a vailable? Red Cross pumps pints daily and the hospitals give it to those dyi ng in order to keep them alive. The demon, too, feels it can perform menial duties in order to have in abundance the liquid it craves most and work wher e a simple pint here or there might not be missed. There are beings who cut themselves and lend their life’s fluids in return fo r small menial favors from the soul. Degenerates, wretched, and out of work. But Satan laughs in the face of evil and takes from those who wish to cling t o life. What satisfaction comes from those who do not plead? To hell with the wick ed who do things for their own gain for they already belong to Satan. The soul wants to claim those who do not and send them to their God above. For is the soul not already tortured and left to its own merits by the same God who claims to protect His own? Now, with nowhere else to turn, the demon looks to darkness to survive. Hell and damnation are all that is left. And now, the son of Satan has eternity in which to suffer. The darkness of night shadows the evil as it stares out from dim doorways an

d blackened corners where no light lends its brilliance. The thick crimson l iquid calls and the smell of human life is almost too much to bear. Soon, th e soul thinks. Soon another victim shall fall prey to his maleficence. They shall not catch the soul, for ignorance is in and of itself a sin. Laurie satat a desk in the library studying microfiches of past Plain Dealer s, unsure if she would find anything of importance. But maybe, just maybe.... “Damn,” she muttered. Four hours later and she still had nothing. Unless, she came up with somethi ng soon, George would have her on obituary duty. She knew it was probably a long shot, but she would lay odds this killer did not just begin in Fairview Park. If her intuition paid off, she might find several unsolved murders in other cities. The closest place to start was Cleveland. The city was big enough to hide in, so why turn to a small community? Or w as Fairview Park no more than a dumping ground for a madman? She looked at the screen. August 4. She had already gone through several years of old p apers and still came up empty handed. She continued to scroll backwards. N othing. She was no closer to finding an answer than when she had walked in to the library. One more turn to the dial and she reached for the knob to turn the machine off. A picture on the final screen came into focus, catching her attention. May 2. The headline read: “Detective Lead Suspect in Murder.” Beneath the c aption, a picture of Cole Kincaid stared back at her. “My God,” she mouthed as her jaw dropped and her gaze fixed on his dark eye s. Turning to a passing librarian, she asked, “Can you get me a copy of thi s article?” “Sure,” the woman replied curtly. Laurie barely heard her as she scrolled f orward. Certainly there would be more. “Miss Michaels?” the same librarian said as she made her way back to Laurie , handing her a copy of the story. “Yes?” “A Mr. Haskins called. He said Lieutenant Kincaid is looking for you and wo uld like to speak to you as soon as possible.” Laurie tried gathering her papers, dropping several to the floor in her haste . Her heartbeat heavily as her pulse quickened. This could be her break. Dete ctive Kincaid had actually requested to see her. She turned to the librarian. “If you have time, could you possibly find anyth ing in the paper that’s linked to this story and make copies for me?” “Certainly,” the elderly lady smiled. “I love to do research. I’ll see what I can dig up for you. Stop by tomorrow.” “Thanks,” Laurie called out over her shoulder, dropping her favorite pen i

n the process, never seeing the shadow between the bookshelves or noting wh en it moved, picking up the object and placing it in a well-worn pocket. “Nice piece ,” John said as he dropped the paper to the desk. “This Miss Mic haels you say is the right person for the job?” “She’s hungry,” Cole said, rubbing his freshly shaven jaw. The shirt he wore buttoned to the collar with a silk maroon tie knotted loosely about his neck. His trousers were well pleated—the kind only a dry-cleaner could press in. “ She’s fairly new. I checked up on her. But I still feel she’s the person for the job.” “Are you sure Mrs. Darby will agree to it? Having the local press and TV cam eras at her daughter’s funeral, highly publicizing it?” “It’s damn tragic her kid died. But if we don’t go proactive, someone else’s kid will die.” Cole took a sip from the too black coffee and winced. The chief laughed. “It’ll grow hair on your chest.” “That’s what I’m afraid of.” Cole shared the brief bit of humor before bec oming serious again. “Did you ID the other victim?” “No. Forensics is working on it. Dental records, that kind of stuff. Nothing yet, though they’re bound to turn up something sooner or later. I’m laying od ds she was a prostitute and hauled in at one time or another.” “Doesn’t really matter. It won’t say anything about our perp, except the son of a bitch takes high-risk victims. That leaves us with hundreds of suspects and no leads.” “You don’t expect this piece of crap to walk in here and tell you he did it, d o you?” Cole chuckled. “It sure in the hell would be nice.” “So, we’re back to square one,” John grumbled. “What did O’Riley turn up o n the license plates?” “Nothing. All the cars were supposed to be in the vicinity.” “And the door to door?” “No one saw or heard anything. We have squat.” “Then I guess we have no other choice. Contact this Michaels woman and get her over here.” “I thought you’d say that. I already did.” Cole stood and went to exit the offi ce. “You’re a piece of work.” Cole looked over his shoulder as he left. “That’s the reason you hired me.” “You’re damn right, Kincaid,” he said to the now empty office. “You’re dam n right.”

Chapter 6 “Marge, Iwould like you to meet Laurie Michaels. She’s the one who will han dle the story of your daughter’s funeral.” Cole paused, giving Mrs. Darby t ime to bring up any objections she might have. When she had no reply, he co ntinued, “I’ve also arranged for WEWS to do a small spotlight on the funera l for the local news. Is this also agreeable to you?” Marge brought her gaze up from her lap and looked at Cole through puffy eye s. “I don’t want any cameras on my face. I hate that...when they shove came ras in the faces of relatives. Can you promise that?” Cole looked across his desk at Laurie who listened to the grieving mother. She had quickly agreed to assist the police in any way to help catch the mo nster who had slaughtered this poor woman’s daughter-even if it meant Cole editing her work. “Keep the paper’s photographer on a leash. No close ups of Mrs. Darby,” Col e stated. “No close ups,” Laurie agreed. Her face was youthful, but hungry, one that had yet to be tainted by the dep ravity of the real world. Cole only hoped by the end of this case, her look of innocence remained. But somehow, he knew it would harden when reality too k its toll. He wished he could spare her the pain and the ugliness. “I’ll talk to the station and tell them of our request. If they don’t want to h onor it, we’ll get another station,” Cole assured Mrs. Darby. Fresh tears moistened her eyes. “But others will come. When word gets out about my Shana’s funeral-it will become a media circus.” “I won’t lie to you, Marge. I can’t control the entire grounds and yes, there will be other reporters present. But the only ones invited to the gravesite will be WEWS and Westlife ’ s reporter and photographer. “Unless we publicize the funeral and have it common knowledge, our perp won’ t know of the event either. Then all of this is for nothing. Our hope here i s to draw our man out, get him to the burial. If anyone other than reporters or family that you know shows up, I want you to tell us. We’ll develop a si gnal. Is all of this satisfactory so far?” “Yes,” Mrs. Darby sniffed, wiping a tissue beneath her nose. “I have little ch oice.” “On the contrary,” Cole objected. “This is your call. If you want to put a stop to this, just say the word and I back off.” “No!” The first bit of anger registered in Marge’s eyes since she walked int o the room. “I want this monster caught. He took away the only thing that me ant anything to me. And if it means having my grief plastered all over the e

vening news, then I guess that’s what it will take.” “We also need to inform you that we contacted your ex-husband. He’s on a f light back.” “Oh God,” Marge cried. Her eyes widened in fear. “He’s sure to blame me. He’ ll say this is all my fault.” “This is not your fault, Marge. Nicholas won’t blame you,” Cole assured. “Th e two of you can meet here at the station if you are afraid of Mr. Darby or his reaction.” “No.” Marge wiped the tissue beneath her nose again. “I can handle Nichola s. He’s never abused me before. He won’t start now. But the accusations-” “We’ll put an end to,” he finished for her. “I told Mr. Darby to come straight here upon his arrival. If you would like to go home and rest, I’ll have an of ficer drive you there.” “Yes, I think that’s best.” “We’ll set the funeral for noon on Saturday,” Cole stated, writing the day and time on his calendar. “Is this date suitable?” “Yes. The sooner the better.” Cole walked the woman to the door and indicated for an officer to see her saf ely home, then returned to the chair behind his desk. He steepled his fingers and leaned back in the chair, gazing at Laurie over the tops of his hands. “Coffee?” he asked. “No, thank you.” Laurie held Cole’s gaze and the two sat in silence for a long moment, then finally Laurie asked, “Why did you call me? Why Westli fe? Why not someone from the Plain Dealer? ” Cole shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know. Because you’re the local paper . You serve the six surrounding communities.” “But not Cleveland.” Laurie leaned forward. “What makes you think this man is from the area?” “Two bodies have been dumped here. The perp may or may not be from the immediate area, but he doesn’t come from far away.” “Because?” “He puts the dead body in the car, cleans up, then drives to Coe Ditch to dum p it. Why?” Cole raised a brow. “I don’t know. But it doesn’t stand to reason that he’d drive any great distance with a dead body in the trunk or the back seat. Especially if he’s used the same site twice.” “Then why don’t you keep surveillance on the ditch?” “We have, though it will do little good. It only stands to reason he won’t us e Coe Ditch again.” “Why?” She asked, her tone innocent. Her forehead creased with tiny lines as her finely arched brows drew togeth er. Cole had a brief desire to run his fingers over the lines of consternat

ion and smooth them out. Maybe he had been wrong; maybe, putting his own hi dden desires aside, he should have used a more seasoned reporter. His choic e had been motivated out of selfish reasons. Reasons he might later learn t o regret. “Because the media has stated where the bodies have been found. If our perp is smart at all, he’ll know we put surveillance on the ditch.” He paused, no ting his possible mistake. Hell, he already told her far more than was neces sary. “I don’t want to read this in tomorrow’s paper, Laurie. I tell you wha t to print from here on out.” Her brows rose. “That’s where you’re wrong and I draw the line, Detective Ki ncaid. I work for Westlife and I think I’ll be the judge of what I print.” Cole clenched his jaw and leveled his gaze on her. “They may sign your paych eck, but since you’ve agreed to work with me on this, you’ll print what I te ll you to print.” “Will you give me an exclusive when this is all over?” “You’ll have the exclusive.” Laurie narrowed her eyes at him as though she debated on whether to ask he r next question. “Do I get the exclusive on Cole Kincaid?” Cole shifted his chair; his ire itched its way toward a slow burn. No one w ould print his story again. And this little slip of a woman would be no exc eption-no matter how pretty she might be, or he thought with a chuckle, how much he wanted to wrap her long legs around his waist. “You find the idea amusing, Detective?” “On the contrary, Miss Michaels. I don’t find the idea amusing in the least.” He narrowed his gaze on her. He sat forward in his chair. “My story is just that. Mine. Neither you nor any other sleazy reporter will print it. You will print facts about the case and stay the hell away from my life. Do I make my self clear?” “Quite, Detective,” she said in a clipped tone as she rooted through her pu rse. Laurie moved her hand around the inside of the leather handbag like on e might stir a pot of stew with a spoon. “Damn,” she cursed, coming up shor t of the item she sought. One side of his mouth quirked upward. “Missing something, Miss Michaels? ” “Would you stop it,” the agitation in her voice evident. “I hate the condesc ending way you say Miss Michaels , for crying out loud. I think we’ve gotten past the formalities.” Cole chuckled. “Only if you agree to stop calling me Detective.” “Fine. I’m missing my pen,” she said, a slight edge of panic lacing her words . “A pen? Take your pick.” Cole indicated a ceramic mug that sported a pictur e of a mouse hanging by its nose on a barbell with the words “Give Me Stren

gth” printed beneath. It was filled with pens and pencils. Laurie’s eyes met his briefly, then returned to her purse. “You don’t unders tand, it’s a special pen. My father gave it to me when I graduated from CSU. ” “Must have been a helluva pen.” “It was a Mont Blanc.” “A Mont Blanc? ” he asked, his curiosity piquing. “Yes, a Mont Blanc. It’s a brand name and—” “It probably cost your daddy some bucks,” he said sarcastically. Laurie stopped digging and looked at Cole. “It wasn’t extremely expensive if that’s what you’re getting at. He probably paid a few hundred dollars for i t tops.” “A Bic falls under ‘not extremely expensive.’ Expensive is a few hundred b ucks.” Cole studied her face and took in her designer suit. Cherry red. “D amn, just where the hell do you come from?” A slow smile creased her face. “I’ll tell you my story if you tell me yours. ” One raised brow told him she had issued him a challenge. “Forget it, Michaels.” Cole returned the smile. “Even my closest friends don ’t get to know the real Cole Kincaid.” “Why?” “I value my privacy. I won’t allow any aspect of my life to be reviewed by th e press.” “But you already have.” Unease crept through him as he shifted in his chair. “Meaning?” “That you...well what I mean is...the paper...” She stopped her stammering and looked into his eyes. He saw the questions within their depths. How muc h did she already know about him? Then her gaze dropped to the opening of h er purse. She pulled out a pad and grasped a pen from the holder on his des k. “Meaning that you’re the top detective on the case. You’ll be plastered all over the news until this case is solved.” Cole continued to stare at her, saying nothing. She had made a good attemp t at saving herself from revealing what she had meant earlier, but he had an inkling she knew more. How much of his life had she dug up and how much did she believe? “Things aren’t always what they seem, Laurie. Now, I suggest we get to the reason I brought you down here. I want you to run a small story on Shana Darby. Just give the specifics.” Cole paused as she wrote down everything. “Tell about how she has been missing for six months, ran away from home, how devastated her family is not to have seen her for months only to have her come home in a body bag. “I want you to write about her funeral on Saturday. Don’t make this a hard p iece, Laurie. I want it soft. Our perp already feels remorse for what he’s d

one. We need to play on that. Bring him out. But I don’t want to find how so rry we think he feels in the papers.” Laurie stopped writing and placed the end of the Bic on the edge of her low er lip as though she pondered on her newly acquired information. Cole felt the now usual stirring of his groin when he found himself in her presence a nd he found it damn hard to remain professional. He shifted. “Do you want me to write about what an amoral type of person he is?” “Absolutely not.” Cole ran his hand down his jaw. “You don’t want to make h im out to be the monster he is. If we hope to catch him and bring him in, w e’ll need to make him out to be the victim.” “What?” Laurie nearly choked on the word as she came to the edge of her se at. “You have to be kidding! This man brutally slaughters two girls and you want me to make it look like it was their fault?” “Not at all. But what I don’t want is you spouting off the mouth and scarin g my perp away.” Laurie’s eyes narrowed as she waggled a finger in Cole’s direction. “Let me tell you something, Detective-” “No, Miss Michaels,” he jumped in, “I’ll tell you. You go out there with all hell-fire and damnation, my perp will never confess. But play things my way , play up to his vulnerabilities and we might have a chance.” “And just how do you expect to do that?” “By pretending we understand. These women were two hookers who wanted to take advantage of him, toy with him. He thought he was doing this world a favor by getting rid of them.” Laurie shook her head in disbelief, “I don’t believe this.” “You get this guy thinking you understand him and he’s liable to open up lik e a can of worms, whistling ‘Dixie.’ Portray him like the monster he is and he’ll clam up tighter than Whistler’s Mother’s ass.” “So you want me to print this?” “On the contrary—I don’t want to see that in the paper.” His anger hit a hig h note. “What I want, Miss Michaels, is to see a sob story about the Darbys and their great loss. I don’t want one word in there about this perp. You pr int only what I want or I’ll find someone who’s more willing.” “So, I’ll print how the Darbys lost someone dear to them and how Shana Darb y was the perfect angel.” The note of acrimony in her voice told him she ha d not bought his plan of action. “You aren’t getting the picture here, Laurie.” Cole lightened his tone, pla ying to her sensible side. “I want a soft piece on Mom and Pop Darby. I don ’t want anything portraying Shana Darby an innocent unless it was before sh e shunned her parents and ran away. We know my perp feels remorse. If we ca tch him and get him thinking we understand. He’s liable to ‘fess up with al l the sordid details. Do things my way, and they’ll work out. You’ll see.”

“I certainly hope you’re right, Cole. This man needs to be stopped.” “And right now, we don’t have a lot to go on.” “I’ll get back to the paper, print this up, and fax you a copy. You can retur n my fax with any corrections you want.” Laurie stood to leave, shoving her pad back in her over-sized purse and plac ed the pen back in his cup. Cole stood and walked around the desk, escorting her to the front door of the station. “I appreciate you working with me on this,” Cole said as he opened the door for her. “As long as the rewards are worth it.” Cole thought about the possible double meaning and the suggestiveness of he r tone. “We’ll catch him if that’s what you’re saying.” “Maybe,” she cut short, though with a teasing tone. He chuckled. “You have little faith in me?” “No, maybe as in I might have been talking about catching the criminal as w orth the reward and then again, I might have been talking about another rew ard.” With a seductive smile and a sexy sway of her hips, she exited the building, letting Cole wonder as to what rewards she might just welcome. Leave it alo ne, Cole , he scolded himself, though he couldn’t help the sly smile from cr eeping up on his face as he made his way back to his office. Leave it the he ll alone. Hours hadpassed since his talk with Laurie Michaels and Marge Darby. Laurie had faxed him her piece. And with a few changes, he returned the approved st ory, pleased with the article. With any bit of luck, Cole’s proactive choice would work. If the perp did not show up on Saturday at the gravesite, he wo uld some night following. These types of serial killers often visited the gr aves. If not out of remorse, then out of some sick desire to relive their tw isted fantasies. Cole rose from his desk and made his way to the interrogation room. Word c ame in that Nicholas Darby was now at the station. Cole immediately sent a n officer to retrieve Marge. He walked to the one-way glass and watched the vain man from the window. He wore a white polo shirt with a little green horse on the pocket and tan plea ted shorts. A sweater was knotted loosely about his neck. He tapped the eras er of a pencil against the solid surface of the table, his eyes darting abou t the room. Police stations obviously made the man nervous, but he seemed to show little remorse. Just fear, anxiety, and agitation. Probably, Cole thought with a humph, for the inconvenience of having to cut short his little vacation. Cole opened the door and walked in, drawing the blonde-haired man’s gaze.

“Mr. Darby,” Cole addressed. He turned a chair backwards, straddling it as he rested his arms across the back, giving the man his undivided attentio n. “You already know why you’ve been brought down here.” “Yes,” he clipped. “I was informed my daughter was found murdered.” “You don’t look as though you’ve been grieving too much as of late.” “I shed all my tears in California.” Nicholas steeled his jaw. “Get to the p oint, Detective. Why did you bring me all the way down here?” “Christ,” Cole blasphemed beneath his breath, shaking his head. He got up from his chair and began pacing the room. “You’re a real piece of work, M r. Darby. Your daughter is murdered and all you can worry about is the inc onvenience it’s causing you.” “Look,” Nicholas growled, “I loved my daughter, but she made her choice w hen she again ran away from home six months ago. I can’t help it if she ch ose the unsafe life of the streets to my home or my wife’s. Besides, if yo u want to blame anyone, you should be looking at my ex. Marge is responsib le.” “For what?” Cole chuckled cruelly. “For loving your daughter?” Nicholas laughed. “You have to be kidding. She’s the one who forced my daug hter to run away the second time. If it wasn’t for her selfishness, our dau ghter would still be alive. Instead, I’m called away from a very important business deal to come here and ID my daughter’s dead body. Is that what I’m here for?” “Your ex-wife already identified Shana’s body. I called you in here to tell y ou about the steps we plan on taking to catch the person who did this.” “And these are?” “I’m going to publicize the funeral-” “Like hell you are!” Nicholas jumped to his feet and threw the pencil he had been playing with on the table, sending it bouncing to the floor. “I’ve alr eady been through enough. I’ll be damned before I’ll let you walk all over m y Shana’s grave.” “Calm down, Mr. Darby.” Cole used his hand to indicate for the man to retak e his seat. This man was a real gem. “Allow me to explain.” Nicholas’s face turned red as a beet, but he wisely clenched his jaw and ret ook his seat. “There isn’t anything you can say that will change my mind,” h e grumbled. Cole sighed. Patience, he warned himself. “Mr. Darby, I’ve already explaine d this to your wife. She’s on her way down here.” “Then I’m out of here. I have no use for that woman. She couldn’t give a g ood blow-” “Mr. Darby!” Cole slammed his hand on the table, cutting off his words. “Let me tell you something,” he bit between clenched teeth, “I don’t give a rat’

s ass what you think of your ex-wife. I am here to do my job and I’ll be dam ned before I allow you to get in my way. I’m going to catch this son of a bi tch before he decides to kill another girl. You, sir, are going to shut your mouth and listen.” The chief opened the door, poking his head in. “Cole, I want to speak with y ou a minute.” Cole walked out of the interrogation room and slammed the door behind him. T hey both stared at Nicholas Darby through the one-way glass. Nicholas walked up to the mirror and positioned a stray hair that had fallen out of place, then returned to his seat at the table. “I know the man is infuriating, but you can’t treat him like a criminal. He’ll slap us with a lawsuit faster-” “All right.” Cole raised his hands in front of him. “I’ll be nice ,” he spit the last word with contempt. “Mrs. Darby is in my office. Are you ready for her?” “Give me a few minutes, then send her in.” Cole walked back into the room and straddled the chair again. “I’m sorry ab out the interruption, Mr. Darby. Now, as I was saying, we have devised a pl an to catch the perp.” His voice was forcibly calm. When Nicholas meant to give his objection again, Cole raised a hand to sta y his words. “The perp felt remorse for what he did. We know this because he covered Shana’s body before leaving it.” Cole paused as Mrs. Darby entered the room and took a seat, doing her best not to look at her ex-husband. “Since we know he already feels bad, we have strong suspicions he’ll visit her grave. We know this based on strong scientific fact and FBI profiles do ne in the past. If we use the media, there is a good chance this man will a t sometime visit Shana’s grave. Do you understand?” Talking to Nicholas Darby was like patronizing a ten year-old child, Cole th ought. “Do what you want,” Nicholas growled as he looked at Marge. “She obviousl y okayed this. Just count me out.” As he got up to leave, Marge laid a hand on his forearm. “You can’t mean to say you won’t go to the funeral?” He jerked his arm from her touch as though it was a scorpion with a raised ta il. “Oh, I’ll be at the funeral. But don’t expect me to volunteer myself to a ny reporter. I don’t want my life plastered all over the front pages of some damn paper.” With that as his final word, he walked out of the room, and slammed the do or. Cole glanced at Marge, whose tears slipped down her cheeks. She placed her face in her palms and sobbed. “Has he always been like that?” Cole asked moments later. “What the hell ca

used him to be so hateful?” “It’s me. He hates me,” Marge said through her broken tears. Cole handed he r a tissue. “When I found out he was cheating on me, I did some pretty awfu l things that cost him a high paying job.” She glanced away, shamed. “He ha d to settle for a less prestigious job, lost his home, and now his daughter . He’ll blame me until the day he dies.” “And you’ll blame yourself.” “Yes,” she choked on a hiccup. Cole wanted to walk around the table and embrace the woman. Instead, he he ld his ground. “I’d tell you things would work out, Marge,” he said as he smoothed a hand down his jaw, “but I’d be lying,” knowing how close to the truth he actually was.

Chapter 7 Another long day and the week had just begun, it being only Monday. Cole th ought five o’clock would never arrive, wanting nothing more than to head fo r home and fall into a deep coma-like sleep. But first, he had to talk with the chief. The funeral on Saturday had produced little to nothing and his leads in the case were not going in an agreeable direction. Though his first impression o f Nicholas Darby was not a favorable one, Cole didn’t think he deserved to b e the lead-hell, the only suspect in his own daughter’s murder. Everything they had was circumstantial, however little the evidence, and noth ing seemed to add up. But they had to follow all possibilities. Cole raked a tired hand through his hair and entered the chief’s office. “What do you have, Cole?” John asked as he offered him a seat. “Very little.” Taking a chair, Cole reclined back, leaned on his elbow, and placed his thumb beneath his chin. “The autopsy shows both girls died from t he same type of affliction. Cause of death being the extreme loss of blood c aused by the deep neck wound. Both had bite marks surrounding the laceration . No sign of struggle to either, no traces of flesh beneath the fingernails. Neither victim was raped. No traces of semen. The only thing we do have is a long black hair without the presence of a root.” John narrowed his eyes. “Where did we get the hair?” “The Coroner got it off the body of the first victim we found. But there was none to match on either her clothing or the blanket—or the second dead body , for that matter.”

“So we could possibly be looking for a man who has a desire for blood and h as long black hair.” “The first is a definite. The second is not more than a possibility.” John appeared to ponder the findings. Of course, they had nothing; nothing with which to convict a man. They needed a suspect and they needed one fast , or chance losing another innocent girl, no matter what she did for a livi ng. “Anything else?” “Not much,” Cole stalled. The last thing he wanted to do was put suspicion o n someone who might very well be guilty of being an asshole, but not somethi ng of this magnitude. He released a sigh. “Shana’s father left town convenie ntly after the time of his daughter’s death. I say that tells us nothing. Bu t coupled with the fact that as of yet he has shown no remorse...well, let’s just say we should keep a close eye on him.” “How did he react at the funeral Saturday?” “Not a tear.” Cole shook his head. “The son of a bitch certainly wouldn’t ge t any Father of the Year awards. He stayed long enough to hear the eulogy, t hen split. His girlfriend waited in the car like it was some damn inconvenie nce.” “Any known connection to the other victim?” “Won’t know that until we have a positive ID. AFIS still hasn’t come up wi th anything. We have a dead prostitute and no one seems to know who the he ll she was. You would think someone would be missing this girl-other prost itutes, pimps, somebody. Our questioning of them so far has turned up noth ing in either case.” John glanced out the window, then back to Cole. “So all you got at the fune ral was a deadbeat dad? Anything else?” He asked, his tone hopeful. Cole kn ew John wanted to catch this perp as bad as he did. Hell, they were likely to find another body and still have no more to go on than they had now. “The funeral was my strongest hope, but we pulled up nothing. No one who w asn’t suppose to be there. We ran all the plates—nothing. But I haven’t gi ven up on that end yet. I got John Casey on night surveillance and Jesse G onzalez on days. They’re each taking twelve-hour shifts here. Each dick al so has a uniform with him. If this guy shows up—we’ll nail him.” John’s expression hardened. “How long do you expect to keep them out there , Cole? I can’t afford to keep my men off the streets. You have two weeks tops, then I want you to pull them and find another angle.” “Two weeks?” His voice rose, giving way to his sudden anger. “Come on, J ohn. You can’t shut down my only avenue.” “Two weeks, Cole,” he restated, his tone challenging Cole to dispute him. T here would be no changing the chief’s mind. “Follow up on this lead with th e father. See where it takes you.”

“And the long black hair?” Cole asked, though he knew the possibility of it not belonging to the murderer. It could have belonged to anyone. “Don’t close any doors. You find a man with long black hair-check up on him, see if he fits.” Cole chuckled, though he felt none of the humor. “In the surrounding Clevel and area alone, that could be thousands.” “But they don’t all have a passion to drink blood.” “And the father does?” “Who knows what anyone’s capable of behind closed doors. Just follow every possible lead. If Nicholas Darby has any strange sexual fantasies, I want t o know it.” Cole rose from his chair and headed for the door. “We all have our secrets. They’re just not front page news.” Detective Lead Suspect in Murder . The headline stared at Laurie from her des ktop. She sat at home in her den, shuffling through several articles from the paper, all dated around the time of the first story she had dug up. The librarian had scanned the old papers, finding several stories linked to the first. Some had pictures of a younger, much harder, Cole Kincaid. It w as obvious he didn’t like having his picture taken. One story spoke of an i ncident involving a photographer, suing Cole for assault and battery. Appar ently, Cole did not like the camera in his face and proved so by breaking t he poor man’s nose. Laurie chuckled, touching the tip of her own nose. This man had one heck of a temper, which she had already seen firsthand. Who was Cole Kincaid? The stories depicted him as a man who had murdered his wife out of jealousy. The poor woman had been beaten to death by some one’s bare hands, and Cole sported incriminating injuries on his own hand s, making him a viable suspect. One article balked at Cole’s claim he had been in a barroom brawl the night he found his wife murdered, the reason he had not been at home at the time. But no man had come forth to prove Cole’s alibi. One story in particular caught her attention: A Best Friend’s Betrayal . La urie scanned the story, worrying her lower lip between her teeth. This stor y claimed the man to Cole’s left in the picture on the paper had been sleep ing with Cole’s wife. Charley Nash, fellow officer, good friend. And if the re be any truth to the story, Jeanne Kincaid’s autopsy showed she had been two months pregnant. The story speculated as to the father of the baby, but neither Cole nor Charley would comment on the subject. Laurie’s heart ached as she held back the tears forming in her eyes. Dear G od, what this poor man had gone through. His face was plastered all over th e papers and his private life had become public knowledge. In the end, he h ad been acquitted of the crime, though most still deemed him guilty, even a

fter they found the real murderer, a man Cole had put away years ago who ha d gotten out on probation the day before the murder. This man now served a life sentence without the possibility of parole. But what good did the sentence do Cole Kincaid? His wife was dead, an unbo rn infant gone. Taken from him. Never again would he be able to hold her, love her, or see his child grow up. From the pictures in the paper, Laurie could tell Mrs. Kincaid had been a b eautiful woman. Twenty-seven years old, blonde, with a stunning face and a promising career. She had just passed the bar exam. Laurie’s heart lay heavy in her chest like a sopping wet towel, leaving her with the sudden need to see Cole, to comfort him, to tell him she had seen t he articles, but didn’t believe the accusations. She did not believe Cole ki lled his wife any more than she believed Nicholas Darby had murdered his dau ghter. She could see the suspicion in Cole’s eyes at the funeral as he glare d at Mr. Darby. She grasped her purse and headed for the door, hoping if she hurried, she m ight catch him at the station. Memories of the Agora flooded her senses. Ju st the thought of being in his company again quickened her pulse and hamper ed her breathing. Her palms were actually sweating. She acted no better tha n a schoolgirl with a secret crush. And of course, she would need an excuse as to why she sought his company, but there would be plenty of time on the way to City Hall to come up with one. Her redAcura made its way down Lorain Road, the air-conditioning making the inside of the car much more bearable than the air outside. She tucked her ha ir behind her right ear and checked the rear-view mirror for remaining trace s of lipstick. Satisfied, she looked back to the road, just in time to see C ole heading from the parking lot of the station in a black Ford Ranger. With no more than a glance in her car’s direction, he pulled into the lane i n front of her and sped off. Laurie had to press on the accelerator to keep up with him. Surely cops were bound by the same rules as she, though by the gage on her speedometer, Cole Kincaid obviously did not think so. His black Ranger traveled north on West 210 Street, following it to Fairvi ew Park’s boundary, then took a left on Center Ridge Road where he turned into the Westgate House Apartments. The black truck jumped to a halt. Cole exited, slammed the door, and walked to the front of the building, never once detecting he had been followed. S ome detective work , Laurie thought with a chuckle as she pulled her Acura up along side his truck. She walked to the door she had seen Cole enter, paused, nearly having secon d thoughts, then tapped the brass knocker against the strike plate. Laurie

made work of studying the cuticles on her hand as she nervously waited for the door to be answered. With a slight grumble from the other side, the door opened to reveal a shirt less Cole Kincaid. Laurie gasped, unable to help herself. She didn’t know wh at she expected, but certainly not a half-dressed man. He wore a pair of black jeans, left unbuttoned at the waist, riding low on his hips, giving a good view to his six-pack of abs and well-muscled chest. Modesty was definitely not one of his strong points. Laurie blushed as she realized she had been gawking and brought her gaze to Cole’s, who appeared unmoved by her once-over. “Is there something you wanted?” He asked in a deep voice, further unnervin g her. Yes, plenty , she thought but wisely kept it to herself. She cleared her thr oat and searched desperately for the viable excuse she had come up with, but of course she could not remember it now. “To, uh...discuss the case?” “Taken to following your sources home now, have you?” he asked as he tur ned and walked away from the open door. That’s it? she wondered. No, come in, no request to follow . He had simply walked away, leaving the door open-the only invitation she would likely g et, she surmised. Undaunted, she followed him into the apartment and shut the door behind her. She walked through the small foyer and into a kitchen where Cole stood at the center island, preparing a turkey sandwich on rye. He hadn’t bothered to cover himself. He was obviously secure with his appearance even though Laurie wasn’t. Her libido zipped into overdrive. Finally, looking up from his work as he took a large butcher knife and cut the sandwich in two, he offered, “Would you like some?” “Some?” Laurie asked, looking from the sandwich to his cool gaze. No, she w anted it all. A sly grin appeared. He held up half of his sandwich. “Turkey?” “Oh, no, thank you,” Laurie laughed nervously. She had definitely gone beyon d pathetic. “I ate a salad earlier.” Cole took a large bite out of the sandwich, then had a seat on the counter b ehind him. He chewed for a short time, never once taking his gaze from her. Laurie shifted from foot to foot, her insides nothing more than a pile of mu sh. She had crossed the line this time and Cole Kincaid knew it as he watche d her silently. Her best bet would be to politely excuse herself and make an appointment to see him the next day at the station. As though he could read her thoughts, he jumped from the counter, causing h er heart to nearly leap from her chest as he walked around the island. He o pened the refrigerator door and withdrew a bottle of Miller Lite. “Beer?”

She took the offered bottle from his hand, thanking him, twisted the top and took a small pull from the bottle. His actions mimicked hers, though he kep t his gaze on her. Palming his bottle, he held it close to his chest. “Now, do you want to tel l me why you really followed me home?” “Who says I followed you?” Laurie challenged. “You drive a red Acura, Integra GS. I spotted you the minute I pulled out of City Hall. You’re hard to miss.” “Guilty.” She grinned, looking to the floor, pushing her hair behind one ear. All excuses fled her mind, leaving it as barren as the deserts. She opted for the truth, part of it anyway. Shrugging, she said, “I guess I just wanted to see you.” “So, now you see me,” he said, undaunted by her confession. He took another swig from his bottle. Her anger rose at his flippant attitude as though she meant no more to him t han some distant relative who never took the time to stop by. She narrowed h er eyes at him and said, “I guess I do. I was a fool, thinking the truth mig ht mean something to you.” Laurie slammed her bottle on the surface of the counter, causing foam to rise above the lip, then turned to leave. Cole watched Laurie grab her purse and stalk out of the kitchen. He knew he h ad angered her, and though it should not bother him, it did. Hell, he didn’t want her interfering in his life at this point, but then he did not want her walking out of it either. She’s a reporter , he reminded himself as he took t wo strides and grasped her arm, stopping her before she could get to the fron t door. Laurie whirled on her heel and looked into his eyes. Her gaze held question s-ones he had no intention of answering. “You’re a piece of work, Kincaid.” He grinned. “That’s not the first time I’ve been told that.” The scent of he r perfume filled the small space between them, stirring parts of his anatomy he would rather lay dormant. “Christ.” He released her arm and walked back to the kitchen. He grabbed his beer and took a long drink. “I should be going,” she mumbled. He knew she didn’t want to go any more than he wanted her to. Damn, he should throw caution to the wind and take her right here. What did he care if she had second thoughts come morning ? He sure in the hell would not. “Yeah,” he chuckled, sounding cruel even to himself. “Maybe you should.” “Do you really hate me so much?” He heard the tears in her voice, knew wit hout looking her eyes glistened with them.

“Stick around much longer and you might just find out the answer to that que stion.” “Do I want to know?” “I don’t know, Laurie,” his voice came across husky as his jeans became in creasingly uncomfortable. Much more and it would be evident to her as well . Damn himself for not taking advantage of all the women in his past who h ad freely offered. He had waited too long. “Do you?” She walked up behind him, stood precariously close. He felt her heat against his bare skin, felt her breath against his back. The desire to have her raged within him. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he steeled his senses, n ot wanting to turn around, to allow her to see the raw hunger in the depths o f his eyes. Her small hand touched his shoulder blade, causing him to flinch as though someone had branded him with a red-hot iron. He tilted back his head, looki ng at the ceiling. No longer could he take the torment—no longer did he wan t to. He turned on her so quickly, she squealed as she jumped back. Cole gave her no room to run, no space to breathe as he advanced on her until the wall b ehind her kept her from fleeing. Her gaze darted back and forth, as she seemingly lost her voice. Her breath c ame in short pants; her thundering pulse evident at the base of her throat. Bracing one hand on the side of her head, he reached out with the other to t race the column of her neck with his finger, wanting to follow the same path with his tongue. God, he wanted her. She closed her eyes and tilted her head in silent surrender. Cole brought his mouth within millimeters of her neck, his lips grazing the surface. He heard h er intake of breath, felt her pulse hasten. “Still want to know?” he breathed. “Want to know what?” she whispered, barely audible. His tongue darted out, testing her skin’s silken surface, tasting of the light salt gathering there. “Whether I hate you or not.” “Do you?” she asked, sounding as though she had run a mile. His mouth foun d her ear. He whispered, “I wish I could.” Laurie could hardly find the strength to stand as Cole traced the line of he r jaw with his tongue. Her mind raced as she tried to come up with reasons w hy she should not be doing this-why she should not follow him to the bed. Bu t nothing was stronger than the desire to have this man, to take him deep in side her. His hot lips captured her mouth, stealing any objection she might come up wit h, leaving her without a breath. Her hands traveled up his chest, resting abo

ve his heart, feeling its heavy beat. The contact of his bare skin only fuele d her aspiration, rendering her thoughtless. Cole’s tongue traced the pliable line of her mouth, gaining an easy entrance as it prodded and coaxed her into a response. His hands grasped the sides o f her face, holding her close, withdrawing only long enough to leave her gas ping for more. Cole leaned into her, his body resting flush against hers as he pinned her to the wall. His erection lay against her abdomen, telling her of his own hunge r. The thought of him desiring her fueled her actions as her hand traveled to his hair. “God,” she breathed, barely above a whisper. One of his hands grasped the hair at her nape as the other made its way down her side, grazing the side of her breast, before coming to rest on the small of her spine, holding her against him. “Cole,” she whispered, needing to tell him she understood his past-wanting h im to believe she trusted in his innocence. She wanted no mistrusts between t hem. She had to confess her digging into his past. After all, hadn’t that bee n her reasoning in coming here in the first place? If he should find out late r... “Now is the not the time, Laurie.” His lips returned to her neck. “No, I must tell you,” she breathed. “Oh, God, I must make you understand. ” “I understand that we want each other, and right now that’s all I need to kn ow.” His lips traveled down her neck to the swell of cleavage above the low neckline of her blouse. Her hands tightened in his hair as he drew her more flush against him. “No,” she whispered. “The papers.” “I don’t want to discuss the case, Laurie.” He chuckled; his warm breath floa ted over her skin like a feather in the hot August heat. “Not this case,” she continued. “The past case on you.” His lips ceased as she felt his body stiffen against her, no longer plying her with hot kisses-in fact, he was not moving at all. “What case?” His voice rang sharp, but controlled, like the finely honed edg e on a sword centuries old. “I dug up some old clippings.” She treaded cautiously, testing the waters be fore jumping in full body. Cole stepped back, his eyes black and fathomless as he stared down at her. Though mere inches separated their bodies, it could have been the Grand Can yon for all the warmth she felt now. “What are you talking about?” Cole’s mouth curled like a dog backed into a corner. A shiver ran down her spine, turning what was once hot to cold. “I found some clippings of you when you were in Cleveland.” The grip he had

on her hair at the base of her neck tightened. She pleaded, “Please, Cole. Let go of me. I’m sorry.” “You had no right.” He tilted back her head and glared into her eyes so she could not mistake the malicious turn his mood had taken. “I want you to get the hell out of my apartment and the hell out of my life.” “You can’t mean-” He released her so suddenly, Laurie nearly collapsed to the floor as she wa tched him walk away from her, face tilted downward. He chuckled menacingly, shaking his head. “I should have known better. You ’re a reporter first. A human second.” “Cole-” He whirled around, fixing her to the wall with his glare as soundly as he he ld her there by his hands moments ago. “Get out!” “You have to understand, I only meant-” “You meant to dig up my past. Am I right, Miss Michaels? ” When she did no t answer, he repeated, “Am I right?” so loudly, she nearly jumped out of h er skin. Tears fell down her cheeks. “My past is my business…” His words trailed off as his gaze became distant . Her ire rose. For heaven’s sake, his past had been front-page news. How cou ld he fault her for learning what all of Cleveland already knew? She pushed herself off the wall and approached him, her anger evident in he r strides. “ Mr. Kincaid , your life was common knowledge. Your face was pl astered all over the front pages.” “ Was is the operative word here, Laurie. I left my past in Cleveland and I don’t need some nosy reporter bringing up what I’d rather forget. If you can ’t take me for face value then you’re not someone I want to know.” She realized her mistake. She should have waited for Cole to tell her the stor y of his life. Her reporter’s curiosity had gotten her in trouble. It was too late now-the damage already done. “I just wanted you to know that it didn’t matter,” she offered in defeat. His voice rose in feigned shock. “Oh really? How kind of you-to forgive an innocent man. You’re as judgmental as the rest-too quick to believe what yo u read.” “Cole, just listen-” “No,” he hissed, “ you listen. I asked you to get the hell out of my apartmen t. And to think-I almost slept with you.” His snide comment hit her in the chest like a lead weight. He did not want t o know her; no, he only wanted to sleep with her. Stiffening her spine, she glared at him. “Stick it in your ass, Kincaid.” She whirled on her heel and stormed out the front door of the apartment, paying

little attention to the man with long black hair passing her on the sidewalk.

Chapter 8 The alarm clock buzzed, breaking the silence, sending Cole bolt upright. S weat dripped from his brow; his breath came in shallow pants as his gaze d id a quick sweep of the room. He slammed an opened palm atop the alarm’s b utton, cutting short the annoying sound. He lay down, placing the pillow o ver his head as the remnant of the dream replayed in his mind. Red spattered the walls, carpet, and furniture. A bloodied mass of the rema ins of Jeanne Kincaid, her face battered, lay in the center of the room, un moving while a haunted voice taunted him, accused him. His body shook; chil ls shot through him feeling like icicles dropping from the eaves into the s now. He wanted to move, wanted the dream to end, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not take his eyes from the corpse-not until morning cut thr ough his conscience in the way of his alarm clock. Cole threw the pillow and sat to the side of the bed, running his hands dow n his tired face. Damn, he needed a cool shower. He stepped from his boxers and headed for the bathroom. Bracing his hands on the white ceramic sink, he glared into the mirror, not liking the reflection. Hell, he hadn’t liked what he saw for some time. A weekend’s growth of whiskers shadowed his rig id jaw, while dark circles lined his eyes. For years the dream had invaded his nights; for years he had not been able t o forgive himself; for years he had not been able to forget the empty stare of his wife’s face. Had he been there and not been nursing his sorrows in hi s beer in some god-forsaken hole.... No matter. His course in life had been altered and he could not go back. L ife for him would be forever tortured and his punishment would be the forf eiture of his own life. Never again would he drag someone into the bowels of his own private hell. Laurie had almost made him forget his whole reaso n for avoiding companionship, but his self-imposed celibacy was almost mor e than he could endure. Had it only been fourteen days since he nearly gav e way to his desire, dragging Laurie Michaels into his world? She had done nothing wrong to deserve him; no one had. Grasping his razor and shaving cream, Cole worked at making himself presen table. Now that two weeks had passed, John would likely pull his surveilla nce from the gravesite. With no other leads he could not afford for this o ne to be cut short. Cole knew he was right. His unknown subject would visi

t this girl’s grave, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but without a do ubt, he would. And soon. Exhaling, he dragged the razor down his cheek. Laurie knew what she was about to do was wrong-so very wrong...yet somehow she could not help herself. Everything Cole had accused her of had been rig ht on the nose. She was a reporter first and her curiosity had gotten her i nto more trouble than she cared to admit. Pulling her red Acura along the curb, Laurie stared up at the white house that sported a green-and-white striped awning. The occupant expected her. Except for Cole Kincaid’s, she never went anywhere without an invitation. For some unknown reason, she could not help herself, could not keep her no se out of his business. She wanted to know him inside and out. Even after her last encounter, knowing he wanted nothing more than what we nt on between the sheets, Cole continued to haunt her thoughts. Disgusted, Laurie opened the car door and headed up the narrow walkway lined with re d impatiens. Once at the door, she grasped the brass knocker and rapped it twice against the plate. A petite woman wearing a dropped-waist, floral tank dress answered the doo r. Her cropped brown hair was cut short around the ears, accenting her ova l face and warm, dark eyes. “Mrs. Nash?” Laurie asked. “I’m Laurie Michaels. I phoned earlier.” “Yes, Charley’s in the kitchen. He’s expecting you.” Mrs. Nash opened the d oor wider for her entrance. Laurie stepped over the threshold. “I hope I’m not inconveniencing you.” “Not at all.” A few minutes later, introductions past, Laurie sat across the table from Cha rley, sipping a cup of black coffee. Mrs. Nash had excused herself to tend to the crying infant upstairs, leaving the two to their discussion. “I’m glad you’ve agreed to see me.” “Any friend of Cole’s is a friend of mine,” Charley said, then took a sip fro m his cup. His eyes lacked the happiness of a contented life. “Well, I sort of lied. I’m not exactly a friend of Cole’s.” His gaze darted to hers, studying her as a certain amount of distrust flashed across his face, then returned to its placid state. “Can anyone claim that?” “To be Cole’s friend, you mean?” “Yeah,” Charley chuckled, though his eyes held no humor. “Cole Kincaid does n’t need any friends, but that doesn’t mean I still don’t care about the jer k.” His gaze returned to hers, holding it. “What do you really want?” “I’m a reporter for-” His expression turned to granite. “You can stop right there then. I’m not up t o discussing my life or his.”

“I’m not here on official business. This is strictly off the record.” Laurie t ook another sip from her cup. “I’m here as a friend-a person concerned for Col e’s welfare.” Lines of worry creased his forehead. “What’s happened to him?” “Nothing. It’s just that he’s so distant. I can’t seem to reach him. I just t hought maybe you could help me to understand.” “Cole can’t be reached. Believe me, I’ve tried. He hasn’t talked to me in year s and he ain’t about to start now. Besides, I can’t blame him after all that w ent down. I was a real putz. I’ll be the first to admit it-been paying for it ever since. I left the force right after Jeanne died. I work for the city in a different way now, a linesman. I don’t want to be involved anymore. Life’s to ugh enough without adding all the heartache police work brings. It’s hard to b elieve Cole stayed at it.” “From what I hear, he’s good at what he does.” “The best. Couldn’t figure out, though, why he left the city and went to Fair view Park. It’s a waste of his talents. But I hear they got a case going ther e now that will challenge him.” Laurie narrowed her eyes. “What do you know about the case he’s working on ?” Surely, this man could not be a possible suspect. “Just what I read in the papers. Two women have been found dead; no suspects. If the perp is still in the area then Cole will find him.” “What happened between you and Cole?” She asked, studying Charley’s rea ction. Laurie wanted to break down his walls. Maybe knowing Charley Nas h would help her understand Cole Kincaid. Charley’s gaze left hers; he looked to the surface of the table. His shoulde rs slumped as he toyed with a spoon beside his cup. “That’s something you be tter ask Cole.” The opening there, Laurie could not help but bring up the obvious. “I know y ou were sleeping with his wife, if that’s what you’re talking about.” Charley’s gaze flew back to hers. “He told you this?” “No.” He chuckled. “I didn’t think so. Don’t believe everything you read, Miss Mi chaels.” “So you weren’t?” “No. I was. Don’t think I haven’t hated myself every day for it, but she was a beautiful woman and like I said, I was a putz.” Laurie glanced down at her hands. Cole’s wife had been gorgeous all right; she really could not hope to compete. “I’ve seen some pictures.” “They don’t do her justice. Jeanne Kincaid was gorgeous. I used to tease Co le about how an ugly guy like him could get a goddess like Jeanne.” His gaz e became distant, drifting back over her shoulder as though he could see he r standing there. “Her hair was like silk; her skin always a golden tan and

as smooth as satin.” “But she was Cole’s wife.” His gaze snapped back. “You think I don’t know that? For the first time in m y life I was jealous of something Cole had. We were partners on the force, b ut more than that, we were best friends. I never came on to Jeanne-it wasn’t like that. I would never have stabbed Cole in the back.” “But you did. Why?” “It just happened. She and Cole were having problems. He had become distantwasn’t talking to her. So she came to me for help. I tried to keep my distan ce, tried to tell myself it wasn’t right. But, damn, when she started laying those lips on mine, those hands on my...,” he cleared his throat, “...in my lap. I would have been a fool to turn her down. I know that doesn’t excuse my behavior.” Laurie knew this was none of her business, knew she should not ask. “Was t he baby yours?” Charley took in a deep breath as to cleanse his conscience, but by the disco ntented look on his face, Laurie had a feeling it had not worked. “The baby was mine.” “How can you be so sure?” “Jeanne told me when she first came to me, Cole had taken to sleeping on t he couch. She was afraid she was no longer desirable. Like that could have ever happened.” “How can you be so sure she was telling the truth?” “The look on Cole’s face when the autopsy was read said it all. Two months p regnant at the time of death. Cole had no idea...Hell, neither did I. But he damned near strangled me to death. I can still hear his words plain as the day is clear. He said, ‘You son of a bitch. Not only couldn’t you keep your hands off my wife, but you gave her the child I couldn’t.’” The breath left Laurie’s chest as a lump lodged in her throat. Tears formed in her eyes, but did not fall. “Yeah-lucky me, huh? Get caught with my pants down only to find out Cole Kincaid was impotent.” ‘Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no e vil...’ And who should decide what is evil? God...Satan? The definition of evil i s morally reprehensible: sinful, wicked. Arising from actual or imputed b ad character or conduct. And who shall set the guidelines? What may be th ought of as sinful or wicked to one, may be deemed nothing more than amus ement to another. What may be reprehensible, may become a passion. The persona, whose soul is tortured, forgotten, forsaken, now laughs in the face of what is deemed good and evil. The line drawn between is so thin, eac

h and every person claiming to belong to the Lord above, teeters now and the n on the tight rope of destruction. Yet, when one crosses the line and falls into the despair will be left to its own. Who now can defend what is good? God forsook the soul long ago when He left a small boy to deal with a moth er who used the lit end of a cigarette to teach a lesson for wetting the b ed. Or a tight fist or wooden board, causing black and blue welts and unte nded broken bones, for daring to see what was up Molly Rosewood’s skirt. A black box with no light in the form of a locked closet becoming a homemor e times than anyone would dare to remember. Life now has set its path, and the wicked shall follow its course. The pen twirls between fingers, as dark eyes hold fast upontheMont Blanc . L ight from the many candles bounce off its surface like tiny stars in the cle ar black night. Would that the vision of beauty cross the line to toil with the devil-maybe, just maybe, the weight of total despair then would lessen. But what is light will never become dark, and the passion for spilled blood will never diminish. After all-has day ever become night? The Mont Blanc falls from agile fingers to the box now becoming its home, l anding next to a shiny gold ring and a driver’s license sporting the pictur e of one who was no more. Oh, remorse is a part of its makeup. These girls did not deserve their fate. But, nonetheless, they sacrificed themselves to a passion so strong, even G od would find trouble faulting the soul. And soon the soul will pay his homa ge. But for now, the time is drawing near and night will soon be upon him. Hands shake in anticipation. The chest aches for what the soul is about to d o. But how can it be stopped, when the thirst is all consuming? The need is too immense. Had it the chance to end the madness, the soul doubts it could. In search of clothes to hide and contain the hard pain of its desire, the dark figure leaves behind the small red room. “You can’tpull the surveillance.” The tone in Cole’s voice almost made him sound desperate. Hell, he was desperate. “I’m sorry, Cole. It’s already been done. I called in Jesse Gonzalez first t hing this morning,” John McCray’s tone was full of asperity, yet also concer ned. “Look, I want this asshole as bad as you. But I just can’t take the cha nce you might be wrong.” “I’m not wrong.” Cole sat heavily onto the chair. “That may very well be, but I’ve already wasted two weeks of the tax payers ’ money on the possibility you might be right. I can’t waste any more, Cole . Let it go.” He paused, looking Cole in the eye. Cole knew John was right,

but he hated to admit it. What if he was wrong and the killer never visite d the grave? “Find another angle, work on it.” “There aren’t any other angles.” Cole nearly laughed at the absurdity. “We have two dead prostitutes, one we can’t seem to identify-not enough to go o n to match dental records, no one’s missing her...nothing...and the other i s simply a runaway with a father who doesn’t give two shits. We have no mur der weapon, no latent. The fibers found at the scene or on the bodies haven ’t given us anything. In short, we have squat.” “You have a black hair.” The chief reminded him as if he had forgotten-as if he could. “Which doesn’t tell us anything. We have a sick son of a bitch who may or ma y not still be in the area, who is probably right now scouring for his next target.” “The press still hounding you?” “Every chance they get.” “I don’t want them finding anything more out. Keep this case under wraps.” “Hell, they’re liable to grow bored and forget we exist. Unless...” “Unless what?” “We find another body. Then, I highly doubt the word ‘serial’ won’t be men tioned in the paper. Same MO, same signature-they’ll likely draw their own conclusions, John. We won’t have to tell them a thing.” “So far the press doesn’t know squat about these bodies. They can’t come t o any conclusions based on what we’ve already told them. But find another body in the woods near Bain Park and they’ll be screaming for answers.” Cole shook his head and slumped further into his seat. John was right. If th ey found another body in the woods, the public would be tearing down the sta tion walls to get answers. Hours later , Cole sat at his desk, reviewing the cases of Richard Chase, t he Vampire of Sacramento, and Peter Kurten, the Vampire of Dusseldorf. Othe r than the taste for blood, these two had little in common. And neither see med to parallel his case. Another dead end. Cole thought back to a few of the old cases in Cleveland when the FBI had st epped in and offered assistance in profiling a case, something he knew littl e about. Other than the given of the killer being a white male and the fact that most serial killers are sexual offenders, he had little to go on. Serial killers a lmost always followed the same pattern, killed the same type of people. Unles s, of course, they were like Richard Ramirez, who had no pattern, who killed randomly. A product of Satan. The thought alone sent chills racing down Cole’ s spine. He hoped to hell he never ran into that kind of evil face-to-face.

In this case, the perp seemed to prey on prostitutes with shoulder-length br own hair and brown eyes. High-risk victims. Cole sent what information they did have to the Cuyahoga Regional Informati on System, CRIS, which linked information with the county’s other law enfor cement officials and to the National Crime Information Center, NCIC, which put information out to other police departments across the states in the ho pes another district would match the profile on his case. Also VICAP, Viole nt Criminal Apprehension Program, had been contacted by way of filling out a 189 question report trying to link their dead body with a missing person, or to match his case with another serial crime. All of it a long shot. The y had yet to determine these were indeed serial killings. So far, nothing seemed to match the MO or signature of his unknown subject. But the one thing they did have was the perp’s bite, sketched on acetate pap er from photographs taken with a special camera that gave the exact size pic tures of the first found victim’s throat; the other being too far decomposed to get anything from. With the help of a forensic dentist, the wound could be matched to the bite impression of the suspect. If they could find a subject, they could match his bite to that of the wound. If the points on his impression matched that of the sketch on the acetate, t hey would have their man. Almost three weeks had passed since the finding of Shana Darby. Cole was n o closer to finding his perp now than he had been then. And unless another body surfaced-these cases would likely go unsolved. If the unknown subjec t did not continue to work , they would have little chance in catching him . Laurie satin a cool, air-conditioned room at the Mansfield Correctional Ins titute in Mansfield, Ohio, waiting to speak with Robert Freeman. The bars s urrounding the room were cloaked with scarlet, velvet curtains that failed to add any warmth to the room. Chairs were placed next to tables, the only objects separating prisoners from their guests. Here, no one was allowed co ntact; prison guards stood about keeping a close eye on the people. One of the large gray doors clanked opened. As Laurie watched, a tall, musc ular man was escorted into the room by two prison guards. The cuffs were le ft on his wrists. Rubbing the area as though reminding himself of the cuff’ s presence, the dark-haired man approached her table, his cold gray eyes em pty. He eyed her, obviously curious as to whom his visitor was and what she wanted . He sat on the chair, a malice-filled smile curling his lips. “What brings a pretty lady like you to the shadow box?” he asked. “Dare I h ope you’ve got ulterior motives?” He chuckled, the sound echoing eerily. Laurie rubbed a hand up her arm trying to smooth out the gooseflesh that to

ok up residence since the moment she had walked into the place. “I’m a reporter for Westlife .” Laurie flashed him her identification card, th en tossed him a pack of cigarettes across the table. His eyes narrowed, but he placed the offering in his shirt pocket. His wrist c hains rattled. “ Westlife? Ain’t ever heard of it. You come here to do my stor y? Got news for you, lady, ain’t nothin’ to tell. I got hard time for life.” Laurie thought it better to allow him to bring up Cole’s name rather than he r. One mention of his nemesis and he would likely clam up tighter than the H ole, a room of solitary confinement used to isolate prisoners. “What are you in for?” His chuckle resonated through the room again, giving Laurie a feeling of unease. Maybe she should not have come. Maybe she should have kept her no se from Cole’s business. “Lady, you ain’t pullin’ my leg. You knew what I was in for before you eve r walked through that door. The question is what do you have to do with De tective Cole Kincaid?” Having someone like Robert Freeman privy to her thoughts sent a chill down Laurie’s spine. The blood drained from her face. Robert grinned at her obvious distress at Cole’s name. “Ain’t no need to worr y, lady.” He knocked on the table, causing Laurie to jump. A guard took a ste p in their direction, but she raised her hand to stop him. “Hell, ain’t no wa y I can get to you. I ain’t ever going to get out of here-courts seen to it-t hanks to your little boyfriend.” “Mr. Kincaid is not my boyfriend.” “Then what are you here for? Ain’t got no new stories to tell. Hell, lady, Co le Kincaid is past news.” “I’m here to find out your side of the story.” “Ain’t nobody ever took an interest in my story. Why you? Why now, after so many years? Cole Kincaid ain’t openin’ up for you?” He chuckled again. “Why don’t you give him what’s under that skirt? He ain’t likely to turn that down-not when he ain’t got nobody at home anymore.” His unfeeling referral to Jeanne Kincaid further unnerved her. Laurie glan ced down as she toyed with her pen. “Why don’t you tell me what happened. Why did you go after his wife?” “Cole sent me up the river years ago for something I didn’t do.” “You were innocent?” “Well, maybe not innocent, but I didn’t do what he said I did. I got a dime s entence, got out in half the time. I had a score to settle. No one pins a cri me on me I didn’t commit.” “What was the crime?” “Was robbing a bank when everything went down wrong. No one was supposed to get wasted. It was an in and out job. But some rent-a-cop decided to b

e a hero. Aimed the gun right at my head. That’s when he got wasted.” “By you?” “I already told you, lady, I didn’t do it. I heard the pop and when I turned around, the little hero was choking on his blood. ‘Shit,’ was all I said. I grabbed the gun away from the squirrel who did it and he split. Ain’t seen him since and my fingerprints were all over that damn gun. I wasn’t thinking . Took my gloves off to take valuables from the fingers of those lying face down on the floor. Ain’t none of them who could testify to the fact I didn’t pull the trigger. Hell, I had a stocking on my head. Wasn’t about to sing o n the guy who done it. I went down for the murder ‘cause Detective Cole said I was the triggerman. And I ain’t a forgivin’ man.” “Obviously. So you killed his wife for revenge?” “I got lots of reasons to hate Cole Kincaid and I ain’t about to discuss them with you. He better pray I never see the streets again. Your best bet is to stay away from the good Detective-as far as possible-if you value your life a ny.” Fear washed over Laurie like a tidal wave. “Is that a threat, Mr. Freeman?” “I don’t make threats, lady.” His gray eyes matched the walls, cold and devo id of feeling. But Laurie held little doubt that this man meant every word h e said. “You’re in for life-” “Yep,” he said, cutting her off as he stood, motioning for a guard, ending the ir conversation. Slowly, Laurie did the same as he stared at her from the other side of the ta ble. Even after she gave him her back and walked to the door, she could feel his eyes boring into her like a scalpel cuts through flesh. Just as Laurie reached for the knob on the door, it swung open, startling he r. A tall, thin man, with long hair entered the room as Laurie exited. A shi ver snaked its way along her spine. The sooner she put miles between her and Robert Freeman, the better.

Chapter 9 Night haslong since fallen with a complete covering of clouds. Not a star s hone in the heavens, no moon cast its glow. Hiding in the darkened doorway, one with the night, the soul patiently watches the building before him. Ot hers, nocturnal as he, moved about, entering their temporary homes. One would fall prey; one would be no more.

The smell of life’s blood calls to him, beckoning him forward. His dark eye s seek out and find one who he deems worthy. Brown hair cut to the shoulder s and eyes the color of liquid chocolate bids a companion farewell. The center of his existence lengthens and becomes hard as his heart beats hea vily in his chest. He knows she is the one. His hands tighten to fists; the s inewy muscles in his biceps grow taut. A lump rises to his throat, nearly ste aling the oxygen he needs to survive. Inhaling of the night that calls and gives him strength, he draws in a shaky breath and pushes off the cold wall giving him a haven. Eyes of evil look u p and down Lorain Road where no cars cruise the streets; Satan lends his han d. Quickly moving across the road as stealthily as a cat, the darkly dressed sou l slips into the doorway of the Cleveland Motel. Sounds of the night fill the air; moans rise above the silence. His muscles tense in anticipation as he grasps the serrated knife tucked into his belt where it lays against his bare skin. Theicy steel feels good against his flesh-giving him a sense of raw power. When killing with a knife, the soul can feel the victim dying through the cold steel blade as it cuts through the soft flesh and spills life’s fluids. A rush of air then spatters the blood li ke a fountain; a fountain of existence. Life and death lies in his hands. Running the tip against his tongue, he draws a drop of his own blood. The met allic flavor fuels his desire and quickens his steps. He takes the stairs two at a time, for fear of losing sight of all that is im portant. Entering the room at the end of the hall is the woman he spotted out side only moments ago. His steps hasten and he soon finds himself outside the same door he saw his prey enter. Blood pulses through his brain, pounding in his ears like the roar of a whit e-capped river as it flows downstream. Crimson fluid seems to fill his eyes, lending a red haze to the night. He can almost smell the scent of blood bey ond the closed door. Gloves slip over sweating palms before testing the knob. It turns easily. No l ocks will stop him this night; again, proof of evil at work, which lends its a ssistance. Heightened to a sexual peak, the soul slips into the room unseen. A scream is cut short. And a life is no more. “Ahh, Christ! ” Cole blasphemed as he ducked beneath the yellow crime scen e tape that cordoned off the room. A female neighbor had called the station at promptly seven in the morning wh en she noted the slightly ajar door to Mary Stine’s room. Two units were dis

patched to prove the validity of the call and seal off the crime scene if th e nature of the call proved to be true. A call to Cole’s came shortly thereafter. The neighbor sat in the hallway, being calmed by Sam O’Riley since putting him in the crime scene would be like placing a bull in a china shop. The smell of death permeated the air. There was nothing equivalent to it. C ole recognized the stench upon entering the motel’s premises. Blood had splattered several feet away. Soaking the bed covers, the walls, t he ceilings. There could be no possible way the assailant walked out of this room without Mary’s blood soaking the front of him. “How the hell does a guy walk down the street covered in blood and not get noticed?” Cole grumbled. “Excuse me?” Frank Cooper asked as he gingerly stepped up behind the lieut enant. “Nothing,” Cole spat. “I was talking to myself.” He slipped the camera strap off his shoulder and began taking pictures of th e scene. The bulb flashed like a strobe light as Cole captured every possibl e angle of the room and the covered victim. The room sported no free spot that did not have blood covering it. The room was damn near completely flecked red-brown. The chore of taking pictures a lmost finished, Cole slipped on a pair of rubber gloves and lifted the corn er of the blanket covering the victim. Lying face up, eyes empty and sightl ess, the woman sported a gash across her neck, nearly from ear to ear. Teet h marks surrounded the wound. Touching the crimson color centering in the l ower part of her shoulder, the spot blanched white. The fairly warm body sh owed signs of early-nonfixed lividity. Rigor Mortis had yet to set in. This body had been dead mere hours. Cole shivered. Then taking the camera, he took pictures of the victim without the covering of the blanket. Cole doubted he would see anything but blood for days. Pla cing the camera strap over his shoulder, he took his pad and pencil from th e pocket of his pleated trousers and began taking notes of everything he sa w and making a detailed sketch of the scene, having Cooper help with the me asurements. The handiwork of Cole’s perp. There was no mistaking his signature. The only difference, this body had be en left for them to find and not dumped in some wooded area. Given the time , would the assailant have returned later to dump the body? Doubtful. Cole felt the perp wanted them to see his work. “Lieutenant,” Cooper called out. “Look what I found.” In blood, scribed across the white surface of a counter at the back of the roo m, the killer wrote with what they presumed, by the black fibers contaminating

the fluid, a gloved finger, “BS: Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot ent er into the feelings of the hunter. ” A taunt? A challenge left by the killer? If so, the son of a bitch was getti ng bolder. And BS, he wondered at it’s meaning. A name, an abbreviation, a s ignature? Cole took a picture of the scribbled sentence. “Write down this quote. If i t came from someplace, I want to know where.” A large, complete, bloodied footprint imbedded the carpet beside the bed. The first existence of any real evidence . After using a box cutter to cut the car pet surrounding the print, Cole tacked it to a piece of plywood to send off to the lab. Samples of blood were taken and placed in vials. Fibers were put into coin envelopes with care. The body was measured and triangulated. Every smooth s urface had been dusted for prints. In short, Cole wanted to leave no stone unturned. He wanted to nail the killer-and soon. Laurie heard the call over her scanner. No specifics were given, quite vague in fact, but she had a gut feeling something had gone awry. And she was not about to miss the break in her story. Throwing on a pair of jeans and a tank-style sweater, Laurie grasped her tap e recorder, pad and pen, and headed out the door. Cole Kincaid would not escape her this time. If correct, and there was yet another body found at the Cleveland Motel, she meant to get the story. Was this the work of the same man who had dumped the last two bodies? If so, th ey could be dealing with a serial killer in their own backyard. Laurie sped down West 220 Street and took a left at Morton Park, following t he road about a half-mile where it dead-ended on West 227 Street. The motel loomed before her, giving her a cold eerie feeling as her car crept up to th e curb, finding a place to park. An ambulance sat by the entrance, lights flashing in the morning hours. Whit e police cruisers were scattered along the street, doors ajar. What ever wen t down here, it didn’t look good. People milled about the entrance as an off icer stood at the front, barring all intruders. No one would be allowed insi de. Determined to get a closer look, Laurie made her way around the building with out being detected, looking for a second entrance left unguarded. A door stoo d to the rear, not a soul in the vicinity. She ran up to the back, tried the knob, and to her luck, found it unsecured. Steps led up to the second floor on the right as a hall made its way to the left. Standing quietly, listening for where the commotion stemmed from, Laur ie opted to take the stairs. The upper hallway was deserted, but she could t ell by the noise she had come to the right floor. She made her way down the

corridor, trying her best not to make a sound. A putrid odor, something she had never smelled before, filled the air, causing her stomach to roil. She clasped a palm over her mouth and nose, willing the bile to calm. Appr oaching the corner of the hall, the commotion grew in intensity. As she ro unded the corner, she saw the coroner’s assistants leaving one of the room s with a body sealed in a black bag, rushing down the long hall to the fro nt entrance of the building. One large cop, whom she remembered as O’Riley , sat with a crying woman in the hallway as others came and went carrying boxes from the room. The doorway had been sealed off with yellow tape. Just as Laurie found the courage to leave her secluded spot, Cole Kincaid exited the room and walked to the grieving woman. “Miss...” his eyes looked down at his pad and flipped several pages back, “Johnson. Are you up to speaking with me?” “I already spoke with Sam here. I told him everything I know,” she sniffed, wiping a tissue beneath her nose. She blew into the Kleenex, the sound echoi ng off the empty hall walls. “I’m sure you have, Miss Johnson.” Cole kept his tone low, calming, and con cerned. “But I need you to tell me again all you know. I need to make sure the facts are correct.” Laurie knew had she left her spot on the corner, hidden by the wall and a ve ry well placed palm plant, Cole Kincaid would more than likely arrest her fo r being where she should not. She stayed quiet, listening intently. Cole flipped back pages in his pad again, placed the tip of his pencil on his t ongue then took it to the paper. “We could do this at the station if you prefer , but I’ll still need to question you immediately.” She blew her nose once more into the tissue. “It’s all right. I’ll answer your questions here.” “What time did you find the door to Mary Stine’s room left open?” Miss Johnson swiped the tissue beneath her eyes. “I get the mornin’ paper. I opens my door at ‘bout seven this mornin’. That’s when I noticed her door .” “That’s the first you noticed anything unusual. No noises, screaming?” “I’m sorry, officer. I didn’t hear nothin’. I’m a heavy sleeper-gots to be to sl eep in this place.” “Were you friends with the victim?” “Sorta.” “Meaning?” Cole prodded. The lady stiffened her spine and smoothed back her unruly curls from her e yes. “Mary gots clients, if you know what I mean.” Cole nodded his head in acknowledgment, then the lady continued, “I works days and she...well, sh e works the evenin’s. We spoke to each other, but not often.” “Did she have any enemies you were aware of?”

“No, suh, none that I know of. Mary was a kind woman-just down on her luc k.” “Did she have a client last night?” “I don’t know. Keeps my nose to myself.” “So the first you noticed anything amiss was this morning?” “That’s right. When I came out to gets my paper. The door was open-just li ke you found it. I didn’t touch nothin’. I peeked into the opened door and I saw blood all over. I runs back to my room and call 911. That’s when you nice officers come.” “Okay,” Cole said, snapping his pad closed. “You think of anything at all tha t might help us, you’ll call the station?” “Yes, suh,” she grinned, showing a toothless smile. “Anythin’ I can do to hel p the police.” Cole looked to the bulky officer still sitting beside Miss Johnson. “O’Riley , protect the scene. We may want to return. Have the premises pad-locked.” Cole leftthe building and walked around to the back of the motel, looking in to the Dumpster and anything large enough to conceal a knife or bloodied clo thes. Certainly, the son of a bitch would not walk straight down the middle of the street the way he had left the room. As he bent into one of the containers, using a stick to poke through the sm all amount of garbage, the back door to the motel swung open, causing Cole to jump. His hand immediately went to his nine-millimeter, withdrawing it lightning quick, protecting himself from the person exiting the building from behind. Laurie squealed as she came face to face with him and his semi-automatic poi nted directly at her. “Jesus,” Cole blasphemed, resettling his gun in his pancake holster. “What the hell were you doing in there?” he growled. “I...uh...well, I was-” “Where you didn’t belong,” he finished for her. “I ought to have your pretty little derriere hauled in for interfering with a crime scene. Is that what yo u want, Michaels?” “No—no, I was only trying to get a line on the story.” She stiffened, glaring at him as though she had every right to be there without the benefits of an i nvite. “It’s the press’s responsibility to inform the public of what’s going o n, Detective.” Cole wanted nothing more than to throttle her for her insubordination and for scaring the crap out of him. He grasped her upper arm and headed for the fro nt of the building. She struggled and squirmed in his tight grip like a bobca t caught in a snare. Her fingernails dug into the skin on his hand. Hell, Col

e thought, next she’ll be using her teeth. “Stop your damn squirming,” he said as they rounded the corner. “Let go of me,” she ordered, “or I’ll see to it you’re slapped with a lawsuit.” Cole stopped and turned to face her, his grip not wavering. One brow arched in challenge. “You’ll do no such thing.” “I won’t? Just you-” “Shut up or I’ll slap the cuffs on now. You were interfering with a crime s cene and unless you want charges brought up against you and your paper, you refrain from threatening me.” Laurie jerked her arm from his grasp, stuck her fists on her hips and glared at him. “And just where do you think you’re taking me?” “To City Hall.” “On what charge?” “Nothing yet.” A grin curled his upper lip to a sneer. “Unless you want me t o. For now, you’re going willingly.” She crossed her arms beneath her breasts, drawing Cole’s gaze. Damn, but w hy did God have to bless her so thoroughly? Here he stood, just finishing up a gruesome crime scene, wanting nothing more than to scratch the itch t hat had been plaguing him since he’d held her in his arms. “What for? I have a story to write.” “Exactly. I intend to find out what you heard.” “That’s for me to know-” “And me to find out. Now haul your backside over to my car. We’re going downtown.” “Like hell I am.” She stomped her foot on the gravely pavement. Cole took a deep breath. This was certainly not the time-though he doubted he would find a better one. He took a step in Laurie’s direction, closing the g ap. He could feel the heat radiating from her flesh. “We’re going downtown and you’re going to tell me what you intend on writi ng in that little paper of yours.” He paused, his eyes narrowing. “And the n you’re going to tell me what the hell you were doing in Mansfield.”

Chapter 10 Word hadgotten out. The station crawled with newspaper reporters and televis ion crews as the detective’s sedan pulled up to City Hall, driving around to the back parking lot.

“Christ,” Cole muttered to himself. Laurie sat in the car, staring out the window in awe. “Don’t look so surprised,” he said. “They heard the same wa y you did. Someone tipped them off.” The car pulled into the Sally Port and the garage door closed. Laurie looked at Cole. “No one tipped me off.” “Then how the hell did you know? It’s not like we find a dead body every da y.” Cole stepped out of the car, not looking back at Laurie, knowing she had litt le choice but to follow him. He took the steps two at a time to the main floo r and walked into his office. All tagged evidence either made its way to the lab or had been brought here for processing. Cole sat behind his desk and took out some of the necessar y paperwork. Laurie entered his office. Sitting down in the chair across from him, she still said nothing. Did he rea lly have such a frightful affect on her that she would be afraid to speak her opinion? Doubtful , he thought with a chuckle as he leafed through his note pad. “Are you going to tell me why you brought me down here?” “Do you really need to ask?” She shifted in her seat, raising a brow. “You’ve finally decided to give me t he exclusive,” she said, sarcasm lacing her carefully placed words. Cole leaned back in his chair, paperwork momentarily forgotten, and steeple d his fingers, glaring at her from over the top. “Which exclusive are you t alking about, Miss Michaels? Mine, or the case’s?” “I don’t intend to sit here and play games with you, Detective.” “If you’re going to insist on calling me by a title, it’s Lieutenant,” Cole bit, anger rising beneath his surface. “Oh, well...excuse me,” Laurie spat, “ Lieutenant . I didn’t realize you had a problem with your ego.” “My problem is with you and your nosiness. Now, do you intend to tell me why the hell you went all the way to Mansfield to see Robert Freeman?” “How did you find out?” “The same way you found out about the body this morning. Your source was damn quick, I might add.” “I told you, I was not tipped.” Laurie’s jaw clenched as she sat back in he r chair, holding his glare. “But you obviously were. Or have you taken to f ollowing me now?” “Don’t flatter yourself, Michaels. I don’t give a rat’s ass what you do with y ourself.” “Maybe my trip to the prison had nothing to do with you.” Cole laughed. “Give me a break. You expect me to believe after all these ye

ars a reporter has suddenly taken an interest in doing a piece on Robert Fr eeman? Don’t mistake me for a fool, Laurie. Robert Freeman is my past.” “So why would someone tip you? Why would you care who goes to see the man?” “The slug is a sworn enemy of mine. He can’t take a dump without me knowin g it. And you, a journalist, expected to take a trip south to his new home without me knowing? Maybe you’re not as good a reporter as I thought.” “I’m better.” “So far, you haven’t proven it.” “So?” she asked, as though she expected him to know what train of thought s he had taken this time. “So what?” “Are you going to tell me about the body you found today or not?” Cole chuckled. “You got some nerve, Laurie. First you try your damnedest to trudge through my past and now you want me to give you an exclusive?” Laurie sat forward in her chair, glaring at him. “When I did that piece for you on the funeral-you promised me the exclusive.” “So, I did. You’re in my office aren’t you?” “Yes-only to get my rear-end chewed out.” “What did you expect, Laurie?” Cole shifted in his chair, tapping the eraser of his pencil on the arm. “I told you before not to go messing in my past. But you didn’t listen, did you? Hell, you went all the way to Mansfield to p rove that. Did you learn anything from Robert? Did he tell you how he beat m y wife to death with his bare fists?” Laurie took her turn to shift in the chair as she leaned back, her expression softening. For a while, she remained silent, then said, “No. He didn’t say tha t. But I’m a reporter, for heaven’s sake. This is what I do.” “The exact reason I don’t like your kind.” He narrowed his eyes, studying her expression. She had a backbone, he would give her that much. Switching subjects, he began reciting the report mechanically. “The victim was a wh ite female, found dead at seven this morning at the Cleveland Motel at Wes t 227 Street and Lorain.” Laurie quickly wrote down the details as he relayed them. She looked up fr om her pen and paper. “Any ID on the victim?” “The ID of the woman won’t be released until the family has been contacted -you know that.” “Is this the same work as the other two victims?” “No comment.” “Cause of death?” “Not until the autopsy is done.” “In your opinion, did these women die in the same manner?”

“No comment.” “Come on, Cole. You know whether or not these women died in the same ma nner or not.” He leveled his gaze on her and repeated, “No comment,” giving her no room to argue. Undaunted, she continued, “Do you have any suspects at this time?” “Not at this time, but we are working on it. If this perpetrator is still in the area, we’ll catch him.” “So you are saying this same man murdered all three women?” “That is your own conclusion, Laurie, not mine.” “Lieutenant, if we have a serial killer running around, the public has a right to know.” “Again, that is your own conclusion.” John had warned him earlier about allo wing the press to nail the murders as the work of a serial killer. Cole’s jo b was to sway public opinion. After all, with what little clues they had, he had yet to draw that conclusion himself-completely. “Miss Michaels, what we have this morning is a murder. I have not stated that it is in any way conn ected to the bodies found in Bain Park. To print anything else is libel. Dra w whatever conclusions you want from the information I’ve given you, but kee p speculation out of your story. I don’t care what you saw or heard back at the motel. I don’t want to read about it in the paper. Unless I have given i t to you, it’s privileged and off the record.” Laurie sat back and looked at him, placing the pen against her lower lip. Hi s gaze drifted to the pen. Her expression was hard to read as she narrowed h er liquid brown eyes at him. He had no idea the thoughts running through her stubborn little mind. “Agreed,” she finally said, then asked, “Were there any witnesses?” “None that we know of.” “Who called in about the dead body?” “No comment. Laurie, you know that is privileged information, so why ask? ” She chuckled, the sound soft and pleasing to his ears. The corners of her e yes turned up in merriment. “You never know when something might slip and I find a real story to write.” “When this is all over with-I promise, you’ll get the exclusive.” “And what about you? Will I get to know the real Cole Kincaid when this is all over?” Cole sighed, feeling the tautness of every muscle. These murders would take a toll on him before they were all said and done, not to mention his own pas t being brought back to life by this little slip of a woman. Hell, he had a murderer to catch and fast. He could not afford to get sidetracked. But some thing about this woman made him want to give in, let her close enough to kno

w him, inside and out. A part of him wanted to get to know her, and not just intimately. He liked the way she smiled, the innocence her eyes bore, the p roud set of her shoulders. The only thing he didn’t like was her curious nat ure, which would only get her in more trouble. A smile rose on his lips. “You have to get to know me,” one brow rose in cha llenge, “to know the real Cole Kincaid. But for now, I have a case to solve. If you’ll excuse me...” Laurie stood, thanked him, and headed for the door, where she turned and held his gaze. “I’d like to get to know you, Cole,” she said, smiled, then left t he room. He returned his attention to his papers. Maybe after this was all over-he migh t even think to ask her out. Hours later , haven taken a cab to retrieve her car, Laurie sat behind her de sk, tapping out the day’s story on her keyboard. Of course, she had little to go on again. Cole was a master at keeping all details from the press, even t hough at the time of the interview, he had made it sound as though she had go tten some sort of exclusive. Looking up from her work, she saw George Haskins approaching. The senior edi tor would be no happier with her this time than he had been over her piece o n the first victim she wrote two weeks prior. The only difference, this time she had an eyewitness report of the crime scene, what little she could prin t. Finished, she pointed the mouse on print and clicked it. Before George ev en reached the desk, the laser printer had spit out her article. “What do you have?” he asked, picking the paper off the tray, scanning the words. “Not much here, Laurie. We’ll print this, but I want more. Find some thing to connect these cases together and we’ll have a real story.” “Yes, sir.” Laurie glanced at the clock. Twelve-fifteen. Not waiting for another comme nt from George, she grasped her purse, muttered, “I’m going to lunch,” and headed for the door. “Wait,” a petite woman called out from behind her, stopping her at the entra nce. “I’ll go with you.” Cindy VanWarren, long blonde hair, bright blue eyes, had a figure that dr ove men nuts. She was George Haskins’ personal secretary, and one of Laur ie’s best friends. The two had a lot in common and shared most of their l unches. Both had been dumped by their boyfriends and both enjoyed shoppin g tremendously, giving them something to do with their solitary weekends. “Where do you want to go for lunch?” Cindy asked as she caught up with La urie. “Your call, but somewhere a little out of the way. I’m not in the mood for the lunch crowd right now.” The two left the building and headed for Laurie

’s Acura. Moments later, they sat across from each other at Pugz and Bailey’s Tavern . Stained glass lights hung low over booths situated against dark paneled walls. The Eagle’s “Hotel California” played a backdrop to soft murmurs of voices traveling about the room as smoke seemed to gather about the light s. No one paid them any mind, which was exactly the kind of atmosphere Lau rie had been looking for. “So, how’s the story coming?” Cindy asked. “I heard they found another body . How did you get out there so fast? George said he had tried to get a hold of you and you weren’t home. He even sent out another reporter to the scen e, though he had very little to report. The cops barred the entrance.” Laurie used her fork to toy with the salad in front of her. “Intuition. My s canner spit something about car 33-12 was to 10-21, which is call the statio n. There had been a phone in. Being seven in the morning, I wondered why the y wouldn’t report it over the airwaves unless it was big. Then I heard anoth er cruiser being dispatched to the Cleveland Motel. So, I got dressed and we nt over there to check the situation.” “How in the world did you get into the motel if they weren’t allowing anyone past the front door?” Laurie chuckled. Cindy’s eyes rounded as she sat on the edge of her seat, fas cinated. “I sneaked in the back door.” “And you didn’t get caught?” “Not at first, but when I came out, Lieutenant Kincaid was going through th e Dumpster in the back. He hauled me to the station.” “On what charge?” she gasped. “None. We had a stalemate. I told him I would have him slapped with a lawsui t for the way he was treating me and he said he’d charge me and the paper fo r interfering in a police investigation. So, wanting the story, I went to th e station willingly.” “From what I hear,” Cindy leaned in closer, “Lieutenant Kincaid is gorgeous .” “The rumor-mill is correct this time,” Laurie laughed. “What I wouldn’t do... ” her words trailed off as a breeze floated across the room, raising the hair s on her arms. “Did you feel that?” “What?” Cindy asked between bites of Beef Manhattan. “That breeze? It almost felt like a cold blast coming off Lake Erie.” “Probably just the air-conditioning.” “No. It was much more icy.” Laurie rubbed her hands up and down her arms to try and smooth out the goo seflesh popping across her skin. A sense of trepidation clawed up her spin e: she felt as though someone watched her. “What’s wrong, Laurie? I think the case is starting to freak you out, girl,”

Cindy scolded. “Nothing’s wrong,” she assured. “You’re right. This case is getting to me.” Laurie turned her head, her face mere inches from the crotch of a very tall man. Glancing upward, Laurie met fathomless coal-black eyes. He placed a h and on the back of her booth seat, tucked his black hair behind one ear, an d grinned. “Don’t I know you?” the deep voice of Damien Vincent asked, swathing her better than a tomato worm when he readies himself for the change of seaso ns. “Oh yeah,” he chuckled, “you’re the one I saw Cole with a couple of w eeks back. What was your name? Laurie...” “Michaels,” she finished for him. “Hey, how’s the finger?” He grasped her hand so quickly she didn’t have time to react. A thin white line remained from the cut. “Looks like it healed.” Her pulse raced, her breathing hampered, and she jerked her hand from his. “ It’s fine, thank you.” “Who’s your pretty friend?” Damien asked, his voice was deep-his eyes hypn otizing. Cindy’s small round face beamed from the attention as she turned her baby b lue eyes on the tall singer, batting her long lashes. She offered him her h and. “Cindy VanWarren.” “Cindy,” he repeated, the name rolling from his lips like the forked tongue of a snake. Pure evil in the making; Satan’s offspring. Laurie couldn’t hel p being reminded of her Catholic upbringing and God’s promise to the serpent in Genesis three. Upon thy belly shalt thou go, and dust thou shalt eat all the days of thy life. She could imagine Damien slithering on his belly, hea ding for his prey. “Maybe Cole could bring you back to see us play again som etime, Laurie, and you could bring this little sprite with you,” Damien said , not once taking his eyes from Cindy. “Cole and I...well, what I mean is...we aren’t-” “Lovers?” he finished for her and let go of Cindy’s hand as he turned his att ention back to her. “Certainly not,” Laurie rushed in explanation. Her face heated. “Had I known he had no designs on you himself, maybe I would have taken y ou home that night. Seems like a waste of such beauty.” Damien’s face hel d no humor, not even the slightest amount of amusement to tell her whethe r or not he jested. “You think well of yourself. Given the chance, I still would have gone home alone.” Damien tilted his head slightly back and laughed, causing the bile to churn in her stomach. Containing his merriment, he said, “Maybe. Then again-had

I offered...No matter. Cole is the fool for allowing such a fine woman to w alk away.” “And how do you know it was his choice?” Laurie asked, disturbed by his c ondescending attitude that all women would flock uncontrollably to men. “It’s always his choice. I’ve brought home quite a few women to meet him. It’ s not that they aren’t interested.” On that note, Laurie had to agree. After meeting Cole, it hadn’t taken her long to be captivated by him. Women probably flocked to his doorstep. Damien stuck his finger in Cindy’s red wine and brought it to his lips, suc king the wetness from his finger. Laurie’s shoulders shuddered as a finely spun thread of evil wove its way down her spine, remembering all too well w hen he had suckled her finger. Damien then ran the same wet finger down her right earlobe, causing Laurie to jerk her head from his touch. He winked a t her and said, “Maybe I’ll see you around.” “Don’t count on it,” Laurie grumbled beneath her breath as he walked away. “He’s kind of cute-in a dark way,” Cindy said, her eyes following the large m an to his place at the polished bar. Laurie’s gaze landed on the enigma. “In a very dark way.” Finished with lunch, Laurie and Cindy left their table, unaware that Laurie’s right earring had dropped to the floor. The waiting dark figure picked it up .

Chapter 11 BS: Ah,sir , you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hu nter. The killer’s taunt stared up at Cole from his note pad as he sat in a re cliner in his apartment. A rerun of M.A.S.H. played on his television set, tho ugh he saw little of it, his thoughts preoccupied elsewhere. He could not leave his work at the office, no matter how hard he tried. Files littered the side table. Pictures were scattered across his lap. He saw this case at work, in his head, and in his dreams. When in the company of others, he talked about little else. He had nothing in common with the outside world ; his world revolved around the case. His passion for his work, among other things, had contributed to the end of his marriage. It had not ended the night Jeanne died; it had ended long be fore. Cole stayed home little, and when he had, he was unable to find a con nection with his wife, or Jeanne accused him of being distant on numerous o

ccasions. She had reached the age of twenty-seven and wanted to start a fam ily. Cole had not agreed. Their life was far too complicated at the time with her newly found law prac tice and his work as a detective to bring a life into the world. Jeanne and he had shared many arguments over her wanting a child, always ending in a st alemate with neither of them talking. A notable case had landed on his desk, preoccupying most of his time. One p articular night, when he had arrived home late from the station, Jeanne had planned a special evening at home, greeting him at the door in a red, shee r negligee. Of course, Cole had been delighted. After all, his wife was stu nning in whatever she wore, but this...this was beyond words. Hell, he wanted to forget the candlelight supper she had planned, leave his case at the back of his mind, and carry his wife to their bed. She refused, saying she had gone to too much trouble. Everything was perfect, except that for the duration of the meal he remained hard enough to drive through steel. Finally, she pushed her plate aside, walked around the table and sat upon h is lap, sans underwear. Cole’s hands found her breasts; he cupped each one tenderly and his lips nibbled at the crook of her neck. He had never wanted someone so much in his life, except for maybe the first time they had made love. This woman captivated his heart and soul. “Cole,” she whispered into his ear, the sound feather soft as it tickled the h airs on his neck. “I stopped taking the pill-a month ago.” His hands stilled; his muscles ached from unrequited need. Damn her, but the y had talked about this. They had agreed, or at least he thought they agreed , to wait another three years or so. Cole was not ready to be a father. Not now, for god’s sake, not when he had to work so hard to make lieutenant. “Jeanne. We’ve discussed this. I’m not ready for a baby.” “I refuse to take the pill, Cole. I’ve been under the care of a doctor and h ave been using the thermometer. The time is right. We can make a baby tonigh t,” she whispered against his ear. What was once hard, quickly became soft. He could not be pressured to perf orm-could not be forced to become a father. Grasping her beneath the arms, he set her aside and left the room. Hours la ter, she found him fast asleep in bed. The marriage was over, yet he hadn’t been ready to admit it. He could not get hard had he wanted to-he should h ave taken that as a sign, but he feared impotency. In desperation, he decid ed to give Jeanne what she wanted hoping it would save their failing marria ge, but even then he could not manage an erection. And sometime around that point, Jeanne had taken to sleeping with his best friend, Charley Nash, wh o had little trouble giving her what she wanted. But his condition was not permanent. Shortly after Jeanne’s death, he had

no problems at all. He slept with several women, taking them home after a drinking binge, waking up, not even knowing their names. One morning, he woke up, not able to look at himself in the mirror after k icking a bounteous-breasted blonde out of his bed and promising to call. H e had vowed then not to take another woman until he wanted to take on a wi fe—and the promise he was ready to take on a family. Today, he was no closer to wanting a wife. But Laurie Michaels played havoc on his vow. He let out a deep sigh and glanced down at his notes. Cole had a case to solve, and didn’t need the distraction of a nosy reporter. The quote continued to stare up at him, taunting him, from the white pad. Where had it come from? It wasn’t like Cole could walk into any library an d ask which of the thousands of books this phrase might have come from, if indeed it did come from a book. Somehow though, he knew he’d more than li kely find it was a reference from a famous book or journal. The murderer issued him a challenge, leaving him a clue as to his persona. B ut without the source of the quote, Cole would not be able to find out what it meant. The door opened and closed as Damien entered the apartment with one of h is band members in tow. Cole remembered him as Sandy Brown. Hell, how co uld anyone forget a name like that? “Hey, what’s up, Cole?” Damien said as he made his way to the refrigerator and withdrew a bottle of beer and a can of Diet Coke, handing the latter to the light brown-haired man following. “Want a beer?” he asked Cole. “No, thanks.” He watched Damien unscrew the cap, take a long pull from his b ottle, then have a seat on the sofa. Damien’s long legs lifted as he propped his feet on the coffee table. “What’s got you bugged?” Damien asked, looking at Cole, puzzlement in hi s gaze. “Maybe you can help,” Cole said, looking at the quote. “Have you ever heard o r read the phrase, ‘ BS: Ah, sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter’? ” “Can’t say that I have. Maybe you should ask Sandy here-he’s our little bookworm,” Damien laughed. “Seems to always be reading something. What d oes the BS stand for?” “Don’t know. You ever heard it, Sandy?” Cole asked. “Can’t say I have,” he replied, taking a swallow from his Coke. “What sort of books do you read?” Cole asked, his curiosity piquing. Sandy didn’t look much like the bookworm type. “Science Fiction, supernatural, biographies-even if I had read that quote so mewhere, I doubt I’d remember it.” Sandy’s eyes strayed to the TV. Cole doubted much excited him aside from p laying in a band and checking out all the groupies that followed.

“Where’d you get that from?” Damien asked. “It’s a case I’m working on-not much else I can tell you.” “Whoever left it for you sounds like they’re knocking you.” Damien chuckled , then drank his beer. “Mind if I smoke?” Sandy asked as he pulled a pack of Marlboro’s from his s hirt pocket. “Help yourself,” Cole said, still focused on Damien. “What do you mean, k nocking me?” Sulfur filled the air as the match was struck against the bottom of Sandy’s worn boot. He took the flame to the cigarette extending from his mouth. “The quote is saying you’re a city dweller, man,” Damien theorized. “You co me from the city, you’re a cop. You can’t possibly think like a hunter, a k iller. A hunter is someone who looks for prey.” Cole narrowed his gaze. “So what’s coming from city have to do with thinki ng like him?” “In other words, you’re out of his element, man. You can’t possibly think like him when you don’t come from where he does.” “And where is that? Where does he come from?” Damien tapped his temple. “His mind, man. You can’t possibly get into his mind when you’re a cop. You think like a cop-you ain’t like him.” Damien had a point. Of course a cop wouldn’t think like a murderer. Hell, w ho would want to? But still, in order to catch the murderer at work, you ha d to get into his head, think like him, and figure out whom he preys upon. You had to get one step ahead of him to catch him; know before he does who his next victim is. So far, the perp seemed to prey on prostitutes who had light to dark brown, long hair, and brown eyes. A flash of Laurie Michaels went through his mind. She had auburn hair, but it certainly could be thought of as brown-and her eyes matched the exact color. Lucky for her that his perp sought out prostit utes. “Maybe you’re right, Damien. Maybe this slime ball believes I can’t think li ke him, therefore I can’t catch him.” Damien shrugged. “Hey, I ain’t no shrink, man. That’s just how I’d interpret it.” “The question remains though, where the hell did he get the quote from?” “Are you sure it’s a quote and he didn’t make it up himself?” Sandy asked. Hi s gaze briefly left the television to meet with Cole’s. “You might have a point.” Cole thought for a moment. “But I don’t think this son of a bitch wants me to think he’s a poet. No. He’s issuing a challenge. I f I find out where this came from, then I’ll be one step closer to getting in to his mind.” “Well, look—we got to get going,” Damien said, as he plopped his large feet

onto the floor, standing to his full height. “Got a gig tonight. Coming by?” “Not tonight,” Cole said, his gaze still trained on the sheet of paper. “I ha ve too much on my mind.” “Too bad. Thought maybe you’d bring that Michaels woman along.” Damien quirked one side of his mouth upward. “Now there’s one helluva babe. Sa w her today.” Cole’s gaze snapped up to Damien’s. “Where?” “Pugz and Bailey’s Tavern. Left some chick’s house, needed some nourishmen t.” Damien laughed, tucking his long black hair behind each ear. “Them all -nighters can take it out of you. Know what I mean?...Oh yeah, I forgot. Y ou swore off that for awhile-well, hell, if you got to know that Michaels babe, who knows, maybe even you could break the streak.” “Yeah.” Cole chuckled. “Who knows.” Laurie grasped a pair of black shoes with chunky heels, wrapping the straps around her stocking feet. Standing, she walked to the mirror and looked at h erself, pulling down the short black skirt. Her black stockings ended on her thigh about an inch below the skirt’s hem, as a form-fitting white angora s weater tucked into it, accenting her breast line. Laurie thought the outfit looked good on her, the exact reason she thought she should change. She had to be nuts to allow Cindy to talk her into going to the Agora. Dragonslayer played there again tonight; common sense told h er not to go. Besides, being a Monday, she did not want to make a late nigh t of it. For some unknown rationale, Cindy had become enamored with the lead singe r, Damien, and wanted-no needed , she had said, to see him again. Laurie had reluctantly agreed. She had to be out of her mind. The doorbell rang. Grasping a new pair of earrings, since she had lost one f rom the pair she had worn earlier, Laurie put them on, grabbed her purse, an d hurried down the steps. She opened the door, finding a slinky clad Cindy o n the other side. Laurie grinned. “You’re wearing that?” she gasped in feigned shock. Black nylons, thigh high boots, and a short, very short, black dress clung t o Cindy, leaving little to the imagination. Laurie thought had Cindy bent ov er, the world would see exactly what resided beneath the dress. “You are wearing underwear?” Laurie asked, noting the absence of lines. “A thong.” The blonde smiled, patting her behind. “Are you ready?” “As ready as I’ll ever be.” “I’ll drive,” Cindy said as she bounded down the steps and headed for a twodoor black Saturn. “I really appreciate this. God-the man is an absolute dre am.”

“He sure is,” Laurie said, rolling her eyes, then mumbled, “a real nightmare. ” “What was that?” Cindy asked as she crawled into the car. Laurie sat beside her. “I was just agreeing with you. Damien Vincent is a re al dream.” “Maybe you’ll see Cole tonight. You did say they were roommates.” Cindy turn ed the key to the engine, put on her seat belt, then shifted the car into ge ar. “Probably the only reason I agreed to this.” Laurie grumbled, putting on her own belt. “Oh, come now. I’m sure Damien is not as bad as he seems.” “No, he’s probably worse. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you. By the way, sho uld you get sidetracked this evening-leave me the keys so I have a ride hom e.” “That’s positively scandalous,” Cindy gasped. “Don’t tell me you didn’t think of it first,” Laurie mocked. “You’re right.” She giggled. “I did.” Laurie and Cindy sat at a table in front of the stage at the Agora. Loud mus ic blared through the speakers, vibrating the tables and floors. Damien Vinc ent curled his lips back and gave his rendition of a song by Danzig. Of course, Laurie had no idea to the identity of Danzig, and would not hav e recognized the tune had Damien not announced it before he had begun the song. Whoever this Danzig was, Laurie knew he could not possibly be as evi l as the man now doing a cover of the song. The words sent chills running down Laurie’s spine making her colder than the cool air-conditioning and circulating ceiling fans blowing about the room. Women gyrated on the dance floor all vying for the attention of the long-leg ged singer. He loved the adoration, performed for them, but his gaze strayed to their table. “Isn’t he great?” Cindy yelled over the blaring music. “I think he likes me. He keeps looking this way. Between sets, I think I’ll go talk to him.” “Yeah.” Laurie chuckled, feeling none of the humor. Gooseflesh continued to plague her as she ran her hands up and down her arms. “I think maybe yo u should do that.” She should not have come. But, no, ignoring her instincts to help out a frien d, she had agreed to escort Cindy into the bowels of hell. And just her luck, Damien was at the right seat of Satan. The song came to its thankful end and Damien announced the completion of hi s first set, throwing the microphone to the wooden flooring with a thump. H e hopped off the stage and headed in their direction as a DJ began spinning CDs for the people still gracing the dance floor.

“Oh, lucky us, you don’t have to look him up,” Laurie grumbled. Had the tab le been covered, she might have been able to slip beneath the surface and h ide from the evil approaching. “Damien,” Cindy cooed, forgetting Laurie as she stood up, greeting the vil e man. “I came down here just to see you play.” “Really?” His lips curled in a sneer as he placed an arm around her should ers. How could Cindy be attracted to the obvious son of Beelzebub? He turned his attention to Laurie. Damien grasped her hand and brought it to his lips, his other arm still dangling over Cindy’s shoulders. She grinned fr om ear to ear. Fingers pointed in their direction, as girls from the dance fl oor whispered behind their hands in obvious jealousy of Cindy and Laurie’s st ealing the singer’s attention. They can have him , Laurie thought. “And what brings you here?” he asked as his lips lingered far too long on her flesh, his hot breath fanning the surface. Laurie shivered, though not from the chill of the room. “Cindy-” “The thought of seeing me,” said a deep, soothing voice came from behind. “Cole,” Damien greeted as Laurie turned around. Never had she been so g lad to see someone. “You changed your mind?” “Yeah, something told me after getting one look at you, Laurie, would not b e able to resist seeing you again,” said Cole, causing Laurie to gasp. “Am I right?” He winked at her. His boyish charm and heart-melting smile, heate d places which were moments ago chilled. Laurie grinned. “Far from it.”

Chapter 12 Cole could not attest to the fact, but he had a strong niggling feeling tha t Damien had more than a mild interest in Laurie. Though Damien’s long arm draped over the shoulders of another woman at the moment, his dark gaze lin gered on Laurie far too often. Cole was no fool. Either he make his own move on Laurie Michaels or chance losing her to th e enigma of his roommate, who never seemed to have a problem getting wome n to be interested in him. At any given moment, Damien had an abundance o f pretty girls on his arm. But this time, Cole wanted what caught Damien’ s eye. The problem-his insecurities stood in the way.

Ever since his wife’s death he felt no need for a permanent relationship. Th e fact remained, with his lifestyle, he had no room or time for companionshi p. Besides his own misgivings, Laurie was what he hated most, a journalist. Cole could not easily forget how people like her had plastered his grieving face all over the front pages, making his private life public knowledge. Raking a hand through his dark hair, Cole grasped a chair from the empty tab le next to Laurie and pulled it over. “Do you mind if I sit with you?” he asked. Laurie glanced at him. A shy grin crawled up her face and centered in her eye s as lights sparkled like tiny diamonds in them. “Not at all.” The now familiar stirring in Cole’s groin plagued him. His libido had not b een this active in some time. Cole sat down and stretched his legs out in f ront of him, crossing his booted feet at the ankles, his arms over his ches t. “So who’s the new one?” he asked Damien, nodding at the woman beneath hi s long arm. Damien glanced at the blonde who snuggled more fully against him. “Cindy, right?” She bobbed her head in acknowledgment, sending large heat-made curls bounc ing about her head. Another groupie, Cole thought, taking in her attire. “Cindy VanWarren,” she said, offering him her hand. “I’m a friend of Laurie’ s.” Cole instantly regretted his earlier assessment, glad not to have spoken it out loud. “You’re Cole Kincaid-ooh, I’ve heard so much about you,” she cooed, mak ing a huge show of what Laurie and she had obviously talked about before hand. Cole glanced at Laurie. She held her gaze downward as her cheeks flamed red , visible even in the low lighting. Oddly pleased that Laurie and this tiny woman had talked about him, he chuckled. “All good, I hope.” “You don’t know the half of it,” Cindy offered as she earned a scathing gla re from Laurie. Cindy giggled, then turned her attention to Damien. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to the band?” “Sure,” Damien agreed, though none too enthusiastically. His gaze focused o n Laurie. He sneered, one side of his lip curling up as his gaze turned to C ole. “I’ll see you around.” Damien placed one large hand on Cindy’s nape and led her away from the ta ble. “They make a cute couple,” Laurie said, her tone ringing false. Her eyes narr owed on the backs of the retreating pair. “Maybe,” Cole agreed. He looked at Laurie. Damn, but she was stunning. H e shifted in his chair as he glanced to Damien and Cindy, now standing wi th other members of the band. “But from what I’ve seen in the past, I thi nk Damien prefers women with dark hair.”

He turned to Laurie as a shiver shook her shoulders. Though she appeared t o hide her nervousness, running her hands up and down her arms, Cole had d etected it. He had been a police officer too long not to notice when someo ne wasn’t comfortable. Something bothered her. “I don’t bite,” Cole said, grinning. He wanted nothing more than to pull her within his arms and soothe all her apprehensions. Hell, he wanted to soothe himself. Laurie glanced at Cole, drawing her brows together. “I never thought you di d.” “Then what’s bothering you?” “Something about that man unnerves me,” she paused, her eyes focusing briefl y on the object of their conversation. “He’s evil in its purity.” “Damien?” Cole laughed. Damien was harmless. “You can’t be serious. Dam ien Vincent is all show.” Her large brown eyes looked at Cole in concern as though he was the one who needed to see the depravity of his roommate. “How long have you know n him?” “Two years.” “Did you know him before he moved in with you?” “Well, not before...no.” Cole shrugged and looked at his roommate. Damien tickled and teased the blonde beneath his arm as Cindy giggled, snugglin g up to him, leaving no room between them. “A friend introduced us and Da mien needed a place to stay. The arrangement works-we share the bills. Wh at brings you here?” “Cindy.” Laurie tugged at the hem of her skirt. “We ran into Damien earlier today while we were having lunch. Cindy insisted on seeing him. I saw that his band was playing here again tonight. The rest is history.” “Damn, and here I thought maybe you came here hoping you’d run into me.” Laurie startled. Cole had read her mind so thoroughly, she swore he might b e privy to her every thought. God help her if he could read her mind at the moment, for surely he would not think well of her. A waitress stopped at the table, setting a Jack Daniels in front of Cole. He w inked, set a few bills down, and told her to keep the change. She trotted off giggling from the attention. Cole picked up his glass and took it to his mouth. Laurie’s gaze stopped on h is full lips, even well after he set the glass back on the table, his mouth s till damp from the amber-colored liquid. Her eyes locked with his. He had obviously detected her blatant interest tha t set her stomach flipping like a bass out of water. Never in her life had s he wanted another man so much. Even Jeff, her ex-fiancé, was barely a fleeti

ng thought compared to the magnitude of what she felt now. Numbness spread through the juncture of her thighs, sending a dull ache ab out her body and limbs. She could not have moved had she wanted to when hi s hand reached out to the back of her neck and drew her close. His eyes searched hers, as though looking, waiting for her to deny him. But she did not. If anything, she silently begged him to kiss her as he had week s before. He complied. His lips settled on hers as though they were born to caress her, touching her briefly, ephemerally. Then all too abruptly, he pulled back. His eyes probed hers for answers, receiving no rejections. As quickly as it ended, he brough t his lips back. Laurie placed a hand on his neck, anchoring him, holding him fast, returning hi s kiss. His tongue darted out, testing the line of her lips that parted all too easily. He swept the inside of her mouth with his tongue, then teased hers until she responded in kind. All thoughts of her surroundings fled. One of his hands sl id up her thigh while the other continued to cradle the base of her head. A hunger burgeoned inside. Laurie slid her hands down to his chest, remembering well what it had looke d like without a shirt. She wanted more. Desire shot through her like a Teflon-coated bullet through Kevlar. She co uld no longer deny what she wanted or think about what tomorrow might brin g. All her thoughts focused on the now. “Isn’t he great?” Cindy’s voice sifted through her conscience as Cole pulle d away. Laurie stared up at the giggly blonde who claimed to be her best fr iend. At the moment, she would be tempted to assess the matter. Cindy had a flair for extremely poor timing, and today had been no exception. Guitar riffs filled the large room as the band returned from their break. L aurie glanced to the stage. Damien’s eyes deep and fathomless, stared at he r, holding her mesmerized. Had she not known better, she would swear the an ger he now showed centered on her as they continued to stare at one another . His black gaze caused a shiver to slither down her spine. The danger he e xuded seemed to hold her powerless-immobile. What was hot moments ago, turned ice cold. Gooseflesh returned to her ski n anew. Truly shaken, Laurie broke Damien’s frosty glare and looked to Co le. His eyes narrowed as he glanced from Damien to her, clearly mistaking what had transpired. “Is that what you want?” Cole yelled in her ear to be heard above the music blaring through the room. “Damien?” “Yeah,” Cole laughed. “Damien. What the hell is it between the two of you

, anyway? Just moments ago I would have sworn...never mind,” he spat. “Wha t the hell does it matter?” Laurie glanced at the stage. Damien’s eyes were closed as he began singing the words of a new song. Her heart pounded in her ears; her breathing lab ored. A cool breeze sent shivers down her spine and the hairs on her nape stood on end. She looked at Cole, whose gaze held fast. Surely, he had fel t the same icy breeze, though he seemed unaffected by it. His eyes were gl acial as he turned away. Laurie couldn’t bear the indifference he now show ed her. She would not allow Damien Vincent to come between them or destroy what might lie ahead. She reached out, touching the small whiskered growth of his cheek, laying h er palm against it. Cole turned back to her. Not only did she see animosity within the depths of his deep-set eyes, but anguish. Charley Nash slammed into her thoughts like a lead bullet as it spatted against a brick wall. Co le would not think of her as he thought of his deceased wife. But then agai n, why would he not? He knew very little about her-could not possibly know she would never do anything to hurt him. Laurie suddenly wanted to take him away, comfort him, show him how she tru ly felt. She might not love Cole Kincaid, but she could not deny how she f elt at this moment. Cole grasped her wrist and pulled her hand free of his face, once more turnin g his gaze to the stage. Her heart squeezed like a tightly clasped fist, not alleviating. Tears filled her eyes, though she refused to allow them to fall. She would not let Cole see how easily he controlled her emotions. One moment desire filled her, the next devastation. Cindy’s face beamed as she turned to Laurie, unaware of the animosity risin g between Cole and her. “Isn’t he great?” she yelled. “Wonderful,” Laurie said sarcastically, barely loud enough to be heard. Cole shifted in his seat, bringing his thigh into contact with Laurie’s. His h eat traveled up her leg, reminding her of the ache holding her heart hostage. “Do you think you might get a ride?” Cindy asked suddenly, catching Laurie off guard as she sipped from her gin and tonic. Laurie nearly spit the alcohol across the table. Composing herself, she gras ped Cindy by the arm and hauled her close enough to yell in her ear. “I thou ght we discussed this. I’m taking your car home.” “You looked like you were getting along well enough-” “ Looked like, Cindy! For crying out loud, don’t read any more into it.” La urie was desperate. She could not have Cole Kincaid driving her home-seeing where she lived. Now would not be the best time to tell him she had inherited ten million dol lars from her grandfather. She had been the only grandchild and since her mo ther and father were well enough on their own, her grandfather saw to it tha

t the biggest bright spot in his life had been well cared for. Something told her Cole would not handle her wealth very amicably. “I can’t have Damien driving me home come morning,” Cindy said in her mos t annoying voice. It reminded Laurie of fingernails dragged across the bl ackboard, grating on her nerves. “Come on, Laurie. I’m sure Cole will see you get home.” Laurie glanced at Cole who appeared unaffected by their conversation, payi ng them no mind, as he watched the band on stage. Even though they shouted over the music, more than likely, Cole had not heard the discussion. Exasperated and ready to beg, Laurie turned back and yelled just as the mus ic died, noting the end of the song, “You can’t leave me without a ride.” H er voice rang out loud and clear in the now quiet room. Laurie looked in Cole’s direction, who appeared to be weighing his options o f giving her that ride. Disgusted, Laurie grabbed her purse, stood, and head ed for the door. Damned if she would beg, she would call a cab first. Another song began in the background as she reached the door and yanked it open with all her migh t. But before she could leave, Cole gripped her upper arm and followed her through the exit. Outside, the night had cooled slightly, though the air remained sticky. Cole shoved her against the cool stonewall of the building, his eyes pinning her t o the surface as effectively as his hold on her arms. “You’re a damn infuriating woman,” he paused. “Why do I bother?” Without another word, his mouth slanted over hers, stilling any objections s he might have. As though her body had a will of its own, no matter what her mind might think to the contrary, she responded back. Laurie slipped her fin gers between their bodies as he leaned forward, immobilizing her hands. His tongue assaulted the soft flesh of her mouth, his teeth grating against hers . Undaunted by his hostility, she responded in kind. His hand moved to the back of her thigh, finding the bare spot just above he r stocking. Bolts of lightning shot through her, his touch leaving her gaspi ng. Slowly, his hand inched upward, slipping beneath her silk panty to cup h er cheek. “Oh, God,” she mumbled, but his kiss swallowed the plea. Her hands made tigh t fists in his shirt. She knew the wrongness of their actions. They were in public, for heaven’s s ake. But the kiss did not end, leaving her pleading, begging for more. Lauri e arched into him, feeling his erection pressing intimately against her abdo men. She had gone far beyond pathetic; she wanted Cole Kincaid, without a care i f the world watched.

Cole broke the kiss, then pushed away from her and the wall. Why he had all owed his emotions to rule his head, he would never know. He had not meant t o kiss her again. But kiss her he did. He allowed things to escalate out of his control, nearly taking years of pent-up passion here on the sidewalk. He paced the cement walkway. Laurie looked at him like a frightened cub, as though he might pounce on her at any given moment. He liked to instill fea r in people, but not her, not Laurie. He did not want her afraid of him. He ll, he wanted her beneath him at this very moment. His passion bordered on this side of violence. Never had he wanted a woman so badly, and it sacred the hell out of him. He could have taken her, here-against the wall, and not thought twice about it. But knowing what she would have thought of him.... “Get in the truck,” he growled, like a beast caught in a snare. He turned hi s back on her, not wanting her to see the turmoil raging inside him. He want ed to believe she was different-not like Jeanne. But it was hard, damn hard when he caught her looking so often at Damien. “I’ll do no such thing,” Laurie said as she cleared her throat and tried to comp ose herself. “I’ll call a cab.” Cole whirled around, not wanting to hear another word. Steeling his jaw, he glared at her. “Get in the truck, Michaels,” he bit out between clenched tee th. Laurie returned his stare, crossing her arms beneath her breasts. Cole’s gaze hardened like a lion deprived of a meal when it fell upon the soft flesh spi lling above her sweater’s neckline. Releasing a humph, obviously disgusted by his actions, Laurie stuck her chin in the air and headed for the black Ranger, not waiting to see if he follow ed. Cole reached the truck behind her, unlocked the door and opened it, then wen t around to the driver’s side. Getting in, he stuck the key in the ignition and heard the quiet roar as the engine came to life. He flipped on the air-c onditioning and turned down the radio as Guns ‘n Roses “Sweet Child of Mine, ” filtered through the airwaves. “Sweet nothing,” Cole grumbled as he pushed in the clutch and shifted the t ruck into gear, pulling out of the crowded parking lot and heading toward F airview Park. “You do live in Fairview?” “Yes,” she snapped as she looked out the passenger window. Thick tension ne arly consumed the air of the truck. Hell, Cole thought, he could have slice d it with a knife had she been any more angry with him. “I don’t want to do this,” Cole said, his tone soft and defeated. He wanted her all right, but not her animosity. Laurie turned to look at him. Tears shimmered in her eyes. Damn, had he cause

d that? His heart felt like a two-ton brick. He really was a shit. “What?” she asked. “I don’t want to fight with you.” He looked at the road as his fingers curled around the steering wheel, whitening his knuckles. “It’s been a hell of a long day and I doubt they’ll get any shorter in the near future. Right now-I just want to forget.” “Would you like to come in for a glass of wine when we get to my house?” Stunned by the invitation, Cole glanced at Laurie. Moments ago, she had b een mad enough to tear out his heart. Where had her invitation come from? This woman would never fail to surprise him. “It’s eleven-thirty. Are yo u sure you want company on a work night? Tomorrow morning will come brigh t and early.” Laurie held him captive with her soft brown eyes as they pulled up to a red l ight. “I’ll worry about the morning when it gets here.” Spotting an orange Convenient Food Mart sign when the light changed, he pul led into the parking lot and stopped the truck. “I’ll be right back,” he said as he jumped from the cab. Cole quickly found an inexpensive bottle of red wine and headed for the co unter. After all, what convenience store carried good wine? A small shelf of prophylactics caught his attention, making him take pause. He had not n eeded them; he hadn’t thought about them before this moment. Having no ide a as to what the night might bring, Cole did not want to get caught withou t protection. He grabbed a small box of condoms and headed for the front o f the building. Moments later, under her direction, they headed up Bunker Hill Drive. Cole was in awe. These houses cost more than he could afford on his salary in a lifetime. He had an idea Laurie Michaels came from a wealthy family. After all, who else buys a hundred-dollar pen, but this...was like nothing he wou ld have ever dreamed of. Cole glanced at the cheap wine lying on the seat between them and suddenly wished he had had the insight to stop somewhere else and buy a more expensi ve bottle. But this late at night, what did one expect? Feeling the corners of the small box resting in his front pocket against his thigh, Cole evaluated his decision to buy them as well. “You didn’t tell me y ou lived with your parents.” “I don’t,” she said as she directed him to the lemon-colored house at the en d of the circle, one of the largest on the street. His eyes widened. How wou ld he ever compare to this opulence? He’d never fit into her world. “This is my home.”

Chapter 13 Cole stood in the marble foyer, motionless, as Laurie, with the bottle of wi ne, walked through the house turning on lights as she went. A Miniature Pins cher jumped up at his feet, begging for attention. “His name is Zeke,” Laurie called back to him. Cole bent down and scratched the tiny dog’s ears. “Cute,” he mumbled more to himself than to be heard. Standing, Cole glanced at his surroundings. The more illumination that fl ooded the vast rooms, the more impressed he became. Cole could not help w ondering how someone like Laurie, on an obvious meager salary, would be a ble to afford a home of this magnitude. He knew little about this woman and the possibility of her parents being dec eased hung over his head, making his question in the car lay on his tongue l ike a repugnant taste. But the assumption she still lived beneath her parent s’ roof had been a viable one. How could he not come up short in her eyes? She had seen his small apartmen t with its two bedrooms, a living room connected to a kitchen, and one bath room. Hell, her foyer was the size of his living room. Cole walked toward the large archway on the left, leading to a living room decked with Queen Anne style furniture, looking as though no person had eve r sat on any of it. To the right of the foyer, a large dining room sat with a cherry-wood center table bedecked with eight chairs. Rich green brocade fabric covered the seats and draped the windows. A large hutch sported chin a etched with gold and crystal wineglasses and goblets. The white as snow c arpet throughout lent to the elegance. Cole could never imagine himself kno cking about this house, marring its perfection. “Do you like what you see?” a timid voice came from behind. Cole turned around to see Laurie standing by the arch, arms crossed beneath her breasts. The air left the room as the walls seemed to close in on him. Suddenly, there was not enough space between them. Cole felt completely ou t of his element, as though he were drowning, his body tossing about in the middle of a whirlpool, sending him in a downward spiral. Never in his life had he been afforded such extravagances. “I don’t know. I was thinking maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to come here, ” Cole said, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans. “I’ve already opened the wine.” Laurie’s eyes sparkled from the lights of th e large chandelier hanging over the dining room table behind him. “I’ve set out two glasses in the family room. I’m sure you’ll feel more comfortable th

ere.” A nervous smile curved her lips. “My entire home is not this unlivable .” He could tell by her expression that it mattered a great deal to her how he perceived her home, and leaving now would only hurt her. “All right.” Cole returned her smile. “One drink.” He followed her through the large kitchen, with its brick island that housed the stovetop and a built-in grill, to a room decorated in warm rich colors. A deep burgundy sectional couch sat before a large screen television. Pillo ws of blues and greens were thrown haphazardly about the couch as large ones of the same colors lay in front of the fireplace on the floor, where Zeke h ad taken up residence. A square coffee table accented the front of the sofa, the only other piece of furniture in the room. Two large palm trees graced the corners and a lone window sported burgundy vertical blinds. Closed, they allowed the room no light from outside elements. A small stained glass Tiffany floor lamp lent the room a soft glow. The win e sat open on the coffee table with two green-stemmed wine glasses beside i t. The unscrewed cap lay on the table beside the bottle reminding Cole how cheap it actually was. His cheeks heated, and for the first time in a long while, he felt embarrasse d. A lopsided smile creased his face. “Sorry, about the wine,” he apologized. Laurie grinned, clasped his hand, and led him to the sofa. As Cole sat, she handed him an empty glass and poured some wine into it. After serving hersel f, she sat down beside him, sinking into the center of the pillows, propping her feet on the coffee table. Cole realized Laurie had removed her shoes, causing him to look at his own booted feet. Damn, why had he not the insight to remove them? The entire house was a winter-land of white carpet. Laurie chuckled, drawing his attention. In the dim lighting, she somehow a ppeared younger, her face soft and unlined. He’d never thought about her a ge before. She could not be much more than twenty-two, too young for a man of Cole’s age. “Don’t worry about your boots,” Laurie said, taking a sip from her glass. “Th e carpet may be white, but it cleans. And ,” she glanced to the bottle, “the wine is fine.” Cole smiled, feeling ridiculous having his misgivings voiced aloud. “I’m not at all like what you think,” she continued. Her face mimicked the se riousness of her tone. Cole narrowed his eyes. “And how’s that?” “I don’t know. The spoiled rich kid. Snooty.” Laurie rooted through the pillows, pulling out the remote control. She point ed it at the television and pushed a button, illuminating the large screen.

Two bodies intertwined, rolling about. Close shots of bare flesh, mouths, an d hands slowly became clearly focused. Cole shifted uneasily, feeling the se xual tension sizzling about the room, knowing full well what would take plac e if he did not leave soon. Laurie cleared her throat, held out the remote, and flipped the channel. Willa rd Scott sat on a red wagon giving tips for the better garden. Cole glanced at Laurie, whose cheeks flamed bright red as she looked at him in apology, causing him to chuckle. “HBO,” she laughed. “It’s after midnight—no telling what that was.” “Laurie,” Cole began. His humor quickly dissipated and reality set in. He wanted Laurie Michaels, a truth not to be denied, but the fact remained-s he came from a whole other generation. A whole other planet as far as he w as concerned. They had nothing in common, and a relationship was the last thing he wanted. “Maybe I shouldn’t have come. I’m not so sure this was a good idea.” “Did I do something wrong?” Laurie drew her brows together. Cole did not wa nt her laying the fault on herself. The blame should lay on his shoulders, not hers. He was the older one-old enough to know better. Setting his glass on the table, he stood. “I’m sorry, Laurie. I shouldn’t be here. I have a case to work and I need a clear head come morning.” Placing her glass next his, she stood beside him, her face displaying her disappointment. “Do you think maybe we could do this another time?” Her ey es were wide and hopeful. Cole did not have the heart to tell her not a chance in hell. He could not commit to someone. And she was a journalist-a profession he would never a pprove of. Most of all, though, she had more money than he would ever feel comfortable with. In his view of the world, the man supported the woman-n ot the other way around. “Yeah. Maybe,” Cole agreed, knowing he would never hold himself to it. He walked toward the entrance with her close behind. He did not have to loo k to know she followed. He could smell her perfume; feel her eyes on him. Damn, he hated himself for not being a womanizer and take what he really wanted. Cole turned by the entrance, hoping to make a quick apology and duck out the door, putting this night far behind him. But when his gaze caught hers, all good intentions fled his mind. Sadness claimed her gaze as though she really did not want him walking out the door, knowing full well what the night would hold if he didn’t. It wa s as though she might actually want Cole as a person and not for what he c ould do for her career. Cole knew women came on to cops all the time. A ma n with a badge turned them on. But the badge in his back pocket or the box in his front was not what caused his discomfort at the moment. His jeans

had become too constricting. Without a word, Cole took a step in her direction. Her eyes widened, her lips parted. He saw her pulse throb at the base of her throat, heard the tiny int ake of air as he took another step. Cole grasped the sides of her face with h is palms and brought his lips down to hers, pinning her against the wall. Had she given him a sign she did not want him, a sign she had not wanted this , he would have been able to turn and leave. Instead, her hands grabbed his w aist, dragging his T-shirt from the waistband of his jeans, sliding it up his sides. Cole pulled back long enough to yank the shirt free of his head and discard i t to the side, wasting not a moment of time. Laurie gasped at the intensity of his eyes, at his dire look of hunger. His mo uth slanted over hers, his hot tongue slipped past her lips, stealing her brea th. Her heart beat heavily off her ribs; the sound echoed in her ears. His hands pushed up the sides of her sweater, over her breasts until Cole was forced to break the kiss as he pulled it free of her head, tossing it aside. Cole held her fast against the wall, his hands cupping her breasts through h er lace-covered brassiere, his thumbs brushing across the tender centers. Her nipples hardened and begged for his attention. God, but she wanted his h ands on her naked flesh, his mouth.... As if he had read her thoughts, Cole gripped the cups of her bra, jerked the m downward, and exposed the rose-colored centers above the white lace. His m outh left hers, trailing a wet path down her heated skin to the flesh quiver ing for his touch. His mouth covered one of her breasts as his hand kneaded the other. A moan escaped her lips and she sagged against the wall. Had he not been an choring her there with his groin pressing against her abdomen, surely she w ould have slid down the wall like a warm pool of gelatin. “Oh God,” she whispered as his tongue made circles and his teeth nipped. She moved her hands down his waist, pushing at the band of his jeans, wanti ng, needing what lay beneath. Her hand brushed against his full erection el iciting a groan from him. His mouth and hands left her as he clutched the sides of her skirt, pulling i t upward, and ripped the silk panties from her. He quickly undid the buttons of his Levi’s, pushing them low on his hips. Laurie gasped shakily, afraid to move, afraid to breath, afraid he would leav e her trembling by the wall. With shaking hands, Cole reached into his pocket and withdrew a small box. H e hastily tore into it and pulled out a foil packet. He ripped it open with his teeth and discarded the waste aside. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked in a gruff voice. She nodded,

unable to utter a word. Finished with the needed protection, Cole’s hands returned to her, one cupp ing her breast, the other sliding into her warmth. Laurie closed her eyes a nd tilted her head back. “Oh, God, please, Cole,” she pleaded, though she k new he would never offer her more than this. This would have to be enough. In a swift move made out of desperation, he pulled her leg around his waist a nd entered her. Laurie cried out, reveling in the feel of him filling her com pletely. She brought her other leg up to circle his waist as he held her back side in his palm, supporting her. Laurie wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly as her back slid up the wall with each of his powerful thru sts. His lips- God, those lips- came back to hers. Their tongues mated in a rhyth m matching that of their bodies. White lights stole her breath and lightning sizzled up her spine, ending wit h an explosion ringing in her ears, rocking her to the core. Her body convul sed around him and a cry escaped her throat, dying within his kiss. It was a t that exact moment she knew he had stolen her heart. Cole felt her release as she tightened around him. His breathing labored, his heart pounded in his ears. Without a thought or a care for the morning, Cole thrust a final time as his own world detonated and he released four years of restrained passion. Laurie sagged against the wall as her feet supported her, her head tilted ba ck, and her breath left her body in a rush of air. Cole stood motionless, wa iting for some, any, energy to move. Finally, he pushed off the wall and tur ned his back to compose himself. Finished, he looked at Laurie, who sat at the base of the wall, legs curled be neath her, her breasts now concealed by her bra, and her eyes turned to the fl oor. “I’m sorry,” he whispered hoarsely, his breathing still labored. The last thing he saw-the sight that would surely plague him for days to c ome-were the tears slipping unheeded down her cheeks, telling him what he already knew. She wanted more from him than he could ever offer. Turning t he knob, he opened the door and walked out, hoping the night would deaden the pain, because he sure the hell would not be able to forget.

Chapter 14

Cole stood in the center of Mary Stine’s room at the Cleveland Motel. A hole now laid in the blue carpet from the missing, bloodied, size-eleven footpri nt. The exact type of shoe was indeterminate because of the crimson-colored smear on the carpet fibers, though they were positive it came from a boot. T he white counter, on which the assailant had left the quote, also had been t aken to the lab. Analysis showed the perp wore black, possibly gardening, cloth gloves. All blood at the scene came from the same blood type, the victim’s. Foreign fib ers taken from the bed led them to believe their man dressed in black for t he occasion. No hair other than the victim’s was present. No flesh under th e victim’s nails, no semen found for DNA testing. With latex gloves, Cole began searching through drawers and cabinets, hopin g to find any possible clue that might lead to the man they searched for. So far, they had a white male, possibly between the ages of twenty-five to t hirty-five, who may or may not have long black hair. He appeared to like dar k clothing and was nocturnal. At the determinable time of these murders, thi s person preferred to work late at night, meaning his perp probably did not hold a regular day job. He took his victims by surprise; he was effective, too, because there were no defense wounds or signs of struggle. Rape had not been a factor, and Cole wo ndered if the son of a bitch could even get an erection or if he preferred to masturbate to the trophies he collected from his victims as he relived his t wisted fantasies at a later date. There was no doubt in Cole’s mind, three murders later, they dealt with a ser ial killer. This man would continue killing until he was stopped. In a drawer of lingerie, beneath a considerable amount of lace panties and b rassieres, Cole found a thin black book hidden at the back of the dresser. H e picked it up and leafed through it, glancing at the names. His heart raced . This book listed Mary’s clients. She was no street-walking hooker who rand omly got into the cars of people she did not know; she had a clientele-a lar ge clientele, especially for one of her stature. Cole recognized some of the men on the list as prominent businessmen in th e community. Damn, but he bet there would be a lot of people who would wan t to get their hands on this book. Flipping through the pages, one name caught his attention-Nicholas Darby. A red star resided beside his name as well as a few others. It either denote d people she liked well enough or those maybe she preferred to stay away fr om. Which of the two, Cole did not know, but intended to find out. He withdrew a small plastic bag from his blazer, slipped the book inside, and tagged it as evidence. Excitement bubbled to the surface as he placed the it em in his pocket. He had found the first real piece of evidence in this case

and he planned to follow up on it by paying Mr. Darby a surprise visit as soo n as he wrapped things up here. Finally, he had a lead that might just point to the killer. Cole pulledup in front of a townhouse on Westwood Drive, not far from the border of the city of Westlake. The address matched that of Nicholas Darby ’s. A new sleek black corvette sat in the driveway. Cole withdrew his paper an d pencil, quickly scrawled down the license plate number, and hoped if it was anywhere near the Cleveland Motel the night before, someone would have spotted it. A car like that would hardly go unnoticed. Cole stepped out of his detective’s sedan and headed up the walkway. The l awn appeared well taken care of, the shrubbery trimmed conservatively, and red flowers lined the many window boxes. Cole walked up the brick steps a nd rang the bell. The front door stood open and through the screen, Cole s aw a petite blonde heading in his direction. “Can I help you?” the woman asked. Cole recognized her as the woman waiting in the car for Nicholas at his daughter’s funeral. Cole took an instant di slike to her. Only a cold woman would show such disrespect-that is if it ha d been her decision and not Darby’s to stay in the car. Cole reached for his wallet and flashed his badge. “Fairview Police. I’d lik e to speak with Nicholas Darby.” “Sure. You’re lucky you caught him. We were just heading for tennis at the club.” She gave Cole her slender back and called out, “Nick, darling, the re’s a police officer out here who wants to speak with you.” She glanced b ack at Cole. “What did you say your name was?” “I didn’t,” Cole said. “Tell him it’s Lieutenant Kincaid.” Before she could call out his name, Cole spotted Nicholas heading in their d irection through the closed screen door. “Lieutenant,” Nicholas greeted, opening the door and offering his hand. A smile spread across Mr. Darby’s handsome face. He wore white tennis short s and a polo style pale-blue shirt, attesting to the fact he had a day of tennis in mind. “You’ve come with good news about my daughter’s murderer I hope. Come in.” Cole followed Nicholas into the house, and down the hall to a small kitchen graced with a pedestal table and four caned chairs. “Get the lieutenant a glass of lemonade, sweetheart,” Nicholas instructed, t he cheeriness in his voice ringing false to Cole’s ears. “What news do you h ave for me?” “Nothing good. I’ll need to read you your rights, Mr. Darby, before I proceed .” Cole held up his hand, stilling any argument ready to spill forth from Nic holas’s lips. “You are not under arrest, it’s just a formality. I’m sure you

can understand.” After being read his noncustodial rights and signing a statement saying he understood full well what he had been told, Cole was ready to continue. “Ar e you familiar with the name Mary Stine?” Cole asked, watching the color dr ain from his face. Nicholas’s mouth twisted as he glared at Cole. Taking his gaze off Cole for a second, he turned to look at the woman approaching with two glasses of l emonade. “Why don’t you head to the club, sweetheart? I’ll meet up with you later. Lieutenant Kincaid and I have a private matter to discuss.” They waited until the small blonde grabbed her tennis bag and trotted out the door, promising to see her darling Nicholas later. Mr. Darby turned back to Cole, his expression now granite. “What the hell a re you doing here, Lieutenant?” “Just answer the question. Do you know a Mary Stine?” Nicholas wrapped his fingers tightly around the glass, refusing to meet Col e’s gaze. “Nope.” He glanced back up. “Next question.” “I believe you do,” Cole said, leaning forward in his chair. “I think you not only knew her, but paid for her services.” Nicholas snorted. “And where did you get this information from?” “A black book found in her room at the Cleveland Motel.” Nicholas shifted in his chair, a sense of uneasiness shadowing his eyes. “An d I’m sure she told you all sorts of lies, no doubt. Who’d believe her anywa y? She’s nothing but a lying slut.” Cole took out his pad and pencil, jotting down a few notes, then looked at Mr. Darby. “You just said a moment ago you didn’t know Miss Stine. Now yo u claim she’s, and I quote, ‘a lying slut.’ Which is it, Mr. Darby? You kn ow her, or you don’t?” Nicholas exhaled through pursed lips, then intertwined his fingers atop the table and looked at Cole, shrugging his shoulders. “I know her.” “How long ago had you met?” “Look, what the hell brings you here anyway? Why aren’t you questioning s ome of her other clients? Why the hell bother me?” “Miss Stine was found murdered yesterday morning. Do you care to tell me where you were at approximately four a.m.?” “Jesus Christ!” Nicholas blasphemed, wiping a hand down his mouth. “I was here. I was sleeping.” “Do you have an alibi?” His face grew red. “What the hell do I need an alibi for? Are you accusing me of something, Lieutenant? Am I under arrest?” Darby reminded Cole of a rabid dog backed into a corner with nowhere to tu rn. “No and no one is accusing you of anything, Mr. Darby,” Cole said, his voic

e was calm, though at the moment, he felt anything but. “Then get out of my house. This is absolutely ridiculous.” “Not from where I stand. I have a woman murdered in the same fashion as yo ur own daughter. Throat slit with bite marks surrounding the neck wound. T hat ties both murders together, and now I find out you are connected with both.” Nicholas tilted his head back and laughed, his humor ringing false, then ret urned his glare to Cole. “You’re trying to say that I may have killed my own daughter as well as Mary Stine.” “I’m not saying anything, Mr. Darby. That’s your own conclusion. I have on ly made a connection between the two...unless there is something you wish to add to them. Do you have an alibi placing you here the night before?” “Kay was not here that night.” “Your girlfriend?” “Yes, Kay Sanders. We had a fight and she stayed all night at a friend’s. Ar e you suggesting I need a lawyer?” “Not unless you feel the need for one. At the moment, Mr. Darby, you’re no t being charged with anything. I’m only here to question you. At any given time you can end this conversation. What was your fight about?” “That’s none of your business.” “When it involves a murder case, it makes it my business. What was the fig ht about, Mr. Darby?” “Stupid stuff. I wasn’t paying her enough attention. She said I was taking h er for granted. When I disagreed, she left. But as you can see, we’ve made u p.” Cole nodded. “Can you tell me what your relationship with Mary Stine was? ” “I think you already know.” “Please-for the record.” Cole could not keep the sarcasm from lacing his wo rds. He did not like Nicholas Darby. “I paid Mary for...services,” he added. “Care to elaborate?” “No. What’s wrong, Lieutenant? Aren’t you getting it enough these days or do you just like to get off on someone else’s sordid details?” Cole glared, felt his biceps tighten, itching to slug the little prick in the mouth. If for nothing else, then for reminding him of the previous evening. He ll, he had berated himself the entire night and still felt the heel for his ac tions. Laurie would not likely forgive him for walking out on her. Unfortunate ly, “I’m sorry,” would never cut it. Cole cleared his throat. “I’m not getting into a pissing match with you, M r. Darby. I ask the questions and you answer them to the best of your know ledge. That’s it. Now, what I’m asking is-with a beautiful woman like Miss

Sanders to warm your bed, what were you doing paying for favors from Miss Stine?” Nicholas’s grin was filled with malice. “I like back doors, Lieutenant. Bein g a man, I’m sure you can understand.” Cole grinned, truly humored at Nicholas’s surprise confession. “Sodomy is a gainst the law as well is prostitution,” he chided, trying to contain his s udden found humor over Nicholas’s ridiculous predicament. “And are you going to arrest me? No officer is going to bust down my door t o see how I prefer to have sex. And it isn’t something you ask from a lady. ” “So, you received this type of...a...favor from Mary Stine?” “I did, and it cost me plenty, but it was worth it.” “When is the last time you saw her?” Nicholas looked down at his hands before responding. “A few weeks ago.” “Before or after your daughter’s death?” “After. I needed a release.” “So you went to see Mary Stine?” “Yes.” “Did she ever tell you about being afraid of anyone? Possibly another client ?” “We never talked, Lieutenant.” His gaze slid back up to Cole’s, gleaming wi th hatred. “I was paying her to service me, not converse with me.” “So you’re saying you never held a conversation with Miss Stine?” “Never.” “How did you meet her?” “Another client referred her, said she was good.” “And his name?” “Look in the book.” “I can see this conversation is getting nowhere. I guess now is as good a plac e as any to stop.” “Gee, Lieutenant, what was your first clue?” Cole stood up. Had he been an ordinary man and not a law enforcement offic ial, Nicholas Darby would be sporting bruises and bloodied gashes from the serious thrashing Cole felt like giving him. Hell, he wanted nothing more than to punch him in the mouth. “I’m finished for now, but should I think of anything else, we’ll be seeing e ach other again.” “A threat?” “A promise.” Cole walked out of the house, slamming the screen door behind him. Back in his car, Cole headed the sedan toward the station. Exhaustion seeped into his bones. The only reason he headed for City Hall was to retrieve his

truck. A hot bath and bed were in order. Cole was ready to call it a night. Hell, he only hoped and prayed, once he hit the pillow, blessed sleep would come, not only to block out events of the day, but of the previous night as well. If Laurie did not hate him before, she certainly did now. And that tho ught bothered him more than the unsolved case. God’s life -giving seed spills forth as the dark figure cries out, the sound echoing off the undecorated walls of the red room; a room no bigger than si x foot by eight. Candles lend the darkened room illumination where no window s allow the light of day. The tortured soul slumps naked against the wall, s liding down to a crouching position by the cold cement floor. His eyes hold fast to the fluid now spent, lying in a milky pool at his feet. A substance given to man to renew life, to give of himself and create anoth er. Only once had woman procreated without the aid of man when God brought forth His Son to save mankind from themselves. But just as He had at first forsaken His Son on the cross, the Lord now forgets the soul-left to his ow n in the mind of eternal darkness. Long ago, God had turned His back on the evil burgeoning inside and left th e soul with a flaming hunger, an unquenchable thirst, to take the blood tha t preserves life. Would God intend for that same soul to reproduce what He now shuns? Satan uses the power given to man by God in Genesis, “Be fruitful and incre ase in number; fill the earth and subdue it,” for his own twisted vices. An d if the soul uses the power to create, one even more evil than he will sur ely be brought forth. But would the soul care when all he once believed in now turns His head and leaves him to be condemned in his temptations? Only one the soul deems worthy of that seed. A chalice of crimson blood left chilled to preserve sits on thealtar in the center of the room, taken from a poor being just sentto her God above, payin g homage to all that is evil. Flames from the many candles beside it lick an d climb, casting shadows across the dim room. A clipped newspaper article of Shana Darby’s funeral, a gold ring twinkling i n the flame’s light, a driver’s license with tattered corners, a Mont Blanc s et beside one golden hooped earring, and a silver chain baring a cross is spr ead out across the surface of the table, dumped from the box that became thei r home. The container, now discarded, lies at the foot of the altar. The soul stands on shaken limbs and walks to the center of the room. Stretchi ng out one long arm, he holds his forearm over the flame of one candle, feeli ng the pain clear to his deadened soul. The smell of burnt flesh permeates th e air as his skin bubbles and blisters until the soul can take no more, cryin g out in pain. He wraps the chalice with his palm and brings it to his lips as his stomach

pangs in hunger. Tipping his head back, the red fluid passes over his tongue and down his throat, filling him more completely than the milk from his mot her’s breast ever did. Blood spills from the corners of his mouth and drips in finality to the floor. With one swipe of his hand, he wipes the remaining blood from his mouth and drops the empty chalice to the ground. For now, life can once more return to what might be deemed as normal until h is passion rages and claws at his soul, forcing him to prey yet again. The soul dons black jeans and a shirt, then wraps his blistered arm with whit e cotton gauze. He grasps the red rose left by the door, for the time has com e to lay his remorse at rest and visit the grave of one who is no more.

Chapter 15 Dressed in an oversized T-shirt and cut-off sweat pants, Laurie took another bite of her grilled chicken filet sandwich and headed for the door. The bel l rang again, sending Zeke jumping in circles as his high-pitched bark echoe d off the white walls of the foyer. Laurie was in no mood for company and had half a mind to ignore the intru sion and wallow in her self-pity. An entire day had nearly come to pass a nd Cole Kincaid had not the decency to call or acknowledge her in any way . Wham bam, no thank you, ma’am. What a fool she had been. Opening the door, a slinky-clad Cindy bounded into Laurie’s home like a k id who had just consumed way too much caffeine and sugar. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” Laurie grumbled as Cindy handed her a bo x of Chinese. “I was in the area and thought I’d spring for dinner,” she said, kicking off her heels and heading for the family room, not waiting to see if Laurie follo wed or cared. Laurie had to practically run to keep up with her over-enthusiastic houseguest. “It’s nine o’clock, Cindy, a little late for dinner. Besides, I’ve already eat en.” “There’s always room for Chinese.” Cindy plopped her rear end, barely cove red by a short spandex skirt, down on the sofa, propping her stocking feet onto the coffee table. Tearing into her box, she used the wooden chopsticks to fish out a small pink shrimp and dropped it into her open mouth. Betwee n mouthfuls, she said, “Besides, I got an hour to waste.” Laurie sat on the sofa beside her, chicken filet long forgotten, and opene d her own box. “So where are you off to?” she asked, knowing Cindy never w

ent anywhere alone. She and Cindy had been practically inseparable the las t few months since their meeting each other. “Back to the Agora,” she grinned, her face beaming with exuberance. “Dami en’s playing there again tonight. He’s asked me to meet him.” A lead weight settled on Laurie’s chest. Certainly, Cindy had not become to tally smitten with the dark singer overnight, not realizing how dangerous t his man could be. “Then why doesn’t he pick you up if it’s a date?” Cindy giggled as though Laurie really didn’t have a clue and had yet to figu re out how the opposite sex works. “It really isn’t a date. He just wants me around, says he likes to look out and see my smiling face. Want to go?” “No,” Laurie snorted, the idea being preposterous. “Besides, what do you ne ed me hanging around for? I’d just get in the way.” “Damien doesn’t seem to think so-he asked if I’d be bringing you along.” Laurie glanced at Cindy’s youthful face and wondered if she were truly so naive. Had Damien Vincent wanted Cindy, he would not have asked her to bri ng along a friend. Cindy looked at her, eyes gleaming. Laurie hoped from the bottom of her h eart Damien’s true intent was indeed Cindy VanWarren and not Laurie Micha els, though it appeared otherwise. “Besides, maybe you could find one of the other band members more to you r liking and we could double sometime.” Laurie shoved a chopstick full of rice into her mouth, not really wanting t o comment. Mouthful gone, she turned to Cindy and said, “You’re not serious .” “Oooh.” Her eyes rounded. “I’m sorry. How inconsiderate of me. Did things go well with the detective last night?” Laurie looked back to her sweet-and-sour shrimp, stirring the rice absentmi ndedly with one of the wooden sticks. “No, not really,” she said, stuffing her mouth again to avoid saying anything more. Cindy obviously had not detected Laurie’s uneasiness at the subject of Col e Kincaid for she continued, undaunted. “Then I think you should come with me. We’ll have a blast. Most of the band members are cute-besides, their whole bad boy image is enough to get your panties in a bunch.” Cindy!” Laurie nearly choked on her food. “Come now, Laurie. You don’t expect to be celibate the rest of your life be cause Jeff dumped you.” “No, I don’t.” Laurie sat forward and placed the half-finished box on the cof fee table. “But I don’t think offering myself to the first good-looking, dark -haired man I see is the answer.” “So you admit you find some of the band members attractive?” “I do not. Though I will say, Damien Vincent is alluring in a dark sense.” “Sorry-he’s mine.”

Laurie held her hands up in defense, grinning. “I wouldn’t dream of approa ching the Dark Lord.” “What happened between you and Cole?” “No, you first. What went on after I left the club last night?” Cindy placed her box to the side, straightened her spine, and smiled at Laur ie. She looked like a child with a juicy secret about to spill from her lips . “After Dragonslayer was finished for the night, Damien had me follow him b ack to his apartment.” “You were at Damien’s last night?” “All night,” Cindy grinned. “I didn’t leave until around ten this morning.” “Did you run into-” “Cole?” Cindy broke in, finishing Laurie’s question for her. “No. He was a lready home before we ever got there, but he never left his room, probably asleep. I heard him rustling about and leaving somewhere around seven-thirt y this morning, but then I snuggled against Damien’s chest and fell back as leep.” Laurie giggled. “So you did it?” “Boy, did we.” Cindy leaned forward as not to allow anyone else to hear, th ough besides Zeke, they were completely alone. “Three times before we fell asleep and then again this morning in the shower before I left.” Laurie grinned, shaking her head. “The man has stamina.” “You wouldn’t believe it,” Cindy cooed. “God, the third time I thought he’d never finish. I’m surprised I can even walk.” A chuckle erupted as Laurie stood and headed for the kitchen. She had alway s known Cindy to be a little promiscuous but thought it had little bearing on her as a person. Regardless of how Cindy conducted her private life, she had become Laurie’s best friend. “Want a beer?” Laurie called from the kitchen. “Sounds great.” She opened the refrigerator and withdrew two Bud Lites, unscrewing the cap s. Damien Vincent was a man with lasting power; Laurie chuckled to herself , shaking her head as she returned to the room. Better Cindy than her, she supposed. Cindy took a swig from her bottle, then glanced at Laurie. “Your turn,” she urged. “Not much to tell,” Laurie said, unsure how much she really wanted to divul ge. Laurie had had very few close friends in the past several years and if she could not confide in Cindy, then whom could she trust? “He didn’t even come in?” “Oh, he came in all right. I asked him if he wanted a glass of wine.” “Smooth. Real smooth.” “I’m not like you.” Laurie playfully slapped Cindy’s upper arm with the back

of her hand. “I invited him in with no ulterior motive.” Cindy sat up, hanging on Laurie’s every word. “Do tell me more.” “He seemed a little uncomfortable with my house-” “What?” Cindy squealed. “You have to be kidding. Look at this place. Any man would die to live within the walls of your mansion.” “It’s not a mansion and not all men are at ease when a woman has this much money.” Laurie’s gaze took in the vast room, looking around in disgust. For the first time since buying the place, she questioned her decision to live within its walls. Maybe she should have bought something a little more con servative. “So what did he say?” “The look on his face said it all. I convinced him to stay and we came in he re for a glass of wine. When I flipped on the television to help break the t ension, two bodies were engaged in...” Laurie shrugged, rolling her hands, a nd laughed, “...an illicit affair. Embarrassed, I changed the channel. But, it was too late, Cole was uncomfortable and decided it wasn’t a good idea th at he had come.” “So you didn’t make out or anything?” “For crying out loud, Cindy, the world does not revolve around sex.” “Spend the night I had and you’d think so,” Cindy sniggered. “So what? Then he left?” “Not exactly. I asked him if we could see each other again. He said maybe, though for some reason I doubt he meant it, then I followed him to the door .” “Exciting night, huh?” Sarcasm laced her words. “Had it ended there.” Cindy’s eyes rounded. “Don’t stop now, girl. What happened?” Laurie took a deep breath and looked away, tears welled in her eyes, feeling t he pain of his rejection all over again. “What did he do?” Cindy gasped, looking concerned. The humor died from h er voice. “He turned at the door...took a step toward me-the next thing I know, we’re h aving sex, right there in the foyer.” Cindy’s eyes grew large as her mouth rounded. Laurie covered her face wit h her hands in shame. How could she have allowed him to use her in such a fashion? “It’s all right,” Cindy said, tentatively touching Laurie’s shoulder. “People have sex all the time. It’s nothing to be ashamed about.” Laurie took her hands from her face and looked at Cindy. “I wouldn’t be as hamed had we made love. God, had he said, thank you...anything besides ‘I’ m sorry’ would have been nice. Instead, he just walked out the door.” Cindy’s brow rose heavenward. “He apologized? ”

“That’s it, not another word.” “God, I’m sorry.” “Because I was such an idiot?” “No wonder you don’t feel like going out tonight.” “No, I don’t.” Laurie glanced at the clock on the VCR. “And if you want to see Damien’s opening set, you’d better get going.” Cindy plopped her feet onto the floor. “You’re right, got to run.” She trott ed off down the hallway and to the foyer where she replaced her shoes. “Sure you don’t want to go? It will help take things off your mind.” “No, thanks. I think Zeke and I’ll retire early.” She scooped the small do g into her arms and opened the door. Cindy gave her a quick hug, earning h er a small growl from Zeke who had been sandwiched between the two, then w alked down the sidewalk. “Have a good time,” Laurie called after her. “I intend to.” Cindy’s grin filled her face. As Laurie shut the door, she thought about how cheerful Cindy had seemed. F or the first time since meeting her, Laurie thought Cindy appeared at peace with herself, content. For once, she had not let her past get in the way o f happiness. Who knows, maybe Damien Vincent would be good for her. Well, i t was a nice thought anyway. She locked the door and set the alarm, turning out the downstairs lights. Heading for the sanctity of her bed, she hoped for a dreamless, sleep-filled night. “What do you think, Cole?” John asked as they walked down the hall toward t he chief’s office. “I think the son of a bitch is telling the truth, but not all of it. I think he’s hiding something from me.” They walked through the door and each took a seat on either side of the chi ef’s desk. Cole dropped the evidence bag containing the black book on the t able surface. “You feel the need to bring him back in, interrogate him?” John asked. He s lipped the book from the bag and began leafing through it. “Not yet, but Nicholas Darby hasn’t seen the last of me. I’m not through with him just yet.” “Christ,” John mumbled. “Have you seen some of the names listed in here?” “Yeah,” Cole chuckled. “I know a lot of people who would probably love to get their hands on that book.” “Did you release this finding to the press?” “Hell, no. They’d have a field day. Damn, nearly every man named in that boo k would be here, wanting to keep their dirty little secret from the press.” “Did you see the article by that Michaels woman in yesterday’s paper?”

“How could I not,” Cole grumbled. One bad night and she felt the need to tak e a shot at him through her article. John’s grin widened, obviously humored by what he read. “At least she didn ’t come out and call you incompetent.” “Might as well have. ‘The detectives working this case have not got a clue o n what is happening here and the possibility of a serial killer at large in Fairview Park looms largely before us.’ Shit,” Cole said as he shook his hea d and ran a palm down his freshly-shaven jaw. Three full days had passed sin ce he walked out her door and she had yet to forgive him. Hell, if the chief ever found out he’d slept with Laurie, he would likely string him up by his balls. “She’s got spunk. Besides, I liked the piece she did on the Darby case. When she’s asked to, she abides by our rules. Maybe you ought to talk to her, Co le, give her a small exclusive to keep her off our backs.” John rocked back in his chair and stared at Cole over his steepled fingers. “I don’t want eve rything we have getting in the paper. It could blow our case.” “So what are you saying, John? I should wine and dine this woman?” John let out a humph as though Cole had completely misunderstood his intent ions. Not likely. “Not at all, Cole. All I’m saying is to find a way to keep her off our backs; give her only what we want her to print. She’s already hinted to the fact th at these three women all died by the same hand and that a serial murderer is running loose in our city. We’ll use the press to our advantage. We aren’t li kely going to shake this thing very easily, so if we appear to be willing to speak with the press, the less likely they will be to do any investigating on their own.” “So what are you saying I give her?” The last thing he wanted was to work with Laurie, professionally or not. Whe never in her presence, his desire had a way of getting in the way, and right now he could not afford to be distracted by a pretty face. And certainly no t to mention the way she seemed to tug at his heart. That part of his body l ay dead for years-now was not the time to be entertaining other emotions he thought himself incapable of. “I think you need to give her something that seems big, but not something w hich would blow any chance we have at finding this piece of crap. Something large enough to satisfy her urge to inform the people. Besides, it could w ork for us.” “What piece of information do you suggest I give her, John? Not the quote.” “Christ, that’s one clue I intend to guard from the press at this point. Don’ t tell her about the shoe print or the fact we know the killer uses a serrate d knife. We don’t want him changing weapons on us. We’ll give her the bite wo

unds.” “You can’t be serious.” Cole nearly shot out of his chair. “That’s the one clu e we have linking this son of a bitch to each case.” “We also know, because of that, he has a taste for blood, and that fact isn’t l ikely to change.” “I won’t give her the bite wounds, John.” “Tell her we have reason to believe this man is killing out of a passion to d rink blood. We don’t have to release the information as to how we know this, just that strong evidence points to it.” “Why?” “Let’s portray him as the monster he is.” “Then we’ll never find him and if we do, he won’t confess a thing, knowing we’ve already convicted him without a trial. I can see the papers now. Vamp ire of Fairview strikes yet again. We’ll be the laughing stock of the commu nity.” “Listen to me, Cole.” John leveled his gaze and tapped his finger on his des k. “This piece of crap has already gotten bolder. He left you a taunt, for c rissake. He wants you to try and figure him out. And with each killing, he’s going to get bolder. I wouldn’t be surprised if he quit covering his damn v ictims and left them in plain sight. I say we play his game, call his challe nge. He’ll get sloppy, make more mistakes. That’s when we nab him.” “And how many innocent women have to die before we catch him?” Cole’s ire r ose. He didn’t want any of this case publicized. He wanted to keep it out o f the media’s hands, but the chief had just made it glaringly obvious, he t hought differently. John inhaled deeply, then released the breath slowly as he stood and walked to his window, looking out at the parking lot. “I don’t want more to die a ny more than you do, Cole. But if we sit back and do nothing, I’m afraid we ’ll never catch him.” He returned his attention to Cole. “He’ll grow bored and disappear into the woodwork, move on to another city. But if you issue him a challenge, let him know you aren’t taking this lying down; he’s going to play a game with you. Only, we want to set the rules.” “So you want me to paint him as a monster-a sick son of a bitch who has a t wisted taste for blood, who masturbates in the privacy of his home? Am I ge tting this right?” “You’re calling the shots, Cole.” “Am I?” “It’s your case.” “A moment ago I would have thought it was yours.” John’s face reddened as he returned to his chair and glared at Cole. “Every c ase in this office concerns me. I make the final decisions no matter what my detectives might think. Just this once, Cole, I’m going over your head. This

piece will be written. As a matter of fact-” Following the chief’s gaze, Cole turned around. Laurie Michaels stood in th e opened doorway, pen, paper, and tape recorder in hand. “I take it you already took the liberty of calling her,” Cole grumbled as he turned his attention back to the chief. The smile on his face answered Cole’s question.

Chapter 16 Cole’s deep-set eyes, with their unusual slant still caught her off guard as he glared at her from his seat in the police chief’s office. Her breath lodge d in her throat as the too small office seemed to close in on her. She had to be insane. When John McCray had called, at first she thought to tell him no, that she would no longer work with Cole Kincaid. But she decided to put asid e personal feelings; this was work and Laurie meant to have the exclusive, ea rning her the right to be called a journalist. Now, here she stood, reevaluating her earlier assessment. She never dreamed it would be this hard to be in the same room with Cole, not while the emot ional wounds were still fresh. But she was not about to show her weakness, tuck her tail between her legs, and run the opposite way. Instead, she cleared her throat, closed the door, and took a seat besid e the object of her despair. Cole continued to glare at her, not saying a word. As though she were the one at fault . “I hope I’m not too early.” Laurie directed her statement at John, not wishin g to converse with Cole at all. With luck, maybe this could be taken care of here, in the chief’s office. “You did say three o’clock?” “Right on time, Miss Michaels.” The chief grinned. His large size should ha ve been intimidating, and had he worn an expression to match, would surely send the most hardened criminals fleeing. But as it was, he made her feel c omfortable and safe in his presence. “I was just discussing with Lieutenant Kincaid the benefits of working with the press on this case.” “I think everyone would benefit, sir.” Laurie straightened her spine and lifte d her chin. “Please, call me John.” He glanced at Cole then at her. “The Lieutenant has agreed to give you an exclusive-providing you print things the way we see them. No ad-libbing on your part. Is this agreeable to you?” “To a point, I don’t have a problem with that, not unless the lieutenant doe s. But I do request that I am allowed my own creativity.” Laurie clenched he

r teeth, tightening her jaw as she continued to look straight ahead. As of y et, Cole had not one word to say, nor did he look in her direction, though, for obvious reasons, she surely didn’t want his attention at the moment. At any given time, her courage might fail and out the door she would run. “We don’t want to keep you from writing a good piece, though the finished copy must be agreed upon by the lieutenant. Cole?” “No problems, Chief.” His clipped tone sliced the air like a straight razor, a dding further tension to the room. “Well, then, the two of you can go back to Cole’s office and get this thing tak en care of. I’d like to be able to read this in tomorrow’s paper. I’ve also see n to it that the Plain Dealer will print your piece.” Laurie’s gaze caught John’s as her heart picked up its pace. This would gi ve her a large portion of Northeast Ohio coverage. “How did you manage-” “When I told them the situation and how I had already chosen the reporter for the job, they agreed to do things my way.” John sat back in his chair and fo r the first time since stepping into the office, Laurie wondered about friend s in high places. “I called in a few favors.” Her gaze traveled about the room, noting the pictures on the wall. One part icular photo caught her attention; John McCray was shaking hands with Presi dent Clinton. Had the chief wanted anything done, Laurie doubted that it wo uld be a stretch. For him, nothing seemed out of reach. “What are you two wasting my time for?” John grumbled with a slight curve o f his lips. “Get on it. We’re wasting the taxpayers’ money, not to mention time. Cole has a case to solve.” “Right away, Chief,” Cole grumbled as he opened the door and left the office , not turning back to see if Laurie followed. “I thought the two of you seemed to get along well enough when we did the l ast piece. Cole was even the one who had picked you for the job. I don’t kn ow what has happened between the two of you, but get over it. Don’t make me regret my decision to let you write this piece,” John said, narrowing his gaze at her. His eyes held questions Laurie was not about to answer. “No, sir, I won’t.” Laurie stood. “We had a minor disagreement. Nothing that can’t be settled.” “Good—that’s what I want to hear.” Laurie walked down the narrow corridor to the last door on the left. Her he art lay in her stomach like lumpy oatmeal. The only way to make the best of the situation, and not allow Cole to see the depth of her wounds, was to c oncentrate solely on the job before them. A story begged to be written. And the sooner they finished it, the sooner they could part company. Stepping into the opened doorway, Laurie watched Cole behind his desk leaf t hrough the papers scattering its surface. She wanted nothing more than to sl am the door, surely getting his attention and watch him react. But she resis

ted the desire, knowing how it would also attract the notice of everyone els e in the station. Laurie closed the door quietly, took the seat opposite the desk, and waited fo r him to say something, anything. Her heart beat so loudly in her chest, she s wore he could hear it above the constant tick of his clock on the wall, the on ly thing to decorate its surface. Grasping her pen and pad, she spoke first. “Aren’t you supposed to give me an exclusive or something?” Cole looked up from his work and their eyes locked. Her breath lodged in he r throat as she stared into his haunted eyes. Surely, he would not be feeli ng remorse over what he had done to her. “Look-” “You look, Lieutenant,” Laurie stopped him from telling her it had been nic e, but.… She highly doubted she could endure his entire planned speech and not lose dig nity. Surely she would burst into tears at the first mention of his total disr egard for her. “We’re here to discuss this case and that’s it. What do you have for me? The sooner we get this over with, the more comfortable we both will be.” That s aid, Laurie put the end of her pen against her lip and waited for him to say something. Cole looked across the desk at the alluring woman. Even within the confines o f his office, his job, he could not keep his desire for her from getting in t he way. Cole exhaled, shifted in his seat, and stared at the pen resting tant alizingly against her lower lip. Memories of the other night rushed back in f ull force, though they were never far from the surface to begin with. “If that’s what you want, Miss Michaels,” Cole stated. He returned his attent ion to the papers before him, keeping the pictures of the crime scene secured beneath the manila file folders. There was no reason to expose her to the br utality. “Lieutenant, I came here for a story. As soon as I have it-I’ll be out of y our way and you’ll be able to conduct your search for this madman. Now,” sh e tapped the record button on her micro-cassette and placed her pen on the paper, “what do you have for me?” Cole sighed heavily. Laurie was not about to give him an inch, making him fee l even more the jerk for walking out. Maybe this would be all for the better. After all, he did not want her or a relationship. “This is going to take a lot of the creativity you spoke about in the chief’s of fice earlier. Are you up for it?” “Give me what you’ve got and I’ll create one heck of a story for you.” The f ake smile she pasted on her cinnamon lips did not fool Cole for a minute.

“You were partly correct in the piece you wrote the other day,” he said, lean ing back on his chair, taking a sip of coffee from his Styrofoam cup. “Which part?” “Not the part about the detectives,” he grumbled, earning him a genuine sm ile. “About the three murders being connected.” “I guess I have good intuition then.” “Careful, Laurie. Don’t let your intuition get you into trouble.” Cole took another sip from his coffee. “I’m sorry. Where are my manners? Would you l ike a cup?” “I’ve had all the coffee I can take for one day. Now, tell me about these murderers, Lieutenant. How do you know these cases are linked? What eviden ce supports your theory?” “It’s no theory,” he said confidently. “The man who killed Shana Darby, also killed the other two victims.” “And you know this because...” She waited patiently for him to fill in the b lanks, her eyes wide and innocent. God, he didn’t want her to see the blackn ess of the world and take away her purity of heart. “Because the wounds inflicted were of the same nature as shown by the auto psy.” “The weapon?” “Is not up for discussion. I don’t want my perp changing weapons. Next que stion?” “How did these women die?” “Cause of death was due to the extreme loss of blood.” Laurie glanced at him, anger flashing in her warm brown eyes, nearly causi ng Cole to chuckle. “Meaning?” “Their throats were slit, Laurie.” “How can you be so sure this is the work of the same man? Seems like a common enough wound.” “There were no hesitation wounds, ruling out suicide, and there were no def ense wounds found, ruling out a struggle. These victims were all prostitute s and at this point we are assuming they had picked this man up.” “Can you be absolutely sure?” “All evidence we have points to this. Our perp has an extreme desire for blo od.” Laurie’s gaze narrowed as a look of disgust turned down her mouth. “And how do you know this?” “Let’s just say, we have strong evidence that says this son of a bitch is drinki ng it.” “Oh, God! Am I allowed to print that?” Laurie’s voice raised an octave, certa inly excited over the first piece of real evidence she had been given. “You may print that.”

“Last time I interviewed you, you told me you didn’t want to portray thi s man as a monster, giving me the reason you wanted him to open up once you found him. Why have you changed your mind?” “Let me just say, the chief changed it for me. We’re going to play the twiste d fu...uh...man’s game.” “So we have a real live vampire on our hands-a Bram Stoker’s Dracula . The headline will read ‘Vampire-” The last part of her statement caught his attention. “What did you say?” “Which part?” “Bram Stoker’s Dracula ,” he repeated, not really needing her to. He had no idea why the name of the book struck a chord, but he had always followed h is instincts. And this time, it was telling him to read. Could ‘BS’ stand f or Bram Stoker? “Do you have a copy of that book?” “No.” She chuckled. “Why?” “I’ve suddenly had the urge to read it.” “I’m sure the library has one. Got a card, Lieutenant?” she asked sarcasticall y. Not paying her any mind, Cole tapped the intercom and a secretary’s voice came through. “Sir?” “Send someone to the library and pick me up a copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracul a ,” Cole said as he held down the button. “Right away, Lieutenant,” the voice called back and the air once again dead ened. Turning back to Laurie, he asked, “Any more questions?” “Have you identified all three victims? The press has only been released on e name so far; Shana Darby.” “Forensics have yet to identify the first victim with the backlog of cases they have. Identification through them and VICAP, Violent Criminal Apprehen sion Program, which also helps aid in the search of missing persons, could take a year. The last victim’s family has also been contacted. She, too, wa s a prostitute, but worked out of a room here in Fairview at the Cleveland Motel. She was the oldest of the three victims. Mary Stine was twenty-two y ears old.” Noting the odd look on her face, he asked, “Is there something w rong, Miss Michaels?” Laurie shrugged her shoulders and glanced out the window behind him. “I wa s just thinking that Miss Stine was my age.” Cole looked at Laurie, and, affected by her spoken concern, voiced his own t houghts aloud. “That’s not all, Laurie, they also had your hair and eye colo ring.” Her gaze snapped back to his, her brows drawing together. A small amount of alarm registered in the depths of her eyes. “Are you trying to tell me som ething, Lieutenant?” she asked, her tone unfriendly.

“Just that you should be careful, lock your doors.” He didn’t want to tell he r of his concern over her welfare. Hell, that was as good as admitting he had feelings for her. And he surely could not do that. Laurie slapped the cover down on her pad, stuck the pen in her pocket book a nd hit the off button on her tape recorder. She stood up. “Is there anything else you want me to print?” “No, but when you’re finished, I’ll need to proofread it before it’s sent to co py.” He did not like the look in her eyes or how the temperature in the room had just dropped twenty degrees. “You’ll get a copy,” she said, her voice cool enough to freeze water. “I’ll fax it as soon as it’s finished.” Laurie turned and exited the office. Cole watched how stiffly she carried he rself as she walked down the hall and turned the corner: gone was the slight sway of her hips. He swore beneath his breath. He did not want to care. Jumping up from his desk, he trotted off in the direction she had taken, roun ded the corner, and exited the station. Laurie stood at the corner of the sid ewalk, waiting for the sign to tell her to walk. The nearest car was at least a block away, but Cole thought it just like her to wait for the signal. He c aught up to her easily, grasping her arm just as the sign turned to WALK and she began to step off the curb. Laurie jerked her arm free of his grasp. “Don’t touch me!” she shouted, tears filling her eyes. “Laurie-” “You made it quite obvious the other night you didn’t want anything else fr om me. Now I’m telling you what I want. Stay the hell away from me. I don’t need you in my life. And I sure don’t want to be in yours.” Without another word, she stepped from the corner and onto the street, joggin g off to the red Acura parked across the road. Cole watched as her car pulled into traffic and sped off; the hole in his heart apparent by the ache her cu tting words left there. A tiny drop of blood welled to the surface as the small cut began to bleed. W ith pressure on both sides of the fresh wound, the fluid began to flow more e asily as a drop escaped and fell to the floor. He held the thin finger in his hand and watched her gaze as she looked at him in awe. Then slowly, without taking his eyes from hers, he brought the injured digit to his mouth and suckled. Where the taste for blood had com e from, he would never know. Maybe, just maybe, he had been born with it. The draw had not been sexual, for that was not what he needed for stimulat ion or for his blood to flow and cause an erection. A simple woman could d o as much. But the taste of it was euphoric and a pleasure he refused to d

eny. Why should he have to when so many were willing to supply what he cra ved? Damien looked into the eyes of the tiny blonde as she squirmed and giggled, his lips still wrapped around her finger. “It tickles, Damien,” Cindy said, as her eyes held fast to his mouth. Damien let go of her hand, then placed the small pocketknife on the table be side him and drew her into his arms, looking down on her. “You are about as sweet as they come,” he said before his lips lay claim to hers. Her arms wrapped around his neck, holding him tight as though she were afr aid at any moment he would turn and flee. At the moment, Cindy VanWarren w as safe enough; his attentions were not about to stray. But had Laurie Mic haels even looked in his direction, Cindy would be no more than a fleeting thought. After all, he preferred brunettes. Releasing her, he patted Cindy on the behind and smiled at her. “I have a set to play,” he told her. “Do hurry.” She returned his grin, her eyes holding the promise of a sexual seduction. At least Cindy could do something to keep his mind preoccupied; one thing she was good at. “Then, we can go back to your place.” Damien grasped her finger and took another look at the small cut, only a ti ny drop of blood remained. He reached out his long tongue and licked away t he remains. “Until then,” he sneered. Dressed in a long sleeve T-shirt and black baggy jean shorts, he walked out of the back room and onto the stage.

Chapter 17 By the looks of it, Cole thought, it was going to be another late night. But what the hell did he care, he had no one waiting for him at home, and he inte nded on keeping it that way. After spending the last few months of his marria ge constantly badgered for his late hours, he had no intention of allowing hi story to repeat itself. Armed with a picture of Nicholas Darby, Cole entered the Cleveland Motel. Surely someone would have seen Nick at the motel one time or another. Cole wanted to back up the man’s story that he had not visited Mary Stine sinc e his daughter’s funeral, unwilling to take him for his word. Something about Nicholas’s actions and story rang false to him and Cole in tended on finding out exactly what it was. Nicholas Darby had carefully co ncocted a story. But why? Cole took the stairs two at a time. The quicker he finished here, the bette

r. The first person he wanted to check with was Miss Johnson, the woman who had found Mary Stine. Her door was directly across from the victim’s. If a nyone had the opportunity to see him there, it would have been her. Cole rapped on the wooden door. The sound of a chair scraping across the fl oor, then the soft pad of feet approaching the door could be heard over the quiet murmurs of voices drifting into the hall. As it opened a crack, a ti ny dark face peered through. Her eyes held recognition and Cole knew she re membered him from a few days before. “Officer...,” she paused, opening the door further. “Kincaid,” Cole supplied, shaking her hand. “Officer Kincaid,” she repeated as she stepped back and allowed him entranc e. Cole walked into the tiny, neat kept apartment, though a musty smell hung he avy in the air. A scarred wooden table sat beside a bed covered by a threadb are quilt. “I gots some tea if you’d like,” she offered as she indicated for him to have a seat. Cole shook his head, declining the offer. “No, thank you, ma’am. I won’t be staying long. I need you to look at a picture for me.” Miss Johnson walked over to him, her slippers shuffling along the thin carpe t. She glanced at the snapshot in his hand, studied it for long moments, the n shook her head sadly. “Don’t recognize him none. Should I?” she asked as she looked at Cole. He knew she was not near as old as the yellowing of her eyes would indicate. This woman had led a hard life. “This the man who took poor Mary’s life?” “We don’t have any suspects yet, Miss Johnson. I’m just trying to clarify a few things and check up on some facts.” Cole released a heavy sigh-anoth er dead end. “You’re sure you have never seen this man before?” Nicholas wore an award-winning smile, his teeth as white as a snow-capped mountain, and the sweater he wore in the picture spoke of money. Certain ly Miss Johnson would be wondering why a man of his stature would be hang ing around the Cleveland Motel. Hell, Cole had asked himself the same que stion a thousand times. “Nope, sorry. Ain’t never seen that man before and I’m sure if’n he was in here, I’d a noticed him. You thinkin’ he was keepin’ company with Mary?” “We know so. I’m just trying to establish when the last time was he paid her a visit.” “Ol’ Skinny down the hall, I’d ask him. He’s always a comin’ and a goin’. Maybe he can tell you what you wants to know.” “Maybe I will,” Cole said as he walked to the door and allowed Miss Johnson to see him out.

She pointed a thin bony finger down the hallway. “Third door on the left.” “Again, thank you,” Cole said as he exited the room. Bare bulbs dimly illumi nated the dark hallway. Cole could only imagine the critters that ran up and down the corridor in the dead of night. He heard Miss Johnson’s door close behind him as he approached the room s he had indicated. Cole knocked on the door. Silence greeted him. No indic ation that anyone was at home. Just as he was about to turn away, the doo r swung open. A tall thin man with blond dreadlocks stared at him from the other side of the door. He appeared to be in his early to mid-twenties. The man’s eyes da rted nervously down the hall and back to Cole; his pupils no more than pinp oints. “Something I can do for you?” Cole stuck out his hand, which the thin man ignored, then flipped open the leather wallet and exposed his badge. The man’s eyes widened like saucers . “I’m Lieutenant Cole Kincaid with the Fairview Police. I’m investigating the murder of Mary Stine. You are aware of this?” “Murdered three days ago. Didn’t know her though, only in passing.” “I have a few questions I would like to ask you. May I come in?” “Suit yourself.” The man grinned falsely, showing a smile of decayed teeth , then turned and walked away from the door. Cole followed him into a room where bugs were sure to manifest. Cole winced as he was offered a seat on the chair, unsure of what marred its filthy su rface. “This won’t take long,” Cole said as he took out his paper and penci l. “Your name is?” “Joseph Philip. Everyone calls me Skinny.” He sat on the chair opposite th e one Cole declined to take, one bony leg cocked up over the arm. Cole won dered when his last decent meal had been. “How well did you know the deceased?” Cole asked. Skinny ran a hand through his dirty blond hair, attempting to somewhat str aighten the mess atop his head. At any given second, Cole feared something might crawl from beneath the dreadlocks. “Told you, I didn’t. Knew who sh e was-that’s it.” “So you never talked to her?” “Nope.” “Not even in passing in the hallway?” “Nope. Keep to my own business.” “So when did you first hear about the murder?” Skinny laughed, ending it with a snort. “News of that kind doesn’t take lo ng-know what I mean?” “Of course,” Cole said, somewhat impatiently. “How long did you say?” His bony shoulders shrugged. “Couple of hours. Hell, they wouldn’t let me i n the building.”

“So you weren’t home at the time of the murder?” He ran his shirtsleeve beneath his nose, leaving a wet streak on the materia l. “Don’t think I hardly could have been-she was alive when I left anyways.” Cole’s gaze snapped up, looking Skinny in the eyes. “What time was that?” “Don’t know, somewhere around four in the morning.” The beat of Cole’s heart picked up with the sudden rush of adrenaline. If Sk inny’s statement rang true... “Was she alone?” Skinny snickered, making Cole feel as though he had somehow missed out on t he joke. “Mary Stine wasn’t alone-she was with one of her...uh... clients . ” “Were they going to or from her apartment?” “Don’t know. They were standing by her door. Don’t suppose they were leav ing ‘cause neither of them looked happy.” “Could you identify the man again if you saw him?” “Probably. Didn’t look like he belonged ‘round here. Otherwise, probably wo uldn’t ‘a noticed.” Cole pulled Nicholas’s picture out of his pocket and gave it to Skinny. “Is t his the man?” “Yep,” he chuckled. “What’s a man like that doing ‘round here anyways? Lo oks like he’s got enough money to pay for some high-priced pussy, not wha t you get ‘round here.” “So you would be willing to testify that on the morning of August twelfth at approximately four in the morning, you saw this man, Nicholas Darby, an d Mary Stine outside the door of her apartment?” “Hey, I don’t want to get involved, man,” he said, wiping the back of his ha nd beneath his nose. “And you don’t want me hauling your ass in for possession,” Cole said, usin g the toe of his black boot to move a small box from beneath the chair. He flipped open the lid, displaying needles and tiny bags of a white powdery s ubstance. Heroine, Cole would bet. “You don’t have a search warrant, man,” Skinny said, jumping up from his chair, his gaze once again nervously darting about as though he thought t he DEA might bust down his door at any given moment. “I didn’t need one. You invited me in and this was laying in plain sight,” Cole stated in a flat tone, daring the little prick to argue with him. He held his hands out in front of him. “Don’t want any trouble, man.” “So you would be willing to testify?” “I seen him, all right. I’ll say what I saw.” Cole kicked the lid shut to the box and shoved it back to its resting place with his boot. “Good enough.” Cole replaced the picture and note pad into hi

s pocket. Handing Skinny his business card, he said, “You think of anything else that might help, you call.” “No problem, man,” Skinny said as he walked Cole to the door. Cole shook his head as he made his way back down the hallway and out into the street. Daylight waned but his adrenaline flowed. Damn, he had Nicho las Darby good this time. The door to his apartment clicked quietly closed, awakening Cole with a sta rt. Sometime around eleven he must have fallen asleep because the book he h ad been reading still lay open across his bare chest, his hand resting on t he binding. He had only managed to get through the first chapter when his e yes became heavy and he thought to let them close for just a second. Cole s quinted through the dimness at the clock hanging on the wall. The only ligh t came from the small lamp beside his chair. Two-thirty in the morning . Damn. Cole ran a hand through his hair. Seven o’clock would come mighty e arly. Giggles came from the small entranceway as a drunken Damien and Cindy Van Warren made their way to the living room. Not realizing Cole was awake, C indy’s hands were already deftly working the top button of Damien’s jean shorts. Cole cleared his throat and slammed down the footrest of his recl iner, alerting them to his presence. Cindy’s eyes widened as Damien chuckled. In a deep voice, he sneered, “Wh at’s keeping you up so late?” Cole held out his copy of Bram Stoker’s Dracula . “A little late night reading .” “Since when did you become interested in the undead, man?” Damien grinned as he sat heavily onto the sofa, laying a long arm across the back. Cindy sat beside him, snuggling securely beneath his arm. “Just recently.” “You finally got some taste.” Cole raised a brow. “Why? Read the book?” Cole asked, not knowing if Damie n liked to read at all. “Watched the movie. Several times.” Damien looked down at the tiny blonde b eside him and kissed her lightly on the nose. Giving Cole his attention aga in, he said, “Hey, man, maybe after you finish it-I’ll rent the movie and w e can watch it together.” “Yeah.” Cole grinned. “Maybe.” “You see Laurie today?” Cindy asked, narrowing her gaze as she spoke up for the first time since arriving. Cole shifted uneasily at the change of topics, not liking the direction of the new one. “At the station,” he replied shortly, hoping she got the message that this topic was off limits.

“You don’t want to talk about her?” No such luck , Cole grumbled to himself. Then, “Not really.” “I just think that maybe-” “You ought to keep your mouth shut,” Damien growled. His eyes flashed in anger as he shifted his weight away from the small woman. “Why?” she squealed. “Cole treated-” “I said button it, Cindy,” Damien warned, his face taut with his rising ire. Cole had never seen this side of the man before. Damien was in control at a ll times. He jerked his arm from the back of the sofa. “I think maybe you’ve said enough-my room is that way.” A jabbed finger indicated the closed door . Cole and Damien sat in silence as they watched Cindy stomp her foot and hea d for the room. Neither said a word until the door closed securely behind h er. “Sorry, man,” Damien apologized, the anger now masked. His face returned to its calm state. Cole eyed him carefully. “You going to be all right?” “Women should all be trained when to speak. She had no right.” “It’s fine, really. Don’t take it out on her-she’s a friend of Laurie’s. It’s onl y natural she would ask.” “But the subject was obviously closed to you. What’s between you and the M ichaels chick is your business.” Cole shrugged as he grasped his empty water glass and headed for the kitche n. “There’s nothing there to talk about,” he said, looking back at Damien. Damien’s brow rose. Cole knew without a doubt, Damien had a personal inte rest in how his relationship with Laurie went. Though Cole was not exactl y keen on the idea of Damien seeing Laurie, who was he to stand in the wa y when he himself had nothing to offer her? “That’s not what I saw a few nights ago,” Damien said. Cole walked back around the breakfast bar and leaned against the corner of the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. “She’s attractive all right, but I’m not interested in a relationship.” Damien shifted in his seat, his shoulders visibly relaxing in the softness of his long-sleeved tee. “So you wouldn’t mind....” “What? If you asked her out?” “Yeah. She’s hot.” “What about Cindy?” “What about her?” “Damn, Damien,” Cole cursed. “You have no class.” Damien snickered. “Rock stars never did have that quality. But, hey, Cindy’ s here for the moment-right?” “Yeah,” Cole laughed. “She’s probably waiting for you in your bed as we s

peak.” “And who am I to deny?” Cole watched as Damien stood and walked to his room, closing the door beh ind him. Cole shook his head, shut the light off, and headed for his own room. Somehow, Cindy suddenly looked too good for Damien Vincent. His hea rt went out to the small blonde. After all, what had she ever done to des erve Damien? Laurie could not sleep and was sure the cause could only be linked to one C ole Kincaid. Her head ached and not a Tylenol could be found in the house, though little good it would do. When her head ached this badly only ibuprof en would do the trick. Searching the aisles of the same Convenient Food Mart where Cole had purcha sed the wine, Laurie looked for a bottle of Advil. She caught sight of the little yellow box, reached for it, and headed for the counter. She had to b e nuts to be out at two-thirty in the morning, Laurie thought, looking like something the cat dragged in. Seven in the morning and time to go to work would come all too soon. “Excuse me,” came a voice from behind. Laurie jumped, startled by the interruption in her musings. God, but she h ad been jumpy lately. She turned around, glancing up at a wiry looking man with thin blondish-brown hair, recognizing him immediately. “Don’t I know you?” he asked. Laurie smiled, tucking one side of her hair behind an ear, self-conscious at being caught without makeup. “Hi,” she held out her hand. “Laurie Michaels. I believe I’ve seen you play a couple of times.” “Yeah,” he said, shoving his hands deep into the pockets of his jeans, rock ing back on his heels. “You were with that cop, Kincaid.” “Well, we sat together.” She grinned, shrugging her shoulders. “We weren’t exactly together . And you are?” “Sandy Brown,” he chuckled. “I know, not a name a mother should have giv en a boy.” “I like it. I think it has a nice ring to it. People aren’t likely to forget your n ame.” “What’s got you out so late?” he asked. Laurie held up the yellow box. “Advil,” she grinned. “I had a terrible headac he and nothing to take for it. What are you up to?” He nodded his head toward the back of the store. “Coffee,” he said. Laurie drew her brows together. “Coffee?” “Well, I don’t drink. And I’m not really tired yet, just getting done with t he gig and all. Damien and I usually go out and do something but he’s been k ind of preoccupied lately. Being new here, I really don’t know many people.”

Laurie thought to offer him her company at another time, but did not want t o give him the wrong impression. Sandy Brown was not her type with the long hair and rock-n-roll lifestyle. “I better get home and take care of this h eadache, but it was nice meeting you.” “Yeah, come see us play again sometime.” Laurie smiled. “I’d like that.” She gave him her back and stepped to the counter. The clerk rang the sale; Laurie handed her the exact change, then walked out the door. Crawling into her red Acura, she turned on the ignition, threw it into gear, and headed for home. Laurie tore into the box and cursed the silver safety se al as she tried desperately to get into the bottle. Finally retrieving two or ange tablets, she tossed them back in her throat and swallowed. She settled more firmly into her seat and headed onto the freeway, waiting for the blessed medicine to do its magic. Now, if only she could rid her th oughts of Cole Kincaid as easily as the Advil would work on her headache.

Chapter 18 Cole paced the confines of his office, impatiently waiting the arrival of o ne Nicholas Darby. Frank Cooper and Sam O’Riley had been sent over to give him a personal police escort to the station. Darby would likely be mad enou gh to spit nails. But at the moment, Cole could care less. His mood had bee n foul when he woke this morning and little had happened to change that sin ce coming to the station. Shortly after arriving, he paid Chief McCray a visit and pointed out his fi ndings where the good Mr. Darby was concerned. John had not hesitated in hi s agreement when Cole wanted to bring Darby in for further questioning. Laurie Michaels’ story entitled, “Vampire Strikes Fairview,” arrived soon t hereafter via the fax. On the whole, Cole had been pleased as he could be w ith it and faxed back the piece untouched. The story would hit the newsstan ds through the paper Westlife by late afternoon. The station would be bomba rded with calls. Cole only hoped he was long gone well before then. The Plain Dealer , a morning paper, would not carry the piece until tomorr ow. By Saturday morning, all of Northeast Ohio would be made aware of thei r situation and the pressure to find the killer would be on. Cole would on ce again make headlines. He released the breath he held and shook his head. Damn this son of a bitch

for putting him back where he did not want to be. He would rather cut off hi s right hand than place himself in the public eye. And who would be there right beside him? Laurie Michaels-scrutinizing his every action. Cole looked out his door to see a red-faced Nicholas Darby being escorted t o the interrogation room. It was the only thing that put a smile back on hi s face. At least someone was due to have a day worse than he-and who better than Nicholas Darby. Cole grabbed his tape recorder, pencil, and paper off his desk and headed fo r the small room. “Go easy on him,” Cole heard the chief say behind him, though he continued on his way undaunted. He would go easy all right-after he threatened to sla p on the cuffs and charge him with three counts of first-degree murder. Of course, all the evidence they had at the moment was circumstantial and no thing tied Darby to all three murders, and, unfortunately, Cole’s gut told h im Darby had not committed these horrific crimes. But the look on his face a t the threat of being charged would be worth it. Sam O’Riley stood outside the door of the interrogation room with his arms crossed over his chest, doing once again what he did best, acting guard d og. Who in their right mind would want to cross him when he had muscles bu lging almost to unnatural proportions from beneath his uniform? With a nod, Cole acknowledged Sam and entered the room, knowing he would s tand as witness behind the one-sided glass. Nicholas paced the small room and had it been any colder in there, Cole swore steam might rise from the top of his blond head. “Have a seat, Mr. Darby,” Cole said in a calm voice . He had no desire to turn this into an all out war between the two of the m, though the animosity hung so thick it could have been cut with a knife. “What the hell is this about, Lieutenant?” Darby roared as he placed his han ds on the table and glared at Cole. “I had a tennis match with some very imp ortant people scheduled...potential clients. I swear, Kincaid, if you mess t his up for me-” “You’ll what?” Cole chuckled, raising a brow. “At this point you’re not in any position to make threats. Take a seat so we can get started. The quick er you cooperate-the sooner you’re out of here. And believe me, nothing wou ld please me more.” Grumbling, Nicholas took a seat opposite Cole. Cole snapped down the recor d and play button on the black tape recorder, then picked up his pencil. B ut before beginning, Cole reminded Nicholas of his rights, which he waved. “Now then, Mr. Darby, I have a few things to clarify with you. In your last interview, you told me you hadn’t seen Mary Stine since...” Cole made work o f thumbing through the files on the table, though it was more for show than anything. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nicholas watching him careful

ly, then extract a handkerchief from his pants pocket and mop at his perspir ing brow. “...just after your daughter’s death. As I recall, you said you ‘n eeded a release.’ Is this correct?” “Yeah.” He laughed, though his cold blue eyes held no humor. His finger dr ummed on the top of the table. “That’s what I said.” Cole leafed through the files again, though he knew without a doubt what he was about to say. He just wanted to watch Nicholas sweat. Finally, he looked up from the files and said, “Let’s see,” he tapped the er aser of his pencil on the table, “that would have been almost two weeks befo re Mary was killed. Am I correct?” “Something like that.” “And on August the twelfth, at approximately four in the morning, you were fast asleep in your bed.” “Correct, but I told you all of this the other day when you came to my house. What the hell is the purpose of bringing it up again?” “Just want to get the facts straight.” Cole narrowed his gaze at Nicholas, ca using him to quit tapping his finger as he shifted uneasily in his chair. “Yo u see, Nick , I have a witness that says you were with Mary at exactly that t ime.” Mr. Darby sat silently contemplating what Cole had just told him, his gaze n ervously going to the one-way glass behind Cole. Nicholas stood suddenly, up setting the chair as it teetered on its hind legs, then went crashing to the tiled floor, the sound echoing off the room’s walls. “I get it,” he chuckled, throwing his hands into the air, “you’re trying to get me to say something that isn’t true. You got no one who can put me with Mary Stine at four in the morning because I wasn’t there.” Cole leaned back in his chair and stretched his feet out in front of him, cro ssing his arms over his chest. “What I have, Mr. Darby, is a witness who will testify to that fact in court if need be. Now, would you care to tell me wha t really happened?” “Shit. You’re just looking for someone to pin this on and since you don’t hav e a clue as to who is doing it-you’re going to try and pin this crap on me.” “On the contrary, Mr. Darby. Take a seat,” Cole ordered in a deep voice. Nic holas picked his chair off the floor and sat back down. “Let me tell you wha t I think,” he hissed through clenched teeth, feeling the ache clear to his jaw, “you were with Mary Stine at four in the morning on the day of August t welfth. I believe you even screwed your brains out. But what I do not believ e is that you took a knife and sliced her throat. I think someone else took those honors. Now why I have you in here is to find out just why you felt th e need to lie about it.” Nicholas chuckled, looking away from Cole, then wiped a palm down his mout

h. Glancing back at Cole, he shook his head. “Would you have believed that I didn’t do it had I told you so? Even though I was there and someone obv iously waited until I left to kill her?” “You should have tried.” “Look, Lieutenant, you don’t like me any more than I like you. I thought if I told you I was with her-you’d crucify me.” “Contrary to what you think of me, or what I may think of you for that matter , I am a cop first and I serve justice. When I find this killer-I will show h im no mercy. As for you-I expect to hear the truth. I don’t want to be draggi ng your rear end down here again. Is that clear?” “Perfectly. You won’t...believe me.” “What I believe, Mr. Darby, is you are a self-serving jerk. Nothing, includi ng your daughter, comes before you. What I don’t believe is you’re guilty of murder. Is there anything else you want to share with me? I would like to g et the hell out of here at a decent hour sometime today.” “There isn’t anything else to say. I’ve told you all I know. Mary Stine was alive when I left her. She walked me outside the motel and we said goodbye. That’s the last I saw of her.” “That’s the last anyone saw of her.” Cole slid his chair back. The screech of the metal legs sliding across the black and white floor filled the room. He gathered all his files, shut off the recorder, and headed for the door wh ere he turned back. “O’Riley will give you a ride home. Keep your nose clean , Darby,” he said and out the door he walked. “I don’t know, Cindy,” Laurie said. “I really don’t think I’m up for clubbing tonight.” Cindy pulled her past the foyer, through the kitchen, and into the family ro om, where they both took a seat on the couch. Laurie was in no mood for a pep talk from Cindy about how all things would somehow work out. Even though she had been more than pleased with the sto ry she had written, and could not be happier that it would appear in the p ages of the Plain Dealer as well, nothing seemed to ease the mild depressi on assailing her. It was as if Cole had managed to sweep her feet right ou t from under her and she had landed with a hard thump on the ground. “We have to at least celebrate,” Cindy prodded in a well-practiced pout. “That may work on Damien, but it doesn’t on me.” Laurie grinned. “Ah,” she raised a thinly plucked brow heavenward, “but it got a smile from you. Look, you can’t sulk around here all night by yourself. What purpose would that serve?” “Ice cream smothered in fudge would make me feel much better.” Laurie com mented on Cindy’s other reason for dropping by. “But I don’t want to go s ee Damien and his band play afterwards. Is it a deal?”

“All right, we’ll do things your way...for now.” Cindy narrowed her eyes. “ But put on something a little less frumpy just in case you change your mind .” “Like what you’re wearing?” Laurie asked, raising a brow at the absurdity. Cindy’s cut-off Levi’s were so short her butt cheeks hung out the bottom wh ile her shear blousy white top gave a good view of a fancy decorated bra be neath. White cowboy boots over freshly shaven legs finished her attire. “You’d never be this bold...but yeah, something similar.” Cindy held her han ds up to stop the words forming in Laurie’s mind. “Just ice cream. And then if you still want to go home, I’ll drop you off.” “We’ll drive separate, thank you.” Laurie was not about to allow Cindy to l eave her stranded again. “Give me a few seconds and I’ll get changed.” Moments later, Cindy and Laurie were in a nearby TCBY, sitting across from one another at a green-topped table. Cindy scooped up a spoonful of vanilla yogurt with fudge dripping sinfully from it. “Tell me about the article,” Cindy said before placing the frozen delicacy in her mouth. “You read it, didn’t you?” Laurie asked. Cindy nodded, then placed another spoonful in her mouth. “Then what’s there to tell?” Cindy shrugged her shoulders, but could not hide the smile growing on her f ace to show feigned disinterest. “You worked with Cole on it, right?” The knife shifted in her heart at the mention of his name. Until now, Lauri e had successfully filed away his memory if only for a few blessed moments. She jabbed her spoon into the brown and white melting goo in her bowl. “Ye s, Cole and I worked together. He told me what I could print, and I wrote i t. End of story.” “What? He didn’t try to explain the other night?” “I wouldn’t give him the chance. Look, we have a business relationship and th at’s as far as it goes.” “It sounded like it went a little farther the other night.” “And it won’t happen again.” “Because you don’t want it...or him?” “Look, we had sex-that’s the end of it. Closed subject.” “You think it meant more to him than that?” “Excuse me?” Laurie could not believe her ears. Cole Kincaid had walked o ut on her, not the other way around. How could Cindy even suggest it migh t mean something to Cole? “According to you it was just sex. But has anyone asked Cole what he though t of the other night?” “No, and no one better,” Laurie stated, narrowing her gaze. “Whatever that li ttle mind of yours is thinking, it better stop. Cole Kincaid and I are not go ing to happen.”

“So is he the reason you won’t go to the club with me?” “Maybe.” “Cole hasn’t been there since the last time you were. It’s not likely he’ll b e there tonight. Damien says Cole rarely comes to see them play.” “So you haven’t seen Cole?” Cindy released a sigh. “Last night.” “At his apartment?” Laurie’s ire rose as a look of guilt formed in Cindy’s b lue eyes. “God, what did you say?” Cindy stirred the remainder of her sundae as she looked down. “All I asked was if he had seen you.” “What did he say?” “Nothing.” Cindy chuckled, glancing back at Laurie. “You’re as off-limits t o him as he is to you. Besides, Damien didn’t give me a chance to say any mo re-he sent me to his room. God, I felt like such a little girl.” Laurie chuckled for the first time since arriving. “Good for him. So how are the two of you getting along?” “Pretty well.” Cindy glanced around as though to see if anyone was within hea ring distance. Satisfied, she turned back and said quietly, “I think I’m fall ing in love with him.” Laurie choked on the bite she just put in her mouth. Wiping her mouth with a napkin, she said, “You can’t be serious.” “Oh, I am.” And the look in her eyes told Laurie Cindy was in it deep. “I kn ow it hasn’t been that long since Patrick dumped me, but I never felt for hi m what I do for Damien.” “You can’t go looking for love just because your parents dropped you off o n your grandmother’s doorstep, Cindy.” “Grandma didn’t love me anymore than my parents.” “Precisely. So that’s not a reason to look for a man. You’re a good person and the right man will come along someday.” Laurie’s words hurt Cindy; she could tell by the way she now refused to look at her. Laurie grasped her chin and tilted it upward. “I’m just not sure Damien-” “I can’t stop loving him. Yeah, maybe it is foolish—” Cindy’s laughter ran g false, “-to love someone who could have any woman he wants. And I know i t’s probably only a matter of time before he gets bored with me.” Tears slipped down Cindy’s cheeks and Laurie wanted nothing more than to hold her and soothe away her spoken fears. “But I can’t help it, Laurie,” she sniffed, wiping the napkin beneath her no se. “It’s too late-I’ve already fallen in love with him. He makes me feel sp ecial...he makes me feel cherished. Don’t ask me to give that up. You never know, maybe one day he’ll even love me back.” “I hope so,” Laurie said, wishing for Cindy’s sake it would come true. Who

was she to say any different? “Hey, you know what? I’m suddenly in the mood to go see a band tonight. What do you say we look up Dragonslayer? After a ll, I hear their lead singer is a real dream.” “You mean it?” “Yes,” Laurie smiled. “I’m getting tired of sitting at home and feeling sorr y for myself anyway. I say we go dance our stockings off.” Cindy’s eyes turned up on the corners. “I’m not wearing any.” Laurie returned her smile. After all, Cindy was like the sister she never ha d and at this moment Laurie would not deny her anything. “Then it won’t be t oo hard for you, will it?” ‘Ah sir, you dwellers in the city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter.’ When a mind is pure evil and focuses on a deed at hand, how then can the th oughts of one who serves justice pretend to know what the soul is feeling? The mind is a complexity of charts, courses, and maps. Each has a makeup so different that the most brilliant of scientists cannot pretend to understand why one feels as he does. And yet, one man will try to serve as judge and j ury—to condemn the soul for all he does. And if he should fall short, then Christ will hold reign over the soul’s fate and ultimate destination. But with Satan guiding his actions and will, would Christ’s enemy not stand witness at the judgment or leave the soul to his ow n demise? After all, it is the intense hunger for blood that causes him to si n. And who is held responsible for the crossed wire of his genes, a relentless a che to feed on a substance that gives another life? Should the soul be held i n account when his hand had no say in the creation? He should think not, for God himself had long ago forsaken him, leaving the so ul with nothing as a guide but his flesh, the earth, and Satan; the root of al l that is evil. Running a hand down his smooth chest, the soul glances at the paper clutche d within his hand. Vampire Strikes Fairview. Indeed! Chuckles echo off the red walls as the nude soul circles the altar in the cent er, ready to add one more article to his collection. No one can think as he; t herefore, no one can pretend to understand. Bloodsuckers. Fiends. Ghouls. Vampires are but bloodthirsty creatures of the night, preying on the blood o f the innocent. A call so strong, beckoning them to the fluid which gives th em life and satisfies an unquenchable hunger, one which refuses to be denied . Could it be that this man, sent to be his judge, had guessed the origins o

f the quote? Chortles turn into full-blown laughter as the soul falls to his knees and con ceals the merriment in his face at the misconception of it all. He will give them that his crimes mirror that of the vampire. But undead? Indeed not! A single bullet could end his tortured life and all this would be at its end . But because of their ignorance, now another must die. Only one player can be left standing when the game comes to its completion. But now, another pawn is added to the board. The soul lowers his hands; the amusement is replaced by eyes of undiluted ev il, mirroring his angry soul. One name captures his attention as he glares a t the article that dares to call him a fiend. The game piece he did not coun t on. He will crucify Cole Kincaid in the end and have little empathy. But Laurie Michaels, what of her? The beauty he believed capable of saving his anguished soul now means to ent er into his madness. His teeth clench, his jaw aches, his hands become fists of death. A game she is ill prepared for. A game that will steal her innoce nce. Slamming his angry fist onto the altar, the candles rock precariously. Now sh e, too, must be forced to see his soul.

Chapter 19 Victoria Stanton walked into the blackened night with nothing to illuminate the sidewalk but the dim streetlights. Doorways cloaked in shadows could h ide even the lowest of evils. Though she was used to going places on her ow n, even in the wee hours of the morning, she still could not help the feeli ng of trepidation which raised the hairs on the back of her neck and crept under her skin. She chalked it up as nothing more than a repercussion to th e news she had read in this morning’s Plain Dealer . But she was in Cleveland, not Fairview Park, she reminded herself as she step ped from the curb to cross the busy street. Victoria glanced both ways then t rotted across the intersection in a sudden hurry to get to her car. A light cool breeze lifted her brown hair away from her face and sent a chill down her spine. “There is nothing to fear but fear itself,” she quoted to the still night air, ho ping to convince herself of the fact. Within minutes, she would be safe in her car and heading home to her father ’s big house on the hill. Victoria smiled. She had been lucky to be born in

to money and her father had had the good fortune of becoming Mayor. He had easily won the election, for there was not a person in Fairview Park who di d not like him. Reaching the parking lot, Victoria’s brown gaze skimmed the area. Be aware o f your surroundings at all times, she reminded herself, one of the first thi ngs she had been taught in the self-defense classes. Not a soul could be seen, though several other cars were in the lot. Satisfied , Victoria stuck her keys into the lock and turned them. “Excuse me,” came from behind her, causing her to jump. Her heart lodged in her throat as a male voice chuckled. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” he apol ogized. Victoria turned around to find a tall man standing near the rear of her dark green Z28. A smile rose on her face, recognizing him instantly. “God, you scared me,” she laughed nervously. “I’m sorry. It wasn’t my intention,” he smiled back. He could certainly be thought of as good-looking, she mused. “I was wondering if you might like t o have breakfast.” Victoria’s fears subsided. “I’d like that. After all the alcohol I’ve consumed , God only knows I could use it. Get in,” she offered. His eyes gleamed in the obscured light. “You just said you had too much to drink. Why don’t you let me drive?” “Deal,” she agreed and placed the key back in her lock and secured the door . She followed him through the parking lot to an older, weathered black car. It probably had not seen a spot of wax in years. Obviously, he cared little about what he drove. He unlocked her car door, opened it, then walked around to his side and got in. She scooted a little closer to him, taking advantage of the bench seat. Imagine, she thought, her luck in running into him. Had he actually picked h er over the many other girls he could have had? “Where are we going?” she asked, as she used the rear-view mirror to check her appearance and reapply her lipstick. “I know this little diner down the road,” he said, his eyes on the parking lot and not on her. He turned on the ignition and threw the car into drive. “Why me?” she asked, suddenly putting to voice her earlier unspoken questi on. “I like brown hair and brown eyes,” he stated with little conviction or warmt h. She grasped his forearm to tell him she was glad, but he flinched, causing the long sleeve of his shirt to fall back from his arm, exposing blistered raw sk in. “What’s the matter?” she gasped, as she pulled the sleeve further away, s eeing the angry wound left from an obvious burn days old. “My god, what ha

ppened?” He yanked his arm from her grasp and tugged the sleeve back down. Turning to look at her, his eyes narrowed to evil slits, causing the hair to rise at h er nape. “That’s what happens when you get too close to the flame...you get burned.” Having gone to confession and said her Hail Marys, Laurie was well on her way to being forgiven. Now all she need do was forgive herself. Church had been nearly full, forcing her to sit in the back pew, which had been fine by her. Following communion, she had slipped out the door and headed for her lunch engagement with Cindy. Cindy and she had agreed to connect for lunch at the mall and do some shop ping. Since meeting Damien, they had spent little time together. Laurie gu essed she should be happy for Cindy, but something about her and Damien’s relationship soured her stomach. Laurie knew Cindy’s involvement with Damien had little to do with her, and believed Cindy deserved to find happiness, which was why she had elected to keep her opinion about Damien Vincent to herself. She decided to be not hing but delighted for Cindy. The Westgate Mall bustled with Sunday shoppers, but to Laurie’s luck, she f ound a patron leaving and followed him to his parking place, earning her hi s space. Wearing a short blue skirt and a sleeveless white sweater, she jum ped from her car, locked it, and walked briskly to the entrance. Laurie spotted Cindy waiting for her in the food court. She sat at a round ta ble for two, waving her arm in the air as though she had a red flag flutterin g from it. She stepped through the throng and walked over to the table. “I got you a Cafe Caramel.” Cindy indicated the cup of coffee sitting on th e table, near to over flowing with whipped cream and chocolate shavings. “A re you hungry yet?” “Famished. Mark Pi’s it is. I’ll be right back. Lunch is on me.” Not giving her a chance to argue, Laurie walked to the counter, already kn owing what Cindy liked, she ordered two sweet-and-sour shrimp. Back at the table in no time, Laurie retook her seat. “So what did you do last night?” Cindy stabbed one of the shrimp with her plastic fork. “I read a book.” Laurie’s gaze snapped up. “You what?” Cindy grinned. “I know, I haven’t read in years, but Damien didn’t mention that I should come see him play-as a matter of fact, I think he wanted a ni ght apart. You know men and their precious space.” “You don’t sound too upset,” Laurie said, then plopped a shrimp into her mo uth. Cindy’s face glowed and Laurie wondered how much Damien had to do with it

. She shrugged. “I’m not. We’ve been spending a lot of time together. He has his life and I have mine. Besides, I don’t want to smother him.” The hairs on Laurie’s nape rose, as a sudden intense feeling of being watc hed washed over her. She turned around and scanned the room, rubbing the g ooseflesh from her arms. “What’s the matter?” Cindy asked. Seeing no one familiar, Laurie turned back to Cindy. Her uneasiness did not abate. “Nothing really. It’s just this feeling I had...like someone was watc hing me. You ever feel that way?” “No one ever wants to look at me when I’m with you.” Cindy laughed, though by the tone in her voice, Laurie could not help but think Cindy believed her statement. “I’m surprised Damien saw me standing there with you at the table.” “Now you’re the one being ridiculous. You are far prettier than you give you rself credit for.” Laurie could not help glancing behind her once more. Stil l, no friendly-or unfriendly-face appeared. Suddenly in a hurry to be gone f rom the area, Laurie said, “You know what, I’m not so hungry after all. Let’ s shop.” “I could stand to lose a few pounds,” Cindy agreed. Laurie and Cindy walked to the nearest trashcan and dumped the remainder of the meal. As they left the area, Laurie glanced back one last time, catching a glimpse of a tall figure dressed all in black. Because he stood in the sh adows and wore a ball cap low on his head, Laurie did not get a good look at his face. She chalked it up as nothing but a case of nerves since the man turned and walked to a nearby counter, paying her no mind. Though try as she might, th e feeling did not diminish. A shudder ran down her spine as they turned the corner and entered the main corridor of the mall. God, she had spooked herself. A madman was running lose in the city of Fairview Park. But he killed prosti tutes not journalists, she thought with a chuckle. “You’re a little on edge today,” Cindy noted. “Are you sure nothing is both ering you?” Laurie put her arm around Cindy’s shoulder and headed for the nearby Dilla rd’s. “Now what could possibly be wrong? I’m shopping with my best friend and I just had my first article published in a leading newspaper. What mor e could a girl ask for?” Laurie never glanced back. She did not see the tense jaw or clenched fists of the man dressed in black as he stood a careful distance away, his ire mo unting with every watchful moment. Cole’s beeper sounded, interrupting the Cleveland Indians game against the

Detroit Tigers. “Now what?” Damien never came home the night before as Cole noted his car missing when he went outside to retrieve the Sunday paper. Up until now, the day had b een a relatively quiet one. He grasped the beeper, checked the number, the n reached for the cordless phone and punched out the digits, knowing the c hief’s home phone by heart. “Kincaid?” the chief’s voice growled into the receiver. “What? No hello?” Cole chided, though he knew something must have occurr ed to have John McCray calling on a Sunday afternoon. An odd feeling gna wed at his gut. The chief never made social calls. “This isn’t any time to be joking.” Cole’s intuition told him something was amiss as though an alarm had gone off in his head. “What’s going on?” “Mayor Stanton’s twenty-one year old daughter is missing. Apparently, she went out last night and never came home.” “Doesn’t seem like much to get worked up over. She probably spent the nig ht at someone’s home and is about to walk in the door as we speak.” “We can only hope, but to placate him, why don’t you get on over there. Tha t article in yesterday’s Plain Dealer has him worked up.” Cole inhaled a deep breath. At the mere mention of their perp, tremors of dr ead slithered up his spine like an Indian Cobra as it dances upward to the s nake charmer’s flute. “What does she look like?” “Brown hair. Brown eyes.” “Ah, shit,” Cole cursed, exhaling. “That doesn’t mean a thing, Cole. Don’t you go getting all worked up. She w asn’t a prostitute by any means. She was a good girl, went to school at Clev eland State, a senior this year.” “I hope you’re right, Chief. But I got to tell you, I have a bad feeling about t his one.” “Don’t you dare let him know it, Cole. Kiss his ass. Tell him what he wants to hear. I don’t need the mayor breathing down our necks.” The chief paused, the silence stretching between them like a cold war. Finally, he said, “Aft er you get done speaking with the mayor, I’ll meet you at the station.” The chief told him the address to Mayor Stanton’s house then hung up. Chris t, Cole thought, leave it to the chief to send him to soothe the mayor’s co nscience that his daughter had more than likely spent the night with her le gs wrapped around some man’s waist. Cole slammed the remote to the television on the stand as Manny Ramirez hi t another home run. He pushed the off button and the screen went blank. Co le headed for his room and yanked a pair of chocolate-colored dress pants from the dry-cleaner’s hanger. Normally, he would not think to wear suits on the weekend, even if working

a case, but since he was going to the mayor’s home, John would have his hid e if he showed up in anything less. Donning a pale yellow shirt, he grasped a casual suit jacket that matched his pants and a pair of light brown shoe s. Fifteen minutes later, Cole pulled into the drive of a very wealthy home, n oting that the mayor lived only minutes from Laurie Michaels. He stepped fr om the cab of his truck and walked to the door. Before he could even ring the bell, it opened and the mayor’s wife showed h im into the den, her face ashen and pale. The warm, rich colors of the room were very masculine, lending a certain comfort. Jim Stanton stood up from behind his desk, walked around it, and shook Cole’s hand, then offered him a seat in what Cole guessed as being a very expensive cut of Italian leathe r. “Lieutenant Kincaid?” The Mayor asked as he returned to his chair behind a massive cherry-wood desk. “John McCray said to expect you. He also said you were the best.” “That’s what some say,” Cole replied, neither accepting the fact nor denyi ng it. “When is the last time you saw your daughter, Mayor Stanton?” “Please, call me Jim.” Lines of worry creased his forehead and Cole thought if they did not find his daughter, they might very well become a permanent a ddition to his now youthful face. Jim Stanton had not led a hard life by any means. “She left here last night around eight o’clock.” Cole pulled out his pad and pencil from his pocket and began jotting notes. “Did you personally see her? Say anything to her?” “I kissed her good-bye. I told her to have a good time.” “Did she tell you she might be stopping by a friend’s? Spending the night?” “No. Victoria always called if she wasn’t going to make it home.” Then Jim added as an after thought, “She didn’t want me to worry about her needlessl y.” “Perhaps she didn’t want to wake you.” “No, Lieutenant, she always called, even in the middle of the night.” “Do you know where she was going?” “I’m not sure, a club downtown I believe.” “Is there a regular hangout, a place where she would meet friends?” “Victoria had a lot of friends,” he paused looking down at his fingers inter twined on his desk. When he glanced up, tears pooled in his eyes. “Do you th ink this has anything to do with what I read in yesterday’s paper?” Cole could not tell him about his intuitions. For all he knew, he was wrong that Victoria Stanton had come to harm. “After Friday’s edition of Westlife , the station had been flooded with calls. Everyone and their mother were ca lling in a description of some stranger lurking in the bushes or demanding t

his son of a bitch’s head on a platter.” “So what are you telling me?” “There is no need to panic, that I don’t think you have anything to worry abo ut. Our man has only killed prostitutes up to this point.” “To this point,” the mayor picked out. “Who’s to say who his next victim wi ll be?” “Look, Jim, I’ve been a detective for nearly ten years and a lieutenant for four of those years. When I worked in Cleveland, I was able to study some serial cases beneath the FBI. What I do know is these men rarely change the ir MO’s.” “Has there ever been a case where they have?” “Well, yes, of course. But I don’t think, in this case, our murderer will. W e have a man who has an penchant for brunette’s with straight hair and brown eyes, but-” Jim tossed a five-by-seven framed picture across the desk, interrupting Cole in mid-sentence. “What color is her straight hair, Lieutenant? Her eyes?” Cole drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it. “But she’s not a prostitut e.” “I want my daughter found and I want her found now!” The mayor lost his pa tience as his frustration and fear mounted. He stood up and began pacing t he confining space behind his desk. “My daughter is my whole life. She’s a n only child and I don’t know what I’d do without her.” “I’ll have this dispatched as a ‘enter missing adult’ on her and the car. You’ ll have to give me a description, but technically, there is not a lot we can d o at this point, unless you receive word, of course.” Jim quit his pacing and stared at Cole through narrowed angry eyes. “Word?” he asked in a controlled voice, raising one brow. “We can’t rule out kidnapping.” “Why? I don’t have any enemies.” “You don’t have to know them, Jim. If they know you have money-sometimes t hat’s reason enough.” Cole returned his attention to his writing pad. “Can you give me a description of her car and the license plate number?” “It’s a ninety-nine dark green Z28. I bought it for her on her twenty-first b irthday and the plates say TORI. It’s my pet name for her.” “I’m sure it won’t be hard to spot.” Cole rose from his chair and shook the m ayor’s hand. “I’ll put out a bulletin right away. Don’t worry, we’ll find her .” “I hope you’re right, Cole, because I hate to think what might happen to your career if she’s not.” Cole knew the man had indirectly threatened his job, but he let the comment slide, knowing the man spoke from grief. “I’ll do the best I can,” Cole clip ped, his jaw tensing.

“I’m sure you will,” he said. The Mayor showed Cole to the door without further comment. He walked down the sidewalk, cursing under his breath. Not only had he needed to convin ce the mayor the missing girl was only a coincidence, he needed to assure himself. He only hoped that this time his intuitions proved wrong. Cole jumped into his Ranger and headed for the station where John McCray awaited him.

Chapter 20 “ That pompous ass had the audacity to threaten my job,” Cole grumbled as h e poured a cup of coffee, then took a seat across from John. “Calm down, Cole. I’m sure Mayor Stanton didn’t mean anything,” the chief tried to assure him. Cole rolled his eyes and exhaled his breath. “The hell he didn’t. He said he’ d hate to think what failure to find his daughter would do to my career.” “That’s not saying he’d see you fired, Cole.” “Indirectly, it does. I read the expression on his face. All politicians are ali ke. They think the sun rises and sets on them.” Cole had stewed all the way to the station over Jim Stanton’s parting comme nt. He needed trouble like he needed a hole in the head, but Cole had wante d nothing more than to punch the jerk in the mouth. If he were to be honest , though, the source of his anger had more to do with the idea the girl mig ht be the next victim of the blood-drinking perp than with the Mayor’s thre at. “Did you have the girl and the car dispatched as an ‘entered missing person’ ?” John asked, wisely changing the subject. “Before I walked in. I also contacted CRIS. All of Cuyahoga County will be alerted. I’m doing everything humanly possible to find this girl, besides c ombing the streets myself. Which, at the moment, doesn’t sound like a bad i dea.” John smiled, leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, staring at Col e over the tops of them. “You won’t be able to find her yourself. Jack Douglas has probably dispatch ed the uniforms by now. I’m sure they are keeping an eye out for her as we speak. But you don’t think she’ll turn up, do you?” Cole took a sip from his Styrofoam cup, then asked, “What makes you say th at?”

“The look in your eyes. I know what you’re thinking, Cole Kincaid. You think this girl is already dead.” Cole set his cup on the edge of the desk, then glanced at his cuticles, wishin g he could have avoided this question altogether. He shifted in his chair and leaned on one armrest, giving the chief his full attention. “No, I don’t believe we’ll find her alive,” he stated in all honesty. “Your intuitions?” “Partly, but it’s just too coincidental. Victoria Stanton has straight brown hair and brown eyes. The exact deadly combination for our killer.” “Do you know how many people within the city limits alone have that color c ombination? It’s not like it’s an oddity or anything.” Cole sighed. “That’s where my intuitions come into it. I think we made this piece of crap angry with the article in the paper and he stepped up the pa ce of the game. If Victoria was walking down the street wearing some slinky little number and caught his attention-that’s all it would take. The Plain Dealer hits the stands Saturday morning, and a girl with brown eyes and ha ir winds up missing that night? What do you think, John?” “I’m thinking I hope like hell you’re wrong. Right now, we have every avail able officer and dick out there following up on false leads because of the tons of phone calls received since this hit the paper. We surely aren’t in any position for the mayor to be breathing down our necks.” John stood and walked to the window overlooking the parking lot. “Maybe I was wrong.” “About?” Cole asked, one brow going heavenward. John turned around and looked at Cole, his eyes haunted and distant. “If what y ou’re saying is true, and this girl is dead...I’ll be at fault.” “How so?” “You didn’t want to print that piece in the paper-I did. I talked you into it, Cole. If I laid the deadly card and he trumps it, we better damn well get a q uick handle on the game before this son of a bitch kills any more. This isn’t any street hooker this time-it’s the mayor’s daughter.” John gave him his back once again. “I’ll take full responsibility for this one.” “You could lose your job,” Cole stated, knowing the chief had already gues sed as much. “Look, we didn’t do anything unethical. We gave the press some vital informat ion pertaining to our killer. I won’t go as far as admitting publicly that I screwed up. I’m just saying my conscience will take a hell of a toll if this girl winds up dead.” John retook his seat and leaned toward Cole, his hands c lasped atop his desk. “I underestimated this sick bastard and it’s too late t o stop the ball we put into action.” “You didn’t expect him to react so fast?” John shrugged as he leaned back. “I expected it, but I hadn’t anticipated his choice of victims.”

“Who would? Up until now-he’s only killed prostitutes. But what makes their life worth any less? I was afraid we would be pushing him into killing again and I think that’s exactly what he’s done. Only he’s getting cocky and does n’t think we’re as smart as he is, therefore we can’t possibly catch him. Bu t until we find this girl dead, we can’t be sure he made a move at all.” “You don’t believe that any more than I do.” “No, I don’t.” John exhaled through pursed lips. “I’ll just hate to be the one to tell Mayor Stanton when we find her.” After dropping off Cindy’s car at her home, Laurie and Cindy drove up Lorai n Road. They had spent the entire day at the mall with little to eat becaus e of Laurie’s ridiculous assumption of being watched. And after being compl etely shopped out, they agreed to go out for a quiet supper. “I wonder what Damien’s up to?” Cindy asked, more for herself than Laurie since she would hardly care. “You think maybe he’s been trying to get a ho ld of me?” “I thought you said he needed space,” Laurie grumbled, knowing what Cind y would ask next. “You think you could drive by his place? I’d hate to miss seeing him play t onight because I wasn’t home to get his message.” “What do you have an answering machine for if you’re not going to use it? If he wanted you to come by, he would have called.” “Damien won’t leave a message. He never does. Please,” she pleaded again. Laurie shook her head and wondered at her devotion to Cindy. By doing as sh e asked, Laurie put herself in a position to see Cole and he was the last p erson she wanted to lay eyes on. Cole had never been far from her thoughts, and though she tried vehemently, t he attraction could not be denied. Nor the ache in her heart. Laurie shifted lanes, put on her signal, and turned left onto West 210 Street. “Oh, thank you.” Laurie had been right; Cindy was in it deep. She could only hope that Dami en cherished her much-trusted friend’s love. But somehow, she doubted he d id. “You’re welcome, but I won’t go in. The last person I want to encounter to day is Cole Kincaid.” Moments later, they drove into the apartment complex, where Cole’s Ford Ra nger, to her relief, was nowhere to be seen. The mall had been closed now nearly an hour and Laurie’s stomach ached fr om the lack of nourishment. “Can we make this quick?” she asked as they both exited the car, changing

her mind about going in. “I’m famished.” “Yeah.” Cindy trotted up to the entrance and knocked on the door. “I’ll jus t see what time Damien is going to the club.” The door swung open. Damien looked down at Cindy in surprise, holding her gaze only moments before looking at Laurie. At first, Laurie thought him ready to make excuses and send them both away, but to her surprise he st epped back and allowed them to enter. “What brings you by?” His normal deep voice thundered. One of his hands ran th rough the hair at the top of his head to rid his face of the strays, though it did little good as it drifted back into place like a silky black curtain. “I wanted to see if you’re playing tonight.” Cindy snuggled up to his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. Damien’s gazeheld Cindy’s shortly, but then it again strayed to Laurie. Lauri e shifted her weight to the other foot as the room seemed to close in on her. She suddenly regretted bringing her friend here, or at least having been a p arty to it. She should have left when she had the chance. “You coming?” Damien asked Laurie. “No,” she replied, looking down at her hands. Something dark and disturbin g lurked in his eyes. “I have to work tomorrow.” Cindy giggled. “And I don’t?” “You go ahead. I think I’m going to turn in early tonight.” Cindy looked back up at Damien. “Will you give me a ride? I left my car at home.” At first Laurie thought he might refuse as he glanced back at Laurie, then f inding compassion she did not know he possessed, Damien patted Cindy on the rear and said, “I’ll be ready in about five minutes. We’ll go get something to eat first. I’m starving.” Damien walked away and disappeared through the door of his bedroom before Cindy turned back to Laurie. “You should at least get something to eat.” “I don’t think so, Cindy,” Laurie said; her gaze traveled about the small room. Cole’s presence stamped every corner. Her heart pained. “You two go and have a good time. I think right now I’d rather go home anyway.” As though Cindy had read her thoughts, she walked over and placed a hand on Laurie’s arm. “He’ll come around,” she said. “I’m not so sure about that.” Laurie came too close to admitting her true feel ings aloud. “I’m ready,” Damien said as his bulk refilled the room. “You sure you don’ t want to come along, Laurie?” Her name rolled off his tongue like a well-played song. No wonder so many w omen fell prey to the mystery of the man. She could see what attracted Cind y to him. But in Laurie’s eyes, she could not get past his dark presence.

The door to the apartment swung open, catching them all by surprise, as a s olemn-faced Cole walked in. His gaze landed on Laurie briefly, but he strod e past her without a word. “Going out?” he asked Damien as he grasped a beer from the refrigerator and twisted off the cap. “To get some chow. Want to go?” he asked. “Nope,” he replied, then took a long pull from his bottle. “I had a hell of a day and right now, I just want to relax...alone.” Laurie caught his meaning: he had no intentions of playing host to her either . “See you later then,” Damien said as he and Cindy headed out the door. Laurie turned to follow them when Cole asked, “Going somewhere?” Laurie turned, but held firm where she stood, confused as to what Cole want ed. After all, he had just stated resolutely that he wanted to be alone. An d the more distance between them the better for her, she thought. The door closed behind her, the time to escape now gone. Why in God’s name had she a llowed Cindy to talk her into coming here in the first place? “I was going home.” “Want a beer?” he asked, ignoring her desire to leave altogether. “No.” “You’re going to make me drink alone?” “Wasn’t that your intention?” Laurie asked. Her heart beat heavily in her c hest. Surely he could detect the pounding rhythm. “Before I got here,” he replied. The truth to his statement registered in his eyes, the only reason Laurie had the courage to step forward. “Now that you’ re here.…” His voice trailed off. Tears stung the back of her eyes; she refused to let them fall. “I wouldn’t think you would want me-” He chuckled, cutting off her words. “God, you have no idea,” he said as he t ook another swig from his bottle. “I...I think maybe I ought to go,” Laurie stammered, the tension in the ro om sizzling like ice water dropped into hot oil. Even his admission of wan ting her could not take the weight from her chest. She knew he desired her , proving as much a week ago. The problem was that she wanted more from hi m, much more. Cole took another swig from his bottle, then slammed it down on the surface . Fizz rose to the top but did not fall. “Yeah.” He laughed again, humor no nexistent in his eyes. “Maybe you should.” “Which is it, Cole?” she asked, taking another step toward him. “You want me to stay or you want me to go?” Cole placed his palms on the breakfast bar between them and leaned forwar d. “I’ve never asked for more from you than you were willing to give, Mis

s Michaels. You have a mind of your own. Do you want to leave?” The loaded question lay unanswered between them. If she stayed, they would likely wind up in his bed, leaving her as broken-hearted as the first time they had had sex. After all, he had never pretended to want anything more f rom her. Not a friendship. Not a relationship. And yet… “I’ll take a beer,” she said, acknowledging her decision. Laurie refused to p onder on the wisdom it. Cole eyed her carefully, then turned and retrieved one from the refrigerator . Twisting off the cap, he handed it to her. Laurie took a small swig from h er bottle, and prayed that her shaking limbs would not give way to her anxie ty. Cole wondered at her true intentions. After he had treated her so callously the last time, and after she’d made it clear she didn’t want to see him agai n, he would have thought her ready to bolt from the room at any given moment . Instead, to his surprise, she stood mere feet away, with nothing separatin g them but the breakfast bar. Damn, he wanted her, the evidence already straining against the inside of hi s well-pressed pants. Thank the good Lord for pleats and the counter or his desire would be evident to her as well. He took another long pull from his b ottle, hoping to dull his now raging hunger. If it were that simple though, Cole would take what he wanted from her, th en send her packing without a care in the world. The problem: he did care. Too damn much. And that’s what had him running scared the past few days. Laurie Michaels would be too easy to fall in love with. “Did you eat?” he finally asked. “No.” Without a word, Cole reached beneath the counter and extracted a skillet. In n o time at all, he put together a chicken and rice dish, simmering over low hea t, then led Laurie into the living area, offering her a seat on the sofa. Cole took a seat opposite, still not sure what to say. Without talking about the case, they had little in common, and the only thing Cole could think ab out was how fast he could get her between his sheets. But he knew if he allo wed himself to make love to her again, all hope would be lost, and so would his heart. “Did you see your article in the Plain Dealer? ” Cole asked, not knowing wha t else to converse about, and not wanting to bring up his reason for leaving her sitting on the floor last Monday night. A smile rose on her cinnamon-painted lips. Cole wanted to trace the protrud ing lower one with his finger before drawing it into his mouth and savoring every inch. “Yes,” she replied in slight embarrassment. “I hope you get the results you

wanted from it.” A meager stab of guilt pained him as he thought about his day. A girl had been reported missing and here he was contemplating how to skip the meal a ltogether and carry Laurie to his unmade bed. “We may get results we don’t want,” Cole grumbled, looking to the floor. “In what way?” “We issued this madman a challenge, Laurie. How do you think he’ll respon d?” Laurie’s eyes widened at the prospect of what he implied. “You don’t think m y article will cause him to kill again?” “That’s a big possibility.” “Oh, God! How could you allow me to publish it then? If I am at fault for an other girl’s death.…” Her face mirrored the fright in her voice. “You only wrote what we told you to. None of this would be your fault.” Her eyes narrowed. “How could you know the consequences?” Cole shrugged. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think I was given much of a choice. But I’ll take the blame for anything that happens. It’s my case.” Cole stood, and walked to the kitchen to check their supper. Satisfied, he spun around, meaning to return to the living room when he bumped into Lauri e, not knowing she stood so close behind. His arm snaked around her waist to keep from knocking her to the floor, but o nly resulted in pulling her flush against the erection that had plagued him s ince her arrival. He knew without a doubt, she felt his reaction to her as sh e looked into his eyes. Her hand slipped behind his head and she brought her lips close to his. Unable to resist the invitation, Cole met her lips like a magnet pulled toward steel . His kiss was light at first, meant to caress, to tease, but as she leaned int o him and backed him against the solid surface of the wall, all gentleness le ft him. He grasped both sides of her face and thrust his tongue into her mout h, hearing her answering moan. Desire spiraled around him, pulling him downward like a fish caught in a w hirlpool. He could not think, could not move. Nothing mattered but this mo ment, here in the arms of a woman so bold.... The phone rang, breaking the web of captivation. Damn, but he almost allowe d himself to get carried away-a second time. He still had not forgiven hims elf for the last time he allowed things to escalate out of his control. And yet, he had no more to offer now than he had then. The timing could not ha ve been worse. He needed his mind on the case and not analyzing his feeling s for Laurie. The ring split the air again. Cole stepped away from her and walked to the pho ne sitting beside his recliner. Picking it up, he pushed the talk button.

“Hello,” he said gruffly into the receiver. “Cole?” a deep voice responded, tightening every muscle in his body. He d id not need for the caller to acknowledge himself, for Cole would have rec ognized the voice anywhere. “Charley,” said Cole. “It’s been a hell of a long time.” “Yeah, it has,” he said. Cole watched Laurie walk to the sofa, grasp her be er, and head for the door as though she meant to make a quick exit. Somethi ng in the way she looked at Cole made him say, “Don’t you leave yet. We are far from finished.” “Did I call at a bad time?” Charley asked. “I’m not sure there would be a good time, Charley.” He looked back to Laur ie and pointed to the couch. Laurie suddenly feared him; her wary gaze tol d him as much. And he would be damned if he knew why. “Sit down,” he state d firmly. “I’ll be off the phone in a minute...then we’ll talk.” “I’m sure we will,” she said sarcastically, taking a seat as told. Cole wond ered what could have possibly happened in the span of minutes to send her fl eeing his apartment when a moment ago, she had instigated the kiss. “What the hell do you want, Charley?” “I’m calling as a concerned friend. You don’t know how many times I picked up this receiver to call you and chickened out. I knew you would react th is way.” “So why the hell did you call? To reopen old wounds?” Cole clenched his teet h as an ache gripped his heart like a vise. He did not want to feel. It had been too damn long. “Some Michaels woman came by asking-” “What?” he nearly shouted. “What the hell did you discuss with her?” His e yes fell on the object of his newly found anguish. No wonder she had been i n such a hurry to leave. “Look, she was concerned about you, is all. She thought you were unreachabl e and damned if she wasn’t right. Cole Kincaid, you are one cold son of a g un. I called to make amends, buddy. It’s been too damn long to carry this o n. But I can see now-” “That you made a mistake?” he said with a malice-filled chuckle. “When the hell is everyone going to realize I don’t want to be reached.” Cole punched the OFF button on the phone and threw it into his recliner. He advanced on Laurie. She stared back, unflinching. She had nerve, he would give her that much. “I think maybe you ought to leave now,” he growled, clenching and unclenchin g his fists at his sides. “I think that would be best,” Laurie agreed. She attempted to rise, but he pl aced one hand on her shoulder, staying her, and leaned precariously close. “When, Laurie? When did you meet Charley?”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and like the strong-willed woman he had com e to know, she failed to acknowledge it. “The same day I went to see Rober t Freeman,” Laurie said, holding her head high. “Why?” He narrowed his eyes. Laurie batted his hand off her shoulder and headed for the door, leaving him to stare after her. When she reached the exit, she turned to glare at him. “Because I thought I cared,” she bit out, then yanked open the door only to s lam it shut behind her. Cole sank to the couch, the fight drained from him. “Not a wise thing to do, Michaels,” he said to the silent room. Not a wise thing to do .

Chapter 21 Cole walked from his bedroom, freshly showered, shaved, and ready for work . God, he hated Mondays, particularly this one. Going into the office toda y would not be a typical one. The mayor’s daughter was still missing and h e knew there would be hell to pay for it. Someone’s butt would be hung out to dry and Cole had a strong feeling it would be his. Grasping a ceramic mug from the shelf, he poured himself a cup of strong bl ack coffee and sat down at the breakfast bar, wanting to delay the inevitab le as long as humanly possible. His gaze took in the wall beside the counter as last night replayed itself in his mind. The image of Laurie boldly approaching him had haunted his d reams and waking hours of the night. He was unsure how much sleep he had a chieved but would bet it wasn’t much. Had Charley not picked that particular moment to call...what? He would hav e woken up one satisfied man this morning because there certainly had been little doubt the direction they were heading-even if they had managed to make it through his chicken and rice. But thanks to Charley, he had slept alone last night. Thank goodness he liv ed far enough away or Cole would probably chance losing Laurie to him as we ll. Cole’s last thought caught him off guard, knocking the air from his chest a s thoroughly as if someone had struck him in the sternum. Where the hell ha d that come from? With Laurie, Cole had nothing to lose, for there was noth ing between them to lose. Cole took another sip from his cup as the door to the second bedroom opene d. Cole glanced down at his watch, making sure he had not slept in. A wear

y-looking Damien, sporting nothing but a pair of boxers and a flannel robe , approached the coffee pot, grasped a mug, and poured himself a cup. Damien walked around the counter and took a seat on a stool opposite Cole. He ran a hand through his long black hair, attempting to make some sembla nce of it. Cole narrowed his eyes. “What the hell are you doing up so early this mornin g? It’s only seven-thirty.” Damien chuckled. “Don’t I know it. Hell, my whole body is telling me I shou ld be asleep, but I guess I’m just too keyed up.” “What’s got you wound so tight?” “I don’t know, man,” Damien said, taking a sip of his coffee. He glanced up at Cole as though weighing the options of telling him exactly what was on his mind. “Cindy, I guess.” “I take it she didn’t spend the night.” Damien laughed again. “If she would have had her way. I made excuses and to ok her home right after the gig last night.” “Damien Vincent is turning them away? Miracles will never cease.” Damien ran a hand down his slightly whiskered jaw. “How the hell do you let a girl down easily, man? I’ve never had to deal with this.” Cole shrugged. “You never seemed to have a problem with it before.” “I never allowed them into my world before. Man, you take them home, screw their brains out, then send them packing come morning. I don’t know why I let this go on so long with Cindy. Now I think she fancies herself in lov e with me or something. Women,” he snorted, then took another sip of his c offee. Cole knew the whole affair was none of his business, yet he could not help himself from asking. “Does this have anything to do with Laurie?” Damien’s gaze met Cole’s. “What makes you say that?” “You’ve made it obvious you find her attractive, and even asked about my r elationship with her.” “So you have one with her now?” “No.” “I’d never step on your toes, man. If you have designs on her, then you bet ter say something now.” Cole weighed his options. He could either admit to the feelings he so despe rately tried to deny or he could say nothing and chance losing anything tha t might develop between them to his roommate. He opted to take his chances. After all, with last night’s occurrences, forgi veness would be hard to come by. “I told you before, there is nothing between us,” Cole said. “Then Cindy VanWarren has got to go, but gently. If Laurie knows I dumped Cindy for her, she won’t even look at me.”

Cole grimaced. “You’re one cold son of a bitch, Damien.” He grinned. “But t hen, I don’t think you need me to tell you that.” “You got to go where your libido leads you,” Damien said, winking. “Maybe sometime you ought to think with the head on your shoulders and not the one in your boxers.” Although Cole had made the decision not to ackno wledge his feelings for Laurie and Damien had considered asking him first, he could not help from lashing out and taking the pot shot. Unscathed, Damien smiled. “And what fun would that be? Right now, there’s only one thing in life more fun than uninvolved sex and that’s rock n’ rol l, man.” Cole’s beeper sounded and he checked the number. “I think you’re worse off t han I am, Damien. You’re not cold; you’re more like dry ice. We make a hell of a pair. The only difference, you’re not afraid to go after what it is you want...at any cost.” Cole walked away from the counter, grasped the phone, and punched in the nu mbers. “Chief?” he asked into the receiver as soon as the other end connect ed, not waiting to be greeted. “Get on over to the mayor’s house, Cole.” His voice sounded grim. “They fou nd his daughter...dead...in his own front yard.” “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Cole blasphemed. He whistled as he replaced the cordless phone on the base, then glanced at Damien who looked at him in int erest. “As much as I’d like to finish this conversation, I have to go. They just found another dead body.” Cole parked his car along the curb, across the street from the mayor’s house. He stopped long enough at the station to stock the detective’s sedan with ev idence kits, before heading to the Stanton’s. Frank Cooper cordoned off the entire front yard with yellow crime scene tape . Cole ducked beneath the barrier and stepped toward the front of the house. Mayor Stanton and his wife sat beside one another on the front stairs in an attempt to console each other, though neither seemed to be doing a very goo d job. Mrs. Stanton sobbed pitifully into her hands while Jim sat, jaw tense , trying his damnedest to stop the flow of tears. Cole’s heart pained for th eir loss, knowing all too well the feeling of losing someone so dear. Taking his note pad from his pocket, he did a quick sketch of the area as Frank Cooper and O’Riley began measuring the scene and triangulating the b ody. “I hate to ask these questions at a time like this, Jim,” Cole said, his gaze traveling to the body covered by a dark blue Cleveland Indian throw, the Wah oo staring into the clouds, “but you know it’s my job.” “Yes, yes,” he mumbled in grief. “Just get this over with and get on with what it is you do best. I want this son of a bitch strung up by his balls.”

“I want him, too,” Cole assured the mayor. “What time did you find her?” “I came out to get my paper about seven o’clock this morning. Her feet...by the bushes...caught my attention,” he choked out, then covered his mouth, trying desperately not to give way to anguish. “Was she covered with that blanket?” Cole asked, his gaze returning to the b ody. “No.” The mayor shook his head as though the word had not been sufficient. “I did that. I couldn’t stand to let her lay there like that...exposed.” Cole understood but feared the answer to his next question. “Did you touch her body?” The mayor’s eyes snapped up to Cole’s, anger evident to the cores. “What wou ld you have done, Lieutenant? Of course, I did. I held her head in my lap; I would have breathed life into her if I could.” Visions of his wife’s lifeless body played through Cole’s mind. He, too, ha d ignored protocol and held Jeanne’s head in his lap as his tears washed aw ay some of the blood marring her beautiful face. She had been beaten so bad ly, he hardly recognized her. “You know as well as I do the importance of disturbing the body or the crime scene,” was all Cole could think to say. “Lieutenant, had you been in my position, you would have done the same!” the mayor nearly roared. “I know that all too well, sir.” Anxious to move on, he asked, “Was anything else disturbed?” “No,” he answered meekly, the fight gone from him as his shoulders sagged and his face sported new lines of age. Jim Stanton now appeared years olde r than he had just yesterday. “Did you see or hear anything unusual throughout the night?” “No, like I told you, I didn’t see or hear a thing until seven this morning.” “All right. That’s all the questions I have for now, Jim,” Cole said, laying a gentle hand atop his shoulder. “I’m sorry.” Beside the body, leaving the parents to their grief, Cole lifted the blanket away from the face of the victim. Sightless eyes stared up at him, void of an y expression. Only a body without a soul could appear so empty, so vacant. Before Cole began snapping pictures of the body and surrounding area, Coope r called out to him. “Cole, over here.” Cole made a careful arc around the body to a spot about fifteen feet beyon d where Frank pointed to a patch of flowers. A perfect imprint of a large hiking-type boot lay undisturbed in the bedding as though the perp had pee red into the opened window of Mayor Stanton and his wife’s bedroom. “Looks like the son of a bitch is getting careless,” said Cole, more to hims elf than Frank, then he turned to Cooper, giving him his full attention. Exc itement coursed through his veins, renewing his determination. “Go get the c

amera from the car and the plaster and bucket also.” Within minutes, Cole had a special camera, which took exact-sized photos set on a wooden frame positioned directly over the print, then placed a twelveinch ruler beside the impression. Shot taken, Cole sprayed the surface with hair spray as the fixative, then used a metal frame to surround the track. A fter mixing the plaster and water, Cole poured the mixture into the frame an d over the print, using his blending stick as a diffuser so the flow would n ot disturb the print’s surface. Grasping some sticks from the nearby bushes, Cole placed them on top of the wet plaster to reinforce the cast. Cole returned to the body, allowing the plaster to harden. Victoria had been a girl of infinite beauty with brown hair and brown eyes. Not much makeup w as required to enhance her classic good looks. His heart ached for the loss to the world, for surely life would have been better with her in it. Looking past the collar of her shirt, Cole noted the neck wound, slit nearly from ear to ear with the trade mark purplish bite marks surrounding it. No blood soaked the ground beneath her. She had been killed elsewhere and dumpe d in her parent’s front yard. Pulling the blanket the rest of the way off, C ole saw a bloodied piece of paper stuck to her chest, just below her left br east with what appeared to be a serrated knife. “Shit,” Cole grumbled. Not only had their perp gotten bolder, but he’d bec ome more violent as well. He was positive the chief had not anticipated thi s move when he ordered the piece in the paper to be written. God help them if they did not find the perp before he struck again. They had thoroughly p issed him off. After taking several close-up photos, Cole tore the paper from the knife, c areful not to disturb the inflicted wound. His hands actually shook with th e rush of adrenaline running through his veins as he opened it. Scrawled in barely legible black marker were the words, “Back, back, to your own place ! Your time is not yet come. Wait! Have patience! To-night is mine. To-morr ow night is yours!” Even though the reminiscent “BS” was missing from the quote, Cole would lay odds they came from the same source. The broken words, to-night and to-morrow, reminded him of something, but of what he could not be sure. The Cuyahoga County Coroner arrived at the scene interrupting his thoughts; she obviously hadn’t wanted to send one of her staff to the mayor’s house. She spoke quietly to the mayor and his wife before approaching Cole. The e ver-present politician . “What do you have?” she asked as she knelt over the body. Cole chuckled at the lame question, but decided it best not to be sarcastic at the moment. “Dead white female, age twenty-one. Appears she died due to the neck wound.” As the Coroner took the body’s temperature and compared it to that of the ai

r, she asked, “And the knife here in the chest?” “May have happened postmortem.” “Anything been disturbed?” “Mayor Stanton claims to have cradled her head in his lap, then covered the victim with the Cleveland Indian throw,” Cole said, indicating the blanket discarded beside the body. “Pack it up for evidence, Lieutenant. I’ll take note that it was placed over the victim by her father.” She studied her equipment, then looked at Cole. “I’ll give you time of death after the autopsy, but she looks like she’s bee n dead a few days. Anything else I should know?” she asked, her voice soundi ng annoyed as she eyed the bloodied note in his gloved fingers. Cole resented being treated like a two-year-old, even if she were the county ’s highest-ranking law enforcement official. Had it been any other case, she would have sent her flunkies to do the job, but because this case had becom e high-profile.... “This note was stuck to her chest with the knife. I was careful not to disturb the weapon, but I removed it to read.” “Bag it as evidence, Lieutenant,” she said in a clipped tone, though she ref rained from scolding him as he knew she wanted to. “Of course,” he gritted through clenched teeth. The Coroner stood up, pulled off her rubber gloves, and dismissed him withou t a word. She told her assistants to bag the body, then headed for the mayor and his wife. Her facial features visibly softened. A change of face for th e mayor’s sake . He stepped back and allowed the men from the coroner’s office to remove th e body, then walked to Frank Cooper and said, “I want you to ride to the c oroner’s with the body to witness the autopsy. Make sure all evidence is p roperly bagged and tagged. I don’t want any screw-ups.” “But-” Frank began. Cole held up his hand to stop any forthcoming argument . “We’re following this thing by the book, Cooper,” he said as he walked awa y from the opened mouth officer. At this point, Cole could care less if Frank Cooper had ever witnessed an au topsy before or passed out during the damned procedure. He wanted everything done to the best of his abilities. Cole walked to the open trunk of his car, withdrew a paper envelope, and sl ipped in the quote after writing the passage down, word for word. That tagg ed and numbered, Cole then withdrew a good size cardboard box from his trun k and headed for the print left in the flower bedding. With a stick, he carefully lifted the near-dry plaster and placed it right si de up in the box to finish drying. He numbered the box as tagged evidence, th en sent it with O’Riley and the rest of the evidence to the crime lab for ana

lysis. With the high priority of this case, Cole felt positive the backlog of cases would not slow down his evidence. After all, the Coroner coming to Fai rview Park spoke volumes about the attention his case now received. Tired, all evidence collected, and ready to head back to the station to type h is official report, Cole headed for his car. He first noticed the slender legs , crossed at the ankles. His gaze traveled up their length, disappearing benea th a short linen skirt, and up to her breasts where her arms were crossed bene ath, pushing the soft flesh up to gently over-flow the V-neckline of a turquoi se suit jacket, finally to stop on her face. A smile edged his lips as he approached the woman, the toe of her two-inch heel tapping out a rhythm on the blacktopped pavement. “I wondered what was taking you so long, Michaels,” Cole said as he threw t he rest of his supplies in the trunk and closed the lid. Her photographer s napped off a roll of pictures as the men from the coroner’s office wheeled the black-bagged body to the ambulance with Cooper quickly in tow. “Need I call you next time?” “You wouldn’t even if I asked,” she grumbled, pushing away from his car, making ready to approach the grieving family. A van from WEWS pulled up t o the opposite curb as an entourage of people jumped from it armed with v ideo cameras, microphones, and at least a one hundred feet of cable. Ignoring the crew as they made their way toward Laurie’s destination, Cole grasped her upper arm and halted her forward progress. “Where are you goi ng?” “To interview the Stantons,” she snapped, her brown eyes flashing with barel y controlled rage. “Gee,” he chuckled non-humorously, “the lieutenant has already lost his ap peal to the press. There was a time when you followed me for the scoop.” Laurie jerked her arm from his grasp. “You lost your appeal a long time ago. ” Cole held her stare for long moments, tight-lipped. Then as she started to wa lk away, he reached for his car door and said, “Last night you didn’t think s o.” Laurie spun around on her heel, marched back to the car, and slammed the d oor shut, nearly catching his hand in it. “Don’t you even bring up what ha ppened between us.” Cole chuckled, one side of his mouth turning up. “There’s nothing between u s to talk about, Michaels. Sorry I gave you that impression.” Laurie clenched her jaw and glared at him, perching her fists on her hips. “Y ou really are a son of a bitch, Cole Kincaid.” “So they tell me,” he taunted, unaffected by her curse. “To think I might have cared about you, to think-” “Let me tell you something, Michaels,” Cole said, fixing her with his glare.

“I’m not only a son of a bitch, I’m an asshole. I don’t want you to care or feel anything for me. You can’t save someone who doesn’t want to be saved.” Tears filled her eyes, but she batted her lashes in an attempt to ward them o ff. “No one said I wanted to save you, Lieutenant.” “Wasn’t that your reasoning behind going to see Robert Freeman? Charley N ash? Read the papers, Miss Michaels, though I’m sure you already have. See what they say about me-it’s all true. My wife is dead because of me; my b est friend’s child will never see the light of day because of me.” He paus ed, waiting for her to say something, anything. When she held silent, he continued with a malice-filled laugh, “There is enou gh self-hate inside these walls,” he tapped his sternum, then pointed a finge r at her, “that not even a beautiful woman like yourself could begin to heal it, even had I wanted you to.” “Then what is it you do want?” Her voice trembled. “To be left the hell alone.” He entered the car, started the engine, and put it into gear, driving off witho ut another word. In the rear-view mirror’s image, Laurie stood in the middle of the street, staring after his retreating car. “Damn it to hell,” he cursed, striking the steering wheel with the heal of his palm. “Damn it to hell,” he repeated in a softer tone as the ache in his chest returned tenfold. Not even the turmoil from his case could fill the void left t here.

Chapter 22 Twilight quickly approaches, turning the horizon just over the rows of expensi ve houses a brilliant orange. Only those born to the right station in life cou ld afford such luxuries, for surely the life of a lowly reporter can ill produ ce such extravagances. The soul stands quietly near the back of the house, shrouded by trees and f oliage in the small woods beyond. Lights furnish him a good view of the ins ide, one she will likely never bestow upon him. Chandeliers hang like diamo nds dropping from the sky, illuminating her pathway as she travels about th e interior. “The blood is the life! The blood is the life!” echoes through his head like a litany as Bram Stoker wrote so correctly over some hundred years ago-call ing him, beckoning him.

But fate is with Laurie Michaels this day, for her time has not yet come. The soul clenches and unclenches tense fists as he watches her enter a room on the top floor, pulling the restraints from her hair, allowing it to float lik e a silky reddish-brown curtain about her shoulders. Her hands go to the butto ns of her turquoise suit jacket as she takes it off and tosses it aside, leavi ng her glorious in a white brassiere of lace. Deep rose-colored nipples stand out in contrast as the soul’s mouth goes suddenly dry. Desire courses through his veins as the fluid the soul so craves runs swift ly and hardens what was moments ago placid. His hand moves down to the ache now paining him and glides it slowly over the coarse fabric. Soon, the soul promises himself, soon her time will come to its end. Then like a thief in the night, he steals through the woods as agilely as a b lack panther, no one being aware of the malignancy so near. A chill ran down Laurie’s spine as she spotted the opened window toward th e back of her bedroom. It had been careless of her to leave the window aja r and the house unsecured with a psycho running about the city. Walking to it, she cranked the window shut and closed the blind. Laurie entered the connecting bathroom, trying desperately to shake the feel ing of unease, and started the water in the tub, before stepping out of her skirt. A hot shower would calm the trepidation clawing at her soul. She woul d not give way to her fears and allow this shadow of a man to drive her from her home. Besides, she thought with little conviction, she had Zeke to prot ect her. The dog lay at the foot of the bathtub, his chin resting on its paws, staring up at her in blind devotion. Laurie chuckled as she finished undressing and stepped into the running water. Like he would do her any good . Tonight, Laurie wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with a good boo k and forget the day had ever happened. She had gotten quite a story from the day’s events and was promised a front-page slot on tomorrow’s copy. So why then did she feel so damn miserable? Cole Kincaid. He had been the cause of the deep aching hole in the center of her chest, an d had she not known better, she would swear somewhere along the way, she had allowed herself to fall in love with him, though foolish it had been. After all, his story was so damn tragic. How could she not be affected by it? His own admissions earlier did little to push her away as he had intended. Instead, Cole only succeeded in making her care more, if that were possible . She wanted desperately to hold him and soothe away the pain he surely car ried around with him like a purple heart won in the spoils of war. The shampoo now rinsed from her hair, she turned off the water, leaving ste am hovering in the bathroom like mist off the bayou in the early morning ho

urs. Laurie grasped a towel, and wrapped it around her. As she stepped from the tub and wiped away the dew gathering on the mirror, she looked at the reflection staring back at her. Brown hair, brown eyes. My God. I must be careful. The killer had stepped over the line and what Co le had assessed earlier no longer held true. The murderer may have started with prostitutes, but he had moved up to the mayor’s daughter. What would s top him from turning to her one day? After all, it was her byline on the st ories covering his hideous deed. Laurie smiled nervously at her reflection; she was being silly of course. Th ese things would never happen to her, they only happened to other people...d idn’t they? Donning an over-large sleep shirt and a pair of lace panties, Laurie turned off the bathroom light and headed into her bedroom. After shutting off the lights to her home and checking the security of her alarm, she grasped a r omance novel from her bookshelf and headed for bed. She would lose herself in Melody Morgan’s Defiant Hearts , and take herself to another place and t ime even if for just a few blessed hours. Two chapters into the book and not recalling much of what she read because of her lack of concentration, Laurie realized that forgetting Cole and his parting words were not likely to happen. She placed the book on her nightst and, turned out the lamp, and snuggled into her comforter, praying for bles sed sleep to stop her rolling thoughts of a man she could never have. He be longed, and always would, to a woman whose life had been tragically taken. Jeanne Kincaid. She was pitiable. Here she was, jealous of a woman who no longer walked the face of the earth. But Laurie knew, without a doubt, she could never compe te with Jeanne for his late wife lived within the confines of Cole Kincaid’ s heart and always would. The one spot Laurie could never lay claim to. With a deep sigh, she rolled over, punched her pillow a few times and resigne d herself to a sleepless night. The evening went on much longer than Cole had intended, not leaving the st ation until well after nine o’clock. He unlocked the door to his apartment and entered the lonely space he called home. Maybe his reasoning to take on Damien as a roommate had been to ease his aching heart and fill it with someone who had a more colorful life than his own. If that had been the purpose, he had succeeded-for a short time anyway. Bu t since meeting Laurie Michaels, he had been reminded how lonely his life actually was. Hell, he did not need a friend. He needed a lover, a compani on. But would it be enough to make a relationship work? Cole could not off er Laurie what she searched for.

At her age, women sought husbands to provide them with babies. And babies w ere not in Cole’s future. After all, what child would benefit from having h im as a father? Cole worked long hours and spent most of his time thinking about his job. A child needed a father to play football with, tell stories to, help with homework, to have tea parties with. And where would he be? Before too long, Laurie would end up resenting him for not spending enough quality time with her and their children. Cole raked his fingers through his hair. The long hours were getting to him , for here he was, entertaining the idea of not only marrying a woman too y oung for him, but having children with her as well. A thought niggled his b rain: Would it be so bad? He turned on the lamp beside his recliner, lending the room a spot of light. Damn right it would . She would never be happy on the meager salary of a co p not when she already lived at the top of the hill. After retrieving a beer, Cole sat in his recliner and began reading chapter two of Bram Stoker’s Dracula . It had been a couple of days since he last re ad the book. Upon nearing the end of Jonathan Harker’s Journal entry for the fifth of May, Cole found what he had been looking for. Bingo. Bram Stoker had been the author of the penned, “ Ah, sir, you dwellers in th e city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter.” “BS” stood for Bram St oker. Excitement coursed through his veins. With any luck, the quote he found to day would also come from the same source. He pulled his notebook from his pocket, flipped open the small black leather cover, and stared at the seco nd quote. “Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait! Have patience! To-night is mine. To-morrow night is yours!” Cole now knew what triggered his memory at the scene earlier in the day. H e had read the strange hyphenated “To-night” and “To-morrow” in Bram Stoke r’s work. Now, if he could only figure a way to link it to his perp. Cole leafed ahead in the novel, scanning the pages until near the end of chap ter four, he found the second quote. Dracula was not speaking to Jonathan Harker at this point, but to the terrib le women in the hall. So if his perp followed suit and was not speaking to C ole, then to whom did he direct this quote? In the first passage, Dracula meant Jonathan Harker could not think like the wolves as Dracula could, for he was a hunter, which Cole’s perp, also, like ned himself to. And Cole, as Jonathan Harker, could not possibly understand this. A lump rose in Cole’s throat at his partial understanding. His perp referre d to his next intended victim, whose time had not yet come. And if Cole cou ld figure out which woman he now referred to, he would know the perp’s next

prey before he struck again, possibly stopping it from happening. But if h e did not, Cole would be made to feel responsible. Knowing this and how Col e would feel, this son of a bitch had issued him the challenge, making Cole a pawn in his twisted game. “Damn,” Cole cursed the silent night. “Who besides me would have access to the quote? Who else would have access to the evidence?” The mayor and his wife, Cole supposed, but neither fit the profile. The Cor oner did, having brown hair and dark eyes, being of Native American descent , though Cole doubted she would be in any danger. Any female at the lab doi ng analysis, which Cole would lay odds several fit the description. Then there would be those at City Hall, specifically the station, which two of the secretaries fit the portrait: young, dark hair and eyes, and unmarrie d. And last, but certainly not least, Laurie Michaels if indeed Cole had dec ided to work with the press again on the case. But why, if the murderer had targeted her, would he not think she would have access, especially since it was she who wrote the last damning piece in the paper. Fear slithered up his spine like a water moccasin skimming silently across the water’s surface. He would have to warn Laurie of the possibility, thoug h as stubborn as she was, he doubted it would do him any good. She would not take him seriously, and knowing her, she would go after her s tory with more zeal, even if he had asked her to lay low. His best bet was to keep a close eye on Laurie. Cole could not allow anything to happen to h er. Hell, he had yet to forgive himself for allowing his wife’s demise. How would he ever get over something happening to Laurie Michaels? Cole placed the book on the stand, shut off the light, and took a swig from h is bottle. He tilted back the recliner, crossed his feet at the ankles, and s tared out the patio window into the blackened night. His perp was out there s omewhere, getting his yanks off of Victoria Stanton’s death. Cole sighed. And there was not a damn thing he could do about it. Damien paced the small room of the club, rehearsing his planned speech like a litany. He had told Cindy to give him five minutes to wind down after th e set. Right now, she probably sat out there downing her last beer, anxious ly awaiting their time together, and here he was, preparing himself to blow her off. Hell, it wasn’t like he didn’t feel bad. He had allowed his relationship wit h Cindy to go on for far too long, even for the sake of stealing a few glanc es at Laurie Michaels now and then. He would have to be careful to let Cindy down gently or chance earning Laurie’s wrath as well. A chance he was not a bout to take. The door to the room swung upon, allowing the smoke from the club to filte

r in. Closing the door, Cindy sauntered over to him and placed her palms o n his chest. Sweat ran down his chest and abdomen, soaking his shirt. He w anted to wrench his long sleeve tee over his head, but knew it would be a mistake in the presence of Cindy. “Did I give you enough time?” she purred like a well-stroked kitten. She rubb ed her ample breasts against his shirt. Damien knew the desired effect she meant to send: the blood rushing to his groin so he would accept her invitation. But to Cindy’s bad luck, he remain ed limp. “Long enough.” He walked away from her, putting distance between them. Afte r all, the last thing he wanted was to wear the scars of her sharp nails. “What’s the matter?” He heard the annoyance in her voice; it grated on hi s nerves like the squeal of bad breaks. “You’ve been pushing me away for d ays-coming up with excuses why we can’t spend the night together.” Her small hand ran down the back of his shirt, and for a moment, Damien cl osed his eyes and imagined Laurie’s finely manicured hand slipping around his back and down the front of his jeans. Damien groaned as he opened his eyes and saw Cindy’s fingers as they slipped within the waistband of his j eans and enclosed his newly formed erection. “Dammit.” He shouldn’t allow his imagination to carry him away. He grasp ed her wrist and withdrew her hand. He narrowed his gaze as he turned on Cindy, sending her backing away from his hulking form. “I’m trying to tel l you something.” Her eyes filled with tears as though she read his thoughts. But she said noth ing, only straightened her spine and tried to grasp what dignity she might ha ve left after boldly fondling him. He cursed himself beneath his breath. Had he not been so obsessed with dar k hair and dark eyes, he might have allowed himself the pleasure. As it wa s, he would go home alone. Damien swallowed, trying to calm his rising agitation. “Look, Cindy...what I ’m trying to say is-” “It’s been nice,” she giggled on a sorrowful hiccup. She placed two fingers ag ainst her lips to try and calm their trembling. “I’ve been through it all befo re.” His heart went out to her. He had not meant to hurt her. But love her he did not. Hell, he doubted he was capable of ever loving-including the object of h is latest obsession, Laurie Michaels. “You sort of got the picture,” he said, his voice low, attempting to soothe. “How could I not?” A fat tear rolled off her lash and down her cheek. She swiped it away with the back of her hand. “For days, you’ve been making ex cuses.” “I’m sorry,” was all he could think to say.

“No, you’re not,” Cindy said. “I’m the one who is sorry. I should have kn own from the first moment I met you that it was Laurie you wanted...not m e. Even now, it wasn’t my hand you wanted down your pants-” “Enough,” Damien growled, baring his teeth. How the hell had she read his mind so thoroughly? No one, but no one, could lay claim to his thoughts. Th ings were not going as he had planned, escalating out of his control. Surel y, now, Laurie would hear of his callous rejection of her best friend. “Who I want or what I want is not your concern, Cindy.” “Isn’t it? Not even when this other person stops the man I love from loving me in return?” Damien started chuckling. “I would have never fallen in love with you. I’m no t here to trade insults or to be cruel-” “Aren’t you?” she cried, taking a step in his direction. “Just say it, Dami en. I was stupid to fall in love with you. Maybe I was, but that doesn’t mea n I can control how I feel and if you think you’ll ever get Laurie Michaelsyou’re wrong. She’ll never look twice at you. You’re the fool, Damien Vincen t. Can’t you see she’s in love with Cole Kincaid?” Heat rose from his toes to his scalp. Of course, he had already suspected as much, but having his fears spoken aloud still licked at his pride. Though h e wanted little else than what went on between the sheets with Laurie, he di d not like her attentions elsewhere. Besides, he had yet to meet a woman who could resist his charm, and, in love with Cole or not, he had caught her st aring at him a time or two. To Damien, she was worth the chance. “I don’t care where her interests lay.” “Oh, no? Your actions tell a different story, Damien. What I said angered yo u; I could see it in your eyes. You’ll regret this one day. I swear to you o n my grandmother’s grave.” “I’m sure I will,” he placated her, though doubted the validity. How could she possibly make him regret the love he turned away, when he did not want it? A twinge of guilt settled in his chest as he watched the tearful woman hurr y from the room. Who knew, maybe she was right, one day he would live to re gret his decision. After all, had it not been for Laurie Michaels, then may be, just maybe, he could have been content to live with Cindy’s love. But t hen again, with the way he conducted his life, there would always be someon e else just around the corner.

Chapter 23 The orange-red flame licks and claws at the newspaper article until the fire consumes it, the ashes floating to the floor like a black feather. One word remains on the charred paper. Laurie . As though her mere essence will not allow her name to be completely destroyed. Anger flares inside, a slow burn, his jaw aches from tension. He stares in awe as his gaze fixes on her name; his hands clench, making fists of steel at his sides. Every muscle in his body coils like a whip before it sets its deadly s ight. At first, he thought to allow her to live, thinking only she could give his l ife the much needed inner peace, to soothe a tortured soul which no one else can. His loins ache of unrequited desire for a woman he can no longer hunger. She has slandered his presence, defamed all he can be by the simple misunder standing that he alone is responsible for the death of these women. For that , she must die. “What of Satan?” the soul cries out to the empty room, the sound echoing eer ily off the bare red walls, feeling as though Lucifer now abandons him. He, alone, should not be held accountable for the inbred desires he has no contr ol over, ones that are as much a part of his nature as sin is to Satan. At this moment, the Prince of Darkness must be pleased with himself and dusting off the red-velvet seat on his right side, waiting for the soul to fail, for t he soul to be sent to join him in the bowels of his own making. But his work is far from done, and before his life is at its tragic end he will see to it that all his desires on this earth be filled. And if he is to spend the rest of eternity at Satan’s right hand, then he wil l not go until he knows what it is like to relinquish his desire on one who i s now so unworthy, Laurie Michaels, an angel if ever there be one. For surely , one as beautiful as she, comes from the Lord above. Light needs the darkness, and day cannot survive without the night. A balance of good and evil as old as time, for one does not exist without the other. H ad not Eve, free of sin, been attracted to the serpent, believing its lies of becoming like God, bringing the very core of evil into the world? Like God, indeed . Even the soul knows the power of the Lord and that Satan shall fall short in the end. So why, then, take up a battle which he is dest ined to lose on the Day of Judgment? Because he already is, and shall foreve r be, unclean in the eyes of the Lord. As his mother had never failed to remind him, “Your evil thoughts shall for ever condemn you to hell!” Imagine a poor boy, already knowing his destiny from the first time he notic ed his strong desire to taste the blood from his sister’s bleeding wound, an

d believing he was far below the Lord’s forgiveness when she ran screaming f rom the room left with his bite marks as proof to his dastardly deed. At least with Satan, there is refuge. And the more evil he becomes, the highe r he will be held in esteem. For surely, Satan rewards his trusty servants-an d if this be the case, then there are not many more wicked than he. The soul’s dark eyes focus again on the one remaining word. Laurie . Her time is nearing and unless Cole Kincaid proves to be more brilliant than he, her life will end. But, of course, not until his desire is sated and he takes the one thing Satan is not about to give. For should he sample a slice of heaven in the way of Laurie Michaels, what c ould possibly allure him to hell? The soul’s gaze shifts and focuses on Victoria Stanton’s driver’s license as it lay on the table like an oblation. He smiles at the picture. She could h ave been thought of as pretty, but he had watched her tease and taunt the me n at the club throughout the night, her hips swaying in a skirt too short an d a top cut too low. The soul picked her to die, to sacrifice her in the fac e of evil. But what he had not counted on was the fact she came from the loi ns of one so prominent. His anger had prompted his unplanned actions and now the game had stepped up to a new level. For surely they would be looking for him with a vengeance and if he is to co mplete his goal, then soon the time for true beauty must come to an end. Lau rie Michaels’ season is but short. The knife in his right hand cuts a path across his left forearm, leaving a red trail in its wake. Welcoming the blessed pain, he holds the wound over the ch alice, squeezes the arm, and allows his blood to mix with that of the Stanton girl’s. Then offering the chalice to all that is dark, he tilts back his head and allows the chilled fluid to pass over his tongue to end his raging hunger. Laurie walked into the station and up to the secretarial desk. A petite brun ette looked up from the paperwork she had been diligently typing. “May I help you?” she asked, her voice throaty but pleasant. “Miss Michaels, isn’t it?” The last time she paid Lieutenant Kincaid a visit without an appointment, sh e had allowed Officer O’Riley to lead her to Cole’s office without being ann ounced. This time she chose to use protocol. After all, she wanted his helpor rather, she needed it. “Yes,” she acknowledged. “I’d like to see Lieutenant Kincaid if he isn’t busy .” “One minute.” The girl smiled politely. Laurie figured her to be close to her own age. “I’ll check and see if he’s in his office.” Laurie heard the buzz of the intercom, then heard Cole’s voice come across

in the deep tone she had come accustomed to. Her stomach fluttered, nervous at the thought of being near him again. “There’s a Miss Michaels here to see you, Lieutenant. I don’t believe she has an appointment,” said the brunette, though no malice could be detected in her voice. “Should I send her back or schedule her one?” “It’s all right, Cally,” Cole’s voice rang clear. “Send her back.” Cally smiled at Laurie. “Lieutenant Kincaid will see you. You may go on b ack. I’m sure you know the way.” “Yes,” Laurie said, responding to her smile with one of her own. “I remembe r.” Laurie walked down the short hall to the closed door. Just as she was about to knock, it swung open, catching her off guard. Cole held the door, looking every bit the businessman in his gray double-brea sted suit jacket, left unbuttoned, and pleated matching trousers. His black s hirt accented his dark complexion. Her heart picked up its pace as she nearly forgot her reason for coming to see him in the first place. Laurie looked to the ground at the tips of her red pumps. “I need to ask you a favor,” she said, knowing she probably had no right. “Come in.” Cole opened the door wider and offered her a seat before taking h is own across from her, behind his desk. “I’ll see what I can do.” Looking back at him, Laurie nearly lost all trace of thought as she glanced a t his full lips, remembering all too well what they were capable of. “Laurie?” he asked, bringing her gaze up to meet his. “Is something wrong? ” “No...no,” she stammered. “Well, I mean there is-that’s why I’m here...or at least I think there might be...but then again, it could be just my imagination .” Cole chuckled, the sound light and pleasing to her ears as he smiled genuinely at her. Her heart flipped over in her chest. “Calm down, take a deep breath, and tell me what’s got you stammering.” Of course, she could not tell him the real reason she blubbered like an idiot, t hat his affect on her had her talking in circles. She ran her hands down the front of her linen skirt, took a deep breath, and started over. “I feel like a fool coming to you, but I don’t know where els e to turn. And, of course, like I was saying, I may be getting worked up ove r nothing and since Damien is your roommate and all-” Cole sat straighter in his chair, his expression going solemn. “What’s this got to do with Damien?” Laurie looked to her hands lying in her lap as though she were examining t he fingernail on her thumb. “Have you seen Damien the last few nights?” sh e asked, glancing at him. Cole appeared to study her expression, not saying a word for what seemed an

eternity. Finally, he said, “Of course, I have. It’s kind of hard to live wi th him and not see him. Why?” “This might be nothing, but I haven’t seen Cindy since Monday. She hasn’t s hown up at work...no phone calls or anything. I’ve tried calling, driving b y her place. Her car wasn’t in the driveway, and the garage windows have cu rtains. I couldn’t tell if Cindy’s Saturn was in it or not. But I figured i f she wasn’t answering her phone, then she wasn’t home.” She paused for Col e to say something, when he did not, she continued. “Even George, the senio r editor, says he’s not heard from her. She never called in sick to work-sh e just didn’t show up. That’s not like her. Has she been hanging around you r place with Damien by any chance?” “You want a cup of coffee?” Cole asked out of the blue, as though he wished t o avoid the subject. “I’ll get us both one.” Laurie stared at his retreating back as he made his way down the hall and i gnored her last question. She was certain by his response that he knew some thing but did not want to share his knowledge with her. He returned shortly with two Styrofoam cups, filled with steaming black cof fee. Cole set one in front of her, then returned to his chair behind the de sk. He took a sip from his, then placed the cup back on the desk surface; h e clasped his hands and leaned forward. His eyes narrowed in misplaced symp athy. “From what Damien has confided in me, he told Cindy on Monday night that he didn’t want to see her any more. I think he thought she was getting to o caught up on him and that’s not what Damien wanted.” “A typical man,” Laurie scoffed, knowing all too well how Cindy must feel. The poor dear was probably hiding out in her home, refusing to pick up th e phone or answer her door. “You men all seem to run from involvement,” sh e said, speaking of Cole as well. “Maybe you’re right.” Cole took another sip from his coffee. “Then maybe ag ain-we’re looking for that right one.” The comment stung; she knew he had meant it to. But nonetheless, she needed his help. Releasing a humph, she asked, “Is there ever a right one, Lieute nant?” “I used to think so.” His voice sounded haunted and Laurie knew she had inadvertently brought up memories of his dead wife. She wanted to give herself a swift kick on the backside had she been able to reach it, for she had not meant to cause hi m anguish. But Cole Kincaid always seemed to bring out the worst in her. “Could you at least ask Damien if he’s seen her and if he has, have her cal l me? I’m worried about her more now than when I walked in here.” “I’ll do you one better,” Cole said. “I’ll go to her house and see what I can fi nd out for you. If she’s at home, I’ll see to it she gives you a call.”

Laurie wanted to hug him, but knew it would be a mistake. He had yet to fo rgive her for going to see Charley Nash. But could she blame him? She had once again stuck her nose where it did not belong. She stood and held out her hand, which he shook formally, as if there had never been anything more between them. The hole in her heart grew to mam moth proportions until Laurie thought her chest would cave in. She knew a ll too well how Cindy felt, and suddenly she wanted to run home to her ow n house and hide from the world. “Thank you, Lieutenant. You don’t know what this means to me,” she said, tr ying desperately to keep the tremble from her voice. “I’ll wait at home for word. Please call me whether you find her or not.” “I’ll call,” he said, and out the door she walked. Cole pulled his truck keys from his pocket and headed out the door of his off ice after telling the secretary he was leaving for the day. There were a few things he wanted to check on, he had said. Moments later, he headed west on Westwood Avenue only a few blocks from t he address he had been given as Cynthia VanWarren’s residence. Cole pulle d his black Ranger into the driveway and parked it. Dusk fell about the c ity, but no lights graced the home. All appeared uninhabited inside. Cole walked around the outside, noticing no unusual activities. Upon leavi ng the station, he had gone directly home and spoke to Damien who said he had not seen or heard from Cindy since late Monday night. Three full days had passed. As he walked around the east side of the house, Cole had decided to go back to his truck and call it a day. Then he noticed an opened window, and due to its small size, assumed that it lead to the bathroom. Had the air-condit ioning been running, Cole would have thought it odd. But since it was not…i t struck Cole as strange only one window in the house had been left open. T he inside must be sweltering due to the day’s heated temperature. As Cole approached the window, thinking that maybe Cindy thought to take a small, unplanned vacation without telling anyone, he took note of large gre en flies buzzing about the screen. A strong odor which could only be attrib uted to death filtered through the night air, coming from inside. “Dear Lord in heaven,” Cole blasphemed as he peered into the window, the s tench sending his stomach rolling and nearly causing him to lose his hasti ly eaten supper. He could see nothing from his vantage point and knew he w ould have to enter the premises to find the cause of the odor. Why in God’ s name had no neighbor or passerby phoned in the strange stench? Surely, s omeone had to have smelled it. Cole jogged back to his Ranger and grabbed the receiver to his car radio. Af ter calling for backup and informing the station of his immediate plans, Col

e approached the house again. Dread sat in the pit of his stomach. Something died in that house and he would lay odds it was Cynthia VanWarr en. After knocking loudly several times and receiving no answer, Cole raised h is foot and prayed the dead bolt on the wooden door had not been used. Wit h one swift kick, and an answer to his prayers, the wood casing on the doo rframe splintered and gave way. The same foul odor assailed him as soon as the door swung open. Cole wanted nothing more than to run for fresh air, but knew it would only take longer for the olfactory nerves in his nose to deaden. “Cindy?” he called out, the sound bouncing off the walls, echoing back at him as he entered the darkened home. Silence greeted him as well as the invisible presence of the Grim Reaper. For sure as the sun would rise on the morrow, death had been on this doors tep some days ago. Cole walked swiftly in the direction where the bathroom window had been located. He paused by the door as his stomach rolled. The smell had been far worse than ordinary death. He had never in his career encountered a smell of dec ay so putrid. The temperature in the house with the windows closed had to be near a hundred with the hot, humid August heat. If Cindy had been dead for any amount of time, deterioration would have occ urred at a rapid rate. Wishing for a deep breath to calm his nerves, but kn owing with the smell greeting him that it would not be a wise idea, he ente red the small room. What awaited him beyond the entrance, sent him to his knees in front of the toilet basin, heaving what he had so desperately tried to keep down. His s tomach now emptied, he took his handkerchief from his breast pocket and wip ed the bile from his mouth as he stared at the woman floating in the bathtu b, barely recognizable. Her skin had taken on a yellowish-white waxy appearance, making her bloat to unnatural proportions, especially the face. Only once had he encountere d a death such as this, when they had found a man floating, face down in L ake Erie several years back. This stench was far worse, however, from bein g within closed quarters and high temperatures for far too long. Cole walked to the tub and grasped one wrist from the contaminated water a nd saw the hesitation wounds along with the final fatal one, which had cau sed her to bleed to death. Knowing with little doubt she had committed sui cide, Cole turned around to look for the suicide note she had surely writt en. From his past experiences, Cole knew women most always leave them just as he knew men often did not. A white paper stared at him from over the sink, taped to the mirror. One name caught his attention at the top of the badly scrawled words, nearly sending

the bile back up his throat. Laurie . Cindy had addressed the letter to the one friend she had. Jesus, Mary, and J oseph, but how would he ever tell her?

Chapter 24 Cole thought he would never be rid of the smell. The stench had collected in his clothes, his hair, his sinuses. But two showers later and the use of a lemon-scented shampoo, he was relatively positive, Laurie would not be able to detect the odor of death on him, the last thing he would want when he tol d her that her best friend was dead. Cole popped another peppermint candy into his mouth, hoping to clear his na sal passages of the putrid smell as well. He pulled onto the short road, ne aring her formidable home. He had finished gathering all the needed evidenc e at the scene, then allowed one of the dicks to complete the job this one time. The coroner’s office had come and retrieved the body. Due to the timi ng of Cindy’s break-up with Damien, Cole thought it a safe bet that she had been dead three days. The hour had grown late and he was left with his pro mise to call Laurie with any news he might have of the missing Cindy. But this news could not be delivered over the phone. As he pulled into the driveway, apprehension took hold of his gut, wrenching it like a vise. How the hell was he going to tell her? He had done this many a time in his life, but never had it been so painful. Cole opened the door to his Ranger, checked the time on his watch, twelve-fi fteen, and headed for the front door. Lights in the house glowed softly thro ugh the closed curtains and blinds. A slat in one of the Venetian blinds ros e then fell back into place, telling him Laurie Michaels awaited anything he might have to say. He struck the brass knocker on the plate as anxiety traveled up his spine, n early stealing any nerve he might have had left. Maybe, he thought, this wou ld have been better left until morning, but the time for second thoughts had passed. The door swung open and Laurie stood, clutching a white terry-cloth robe at he r neck, holding it closed as if the tie at her waist had not been sufficient. Even without the benefit of makeup, she was stunning. Her eyes grew wide at the look of concern on Cole’s face. He had never been

truly good at hiding his emotions to those he cared for, and want to or not, he cared for Laurie. “What is it?” she asked, her voice betraying her obvious fear. He did not have to say a word; it was as though she already knew what he ha d come to tell her-as though she read his thoughts. Cole entered her house, shutting the door behind him. He leaned against th e cool wooden door and inhaled a deep breath. God, give me strength , he t hought, then pushed away from the surface and led her to the family room b y placing a comforting hand on the small of her back. “I think you better have a seat first,” he mumbled. Flashes of Cindy’s empty eyes and bloated face stared at him in his mind, su re to haunt his sleepless or dream-filled nights. Images not likely to leave him any time soon. Laurie said not a word; as a matter of fact, Cole would swear she had no will left in her at all as she walked numbly in front of him. She sat heavily in the pillow-filled corner of the couch as if her legs had given out on her, her eyes downcast. Laurie drew her legs up to her chest an d hugged them. Cole placed his thumb beneath her chin, and raised her gaze t o meet his. Fat tears slipped down her cheeks and Cole nearly lost his reser ve. “Tell me,” she whispered, a slight tremor to her voice. “What has she gone and done this time?” “Not something she can take back, I’m afraid. She...she’s dead,” Cole stated , wishing like hell it had not been him who had to tell her, though, he woul d have had it no other way. Her lower lip began to tremble, and he knew she tried desperately to hold her self together. “How?” she asked, the single word filled with the ache surely gripping her he art. It was Cole’s turn to look away as remaining visions of Cindy entering his apartment, Damien in tow, giggling as she tried to undo the top button of h is jean shorts, played before his mind. Or how she had snuggled beneath the tall man’s arm and led Damien away so Cole could be alone with Laurie. Her bouncing blond curls-her ever-present smile. His eyes burned with the need to shed tears of his own and he feared had he looked into Laurie’s distrau ght face, he would lose what strength he had left. Taking a deep breath, Cole turned back and placed his palm atop her cheek. His gaze held hers as her warm-brown eyes spilled hot tears of past memorie s of her own-each one surely able to tell a story. The wetness ran down his hand and filled the gaps between his fingers, before slipping over his han d. “She sliced her wrists,” he whispered, her pain evident in his own heart, ripp

ing a large aching hole in his chest. At first, Laurie said nothing. Her jaw clenched and she bit into her lower lip until a drop of blood welled to the surface. Cole reached out with the pad of his thumb to ease the ache as he brushed across the silky wet surface of her lip. Without warning, Laurie slapped away his hand, pushed at his immovable body , and tried frantically to put space between them, though her back rested a gainst the pillows of the sofa. Shaking her head, her eyes became haunted and distant. She spat, “This isn’ t real. You’re lying to me! How can you be so cruel?” Laurie slapped at his chest as her obvious anguish increased. She pounded; she slapped; she tore at his shirt. Cole sat still, waiting for her fit to subside, knowing she needed to vent h er agony on someone, anyone. Him. Then as quickly as it came, her shoulders sagged and the anger abated. She looked at him like a child, desperately wanting...no, needing to be comfort ed. Cole would have traded eternity to bring back Cindy at that moment. “Please tell me she wouldn’t have done that. Oh, God, please tell me that, Co le.” She hid her face in her hands as her body shook with broken sobs. Though he wished to stop the flow of tears, he knew it to be part of the healing. “Laurie,” Cole whispered, grasping her shoulders gently within his hands, “I wish I could tell you differently, but Cindy’s dead. I found her a few hours ago.” Any strength Laurie might have had gave way beneath his grip. He knew den ial no longer lingered. Cindy VanWarren had taken her life and there was nothing Laurie could do to change that. Cole placed his arms around her shoulders and drew her into his embrace as s he sobbed into his white tee, soaking the front. He rocked her gently, kissi ng her brow, the top of her head, all the while attempting to soothe her whe n he himself felt anything but tranquil. “Shhh,” he whispered into her hair. “Everything will be just fine. You’ll see .” He knew, for Laurie though, nothing would ever again be the same. For when someone close died, they never quite left. They lived on in the heart, the mind, forcing memories to replay over and over again. But soon, the memories softened, no longer wrenching through the gut like a twisting blade; no longer forcing the thought of something done differentl y, wishing for that last moment of time spent to say something, anything, t hat might have made a difference. Eventually, a smile plays before the mind, a look in their eyes, a gesture wit h a hand, a slight tilt of their head, and the pain subsided. Pictures, like p

hotographs stored in the mind, were locked away. Something was left behind, a gift to forever treasure. Her tears somewhat subsiding, Laurie set herself right, wiping away the rem aining wetness. She looked up at him with huge brown eyes like a doe caught in headlights, looking for direction. A single tear slipped down Cole’s cheek. Laurie reached out and touched the small offering, knowing what it had cost him. Had he not cared for her at all-his heart would have remained unmoved , for he had seen death too many times in his life to be touched by it. She placed her trembling lips gently on his, tasting her own salt as he kisse d her back. Her hands moved up his chest as she clawed at the material of his shirt, wanting desperately to rid him of it, needing to be within his arms, to have him deaden her pain. His hands came to rest atop of hers as he eased away, ending the mind-numbin g kiss. God, she wanted to forget, even if just for a while. “No,” he whispered, holding her face between his palms. Her gaze questioned him, looking for the explanation sure to spill from his lips. “This is not the time,” he said, smoothing back her hair from the sides of her face, looking deeply into her eyes. “Please, Cole. Make me forget.” Her plea sounded pitiful, even to herself. “I can only numb the pain...not take it away. You have to deal with your gri ef, Laurie. It won’t go away because you want it to.” She knew the truth to his statement as she pushed herself from Cole, look ing toward the closed blinds. No matter how much she wanted to deny what had passed-she could not. Cindy VanWarren had sought to end her life and succeeded. But why? Laurie glanced at Cole, whose concern touched her, telling her what words n ever would. “There’s more isn’t there?” she asked. It was in his expression , the way he held back. Cole stood, reached into the pocket of his jeans and withdrew a folded piece of paper. “This should have been tagged as evidence,” he said, pausing as h e unfolded it, “and it will, but I knew you had to read it first.” He let ou t a short chuckle, though no humor laced the sound. “Hell, I could probably lose a few days’ pay for this, but here,” and he handed her the paper as he sat back down beside her. Laurie looked down at it, tears refilling her eyes as she recognized the penm anship and her badly scrawled name at the top. She placed her fingers over he r lips to cease their trembling. Laurie, The one thing in life I cherished was the way you loved me. You’re the fami

ly I never had. I searched everywhere you know, desperately wanting someone to love me. My parents, Patrick, Damien-who I thought I could have spent m y life loving, even if he didn’t share how I felt. But he wanted the only p erson who did love me. Ironic isn’t it? So rather than coming to hate you.. .you’ll soon get the picture. Take care of Damien for me, will you? Oh hell , I doubt he’ll even miss me. But please, please don’t you forget me. -Cindy New tears flowed down her cheeks as she turned to Cole. “What’s this got to do with Damien?” she hiccupped, already knowing the answer. She needed to hear it spoken aloud. Cole placed a hand beside her head and pulled her into his embrace. She hea rd the sound of his beating heart, even over the breaking of her own. As he began to speak, his voice rumbled up from his rib cage, calling her nearer as she snuggled more fully against him and wrapped her arms around his wai st. The note now lay forgotten on the table. “Damien broke up with Cindy on Monday night after one of his gigs,” he told her, rubbing a soothing hand down her back. “I told you that earlier.” “But what does this have to do with me?” she asked, her voice cracking. “Damien wanted you, and as long as he was seeing Cindy, he knew that woul dn’t be possible.” Laurie sat back from Cole and looked into his eyes. “He told you this?” His gaze held hers for long moments, not saying a word. Then finally, he g lanced away, affirming what she already suspected. “Yes.” “Have you told Damien about...about...” she could not finish as she attempte d to swallow the lump threatening her air supply. “No, this is the first place I came. I suppose he has a right to know.” His v oice sounded haunted and distant. “Says who?” Laurie nearly roared. “You know the bastard won’t care!” “I wouldn’t go that far.” His eyes held the same torment that laced his words . “I would,” she spat, not caring what Cole might think. Of course, this was not his fault, but... “How could anyone be so heartless as to want to date his girlfriend’s best friend? That’s damn cold, Cole, especially when he ha d to have known how much Cindy loved him. God, poor Cindy.” She paused; her vision trained on the vertical blinds across the room. Then glancing at Co le, she asked, “Can I see her?” “No.” His tone told her it would be fruitless to argue. Not being able to help herself, she had to at least try. “Why not? She was li ke family to me.” “I don’t think you ought to see her-not in the condition she was in when I lef t.”

“Meaning?” His eyes narrowed. “Dammit. You’re going to make me tell you this aren’t you?” “Tell me what?” “She floated for three days, for God’s sake. Have you ever seen what happen s to skin after prolonged periods in water?” Tears slipped down her cheeks again. “Can it be so bad?” He grasped her face and placed a tender kiss upon her lips, then held her clo se. “You don’t even want to know,” he said, his voice trailing off. “Trust me on this one.” Moments or hours later, Cole wasn’t sure which, he listened to Laurie’s sof t breathing, telling him she was asleep, had been for some time. No matter, though, how much he wanted to sit and hold her, he knew the best place for her at the moment would be her bed. Careful not to disturb her, Cole slipped out from beneath her embrace, then gathered her in his arms. She woke enough to curl her arms around his neck and to snuggle against his chest. He took the stairs to the second floor t hen searched the darkened house, looking for what might be her bedroom. The second door on the left produced a room of soft yellows with Zeke curle d up at the foot of the queen-sized bed. Cole would lay odds he had found t he right room. He pulled back the thick comforter and laid her atop the coo l sheets. Laurie snuggled into the pillow as Cole reached for the cord on the ceiling f an and turned it on low. As he was about to exit the room, her soft voice cal led out to him. He turned in the doorway, glancing at the angel lying so alon e in the large bed. “What is it, sweetheart?” he asked. “Don’t leave me,” she requested, her voice tiny and broken. He would not have been able to deny her had he wanted to. Taking off his bo ots, he lay down on the bed beside her and gathered her into his arms, kiss ing the top of her head. “ Shhh ,” he said. “Go to sleep, sweetheart. I’ll never leave you if that’s wh at you want.” Obviously satisfied with his confession, Laurie placed her arm across his ches t and fell back to sleep. ‘Twinkle, twinkle little star’...the time to die is not too far. The soul chuckles as he folds the pristine paper and stuffs it into a long whi te envelope, licking the seal, all the while not losing the menacing smile upo n his thin face. He peels a self-stick postage stamp from a page of ten and pl aces it methodically in the corner, making sure it sits at the perfect angle a

nd its sides are but a quarter of an inch from the envelope’s. The time to send has come. The soul leaves the haven of his home and heads to the blue metal box standing on the corner as though it had been placed t here solely for his purpose. Life is but short. No one knows, aside from the Father above, as to when the time to go draws near. One could live today and be as healthy as a babe, th en walk in front of a speeding train tomorrow and lose the life so prized. The soul merely nudges along the end of time, for the wages of sin is death. And if God decides not to take Laurie today or tomorrow, then he will be fo rced to oblige. Good versus evil. For the Lord knows the soul’s thoughts as surely as the Prince of Darkness. A nd if He be a merciful God at all, then He would spare the beauty of the evil soon to befall her and take her life before the soul puts his own maniacal p lan into action. Be it, if He is gracious. For once set into motion, the soul cannot turn back. Like triggering a nuclea r weapon but having no way to disarm it, the soul, too, cannot change the cou rse of his evil desires. To have Laurie Michaels and her traitorous soul. Her blood is sure to be far sweeter than any he has ever tasted, for none is as notable as she. His stomach pangs from hunger and achieving his goal, just as his erection stands majestically, waiting patiently to be appeased. “Soon, my dear sweetness, soon. All will come to an end, and we will be no m ore,” he whispers to the silent night. The soul pulls back the blue lid to the box, kisses the missive, then drops t he envelope in, replacing the cover. Hands stuffed deep within his pockets, d ark gaze tilted to the ground, the soul walks away with nary a notice.

Chapter 25 Cole’s body jerked to full consciousness as he left behind the remnants of h is dream. Cindy’s bloated appearance had haunted him as thoroughly as his wi fe’s battered face over the course of the night. A glance around the darkened room reminded him of his surroundings, not to mention the warm body curled against his side. He had slept the night in La urie’s bed and had no idea as to the time. Finding an amber glow at the sid e of the bed quickly told him only a few hours had passed; it was not quite

five o’clock in the morning. Shortly, he would be forced to leave Laurie t o her grief and head to the station. Time stands still for no one. He ran a soothing hand down her back and kissed her forehead, inhaling the fr esh soapy scent of her. The caress stirred her as her soft inky-black lashes fluttered open. Laurie gazed up at Cole, her face still somber from the night before, the soft flesh around her eyes slightly puffy. “You stayed,” she whispered as she stretched beside him. All too aware of her every curve, a morning erection reminded Cole of his options. God, he was a miserable wretch. The woman beside him would not li kely forget the events of the night before, and the last thing she needed was what the appendage between his legs could offer. Cole ran a hand down his face, noting his slightly whiskered jaw. He neede d a shave and shower before going to the station. Now would be as good a t ime as any to say his good-byes and duck out the door while he still had h is dignity in tact. He would not take advantage of a woman who needed comf orting and not what went on between the sheets. Maybe years ago, but not a t this time in his life. “Yeah,” he grumbled, more from the hanging-on effects of drowsiness than crankiness. “I told you I would.” “I’m glad,” she said, running a finger over the contours of his white tee, not helping his present condition. He shifted some of his weight away from her. “I woke up a few times over the course of the night, but somehow knowi ng you were beside me, comforted me. I was able to go back to sleep.” “I’m glad,” he replied, giving her forehead a peck. Her hands slipped up his chest to his cheeks as she looked into his eyes. Ev en in the dark, Cole could see desire resting there. Leaving her bed was goi ng to be more difficult than he anticipated. He never should have spent the night in it, no matter how much she pleaded. After all, he was a man. “I’ve never wanted someone the way I want you.” Cole grasped her hands within his, pulling them from his chest. The impact of what she confessed hit him like a sledgehammer to his gut. “You don’t want to do this, Laurie. You’re reacting out of pain. You need com forting not...” His words trailed off, not knowing the right thing to say or really wanting to. Laurie lay her head on his chest, her arm stretched out across it. “I’m sorry . I was blessed with being bold. Too bold, my father says. But if I am not wh at you want...” Cole was thankful for the protection of the sheet or Laurie would see the i naccuracy of her statement. He warred with the truth. Dare he tell her? Or forever remain alone? His heart ached with the need to be loved, though he had pushed away everyone in his past who had tried. Could he ever forgive h

imself enough to allow the one thing sorely missing from his life for so ma ny years? Even before Jeanne had died, she had managed to harden his view on relatio nships. He had loved her with his whole heart and she had ripped it from h is chest, leaving him bleeding even to this day. Now here was a woman who could heal the wounds and make him forget he even had a past. He would be a fool to turn her away. Yet, still.... Cole slid to the side of the bed, turning his back on her as he rose. He stuf fed the bottom of his tee into the waistband of his jeans, knowing if he turn ed to look at her, all would be lost. Better to save face and walk away now, than to give into the desire raging within his gut and have her resent him wh en passion no longer entered into it. He could feel her gaze, knew without the benefit of sight, she watched him. The effect touched him as thoroughly as if her hands had. Damn, but he wan ted her. “I really should be going. I hope...” His words trailed off as one of her han ds ran down the soft material of his tee. He tilted his head toward the ceili ng and expelled his air. God, help him; he not only wanted her-he loved her, making his yearning for her all the more insufferable. “I just wanted to thank you for staying.” Her voice was small, timid, but the harmony of it stood his every nerve on end. Desire unfurled in his gut as his erection became almost unbearable with the sweet pleasure-pain of it. If he turned around, there would be no going bac k for him and he would take whatever the aftermath of their lovemaking would bring. If he left.... Cole chose to turn around and take his chances. True love only came once, and now he knew that Jeanne hadn’t been his. He took Laurie’s small hand i n his and placed it atop his abdomen. His muscles trembled beneath her tou ch. “Can’t you feel what you do to me?” he asked, his voice shaking with need. Laurie looked at him in confusion. Surely, she would never understand why h e had held her at bay for the last few weeks-tried desperately to avoid, wa nting to allow no one near. “Then why won’t you take what I offer?” she asked. He grasped her face between his hands and held her gaze. “Because I don’t want you to regret what you’ve done...we’ve done. My God, you don’t even know me-what I can be like.” “I know everything I need to. I don’t care what happened in your past. All I care about is now and how much I need you. Don’t walk away from me agai n, Cole.” “You need to be comforted, Laurie. But not like this.” His hand did a sweep

of the bed. “And you comforted me last night. But this morning…” Her hands moved to th e waistband of his jeans and all words were lost to him as she slipped the button from the hole. “Dear God,” he groaned as she slid the zipper past his erection straining agai nst the material. Laurie reached her hand inside and encompassed him. His gaze held fast wit h hers as his blood raced through him, pounding in his temples. His breath ing weakened; his mouth went dry at a sudden loss for words. “Tell me you don’t feel what I do and I’ll call you a liar,” she said as she re leased her hold on him, then shoved up the material of his shirt. Cole wrenched it from his head and pushed her to the mattress, coming down on top of her. His mouth found hers, pulling the soft flesh of her bottom l ip between his. His fingers groped clumsily as he tried to unfasten the tie of her thick bulky robe. Her hands joined his and soon they had rid her of the cumbersome materi al concealing her. He slid the flimsy satin of her nightshirt over her head, l eaving her in a pair of silk thigh-cut panties. Cole groaned at the sight before him. A flat stomach, breasts so young tha t gravity had yet to weigh them down…her legs stretched out so long before him, the only thing he could think of was how well they wrapped around hi s waist. Not able to stand the confines of his jeans and boxers a moment longer, Cole pushed them from his hips and down his thighs as she used the pads of her f eet to help push them to the floor. Her arms looped around his neck, holding him flush as she returned his kiss with enthusiasm. Laurie pressed into the pillow as his mouth left hers and sought out one breas t, suckling it like a starving child, while one of his hands caressed the othe r. She had wanted this, him, for sometime. The night they had had sex in her f oyer could not compare. Her body soared like an eagle over the mountains, f ree for the first time in her life. For a few short moments of time, Cole K incaid made her forget. His hand left her breast and inched down her abdomen and beneath the silk o f her panties. “God, please, Cole.” He kissed a path up her chest as his hand ripped the thin material from her. “You need not ask me twice, sweetheart,” he whispered as he positioned him self between her spread thighs. She wrapped her legs around his hips and allowed him to carry her away. Aw

ay from the pains of the world, away from the loneliness of her life. And for a moment, they were the only two people who existed in the world. A few short hours had passed since leaving Laurie’s bed and Cole had never felt so complete. Since his wife’s death, and even before if he were totall y honest with himself, he had not felt whole, as though something were miss ing. But he refused to examine it. With a smile on his face, Cole walked down the hall to the chief’s office. Upon his arrival, Cole found a note requesting his immediate attention. Joh n McCray wished Cole’s presence in his office. Pronto! Cole straightened his tie, smoothed back his hair, and opened the door. John and a man in a black suit he had yet to meet, greeted him. “Cole, you’re here,” John said, his tone edgy, putting a damper on Cole’s good mood. What on earth had he walked into? “I’d like you to meet someone .” John looked at him in apology, then turned to the tall slim man wearing a th in black tie and white shirt. Cole knew without the benefit of introduction that this man was as FBI as J. Edgar Hoover. Son of a bitch. “Cole, this here is James Mathers with the Federal Bureau.” Cole reached ou t and shook his hand. “Jim, this here is my lieutenant in charge of the det ective bureau who is personally handling the case, Cole Kincaid.” “Nice to meet you,” Cole grumbled out of necessity rather than politeness. A ll of his newly found contentedness left him like a deflating blimp. “Likewise,” the man returned. “Please have a seat,” John instructed as he took his own behind the desk, fold ing his hands atop it. Cole steepled his fingers and glared at his boss over the tops. Just what t he hell he needed. A suit dissecting his every move and questioning his ent ire case, what he had of one anyway. John had invited in the FBI on his cas e and the Bureau always seemed more than eager to show the local boys how i ncompetent they were. “I’ve been bringing Jim up to date on your case so far, Cole,” John said, the n took a sip of coffee. “He has a few questions for you.” “Ask away,” Cole stated, none too friendly. The agent made a show of looking at some notes, but Cole would bet he had already memorized every aspect of the case. “These women all died of the same style wounds?” he asked. “No question a s to whether they were made by the same individual?” “No question,” Cole replied shortly, resenting the way the enquiry implied h is ignorance in knowing the difference. “John mentioned you received two quotes from this perp. Any idea of the au thor?”

“Bram Stoker.” Jim smiled, snickering as he shook his head. “We got us a real live Dracula, for God’s sake.” “He’s drinking their blood-there’s no doubt about that by the marks left ar ound the neck wound, but I highly doubt he thinks he’s immortal.” “And why’s that? Are you now the expert on vampires?” Jim asked, shifting in his chair so he could look fully at Cole, his dark eyes narrowing and the s heen on his hair goop shining in the fluorescent light. “Have you ever seen the movie Bram Stoker’s Dracula? ” “No.” “Then I suggest you do-Dracula dies in the end. If this son of a bitch is mod eling himself after Dracula, then I think he, too, knows his own mortality. I t’s a matter of time, but we’ll catch him.” The agent let out a humph and turned back to the chief. “All that from a piece of fiction.” Cole resented Jim from the moment he had walked into the office and it was all he could do to keep from walking out. “You tell me, Jim. What do you think?” “I studied the crime scenes’ photos. This man is somewhat organized; operat es in the same fashion. The first two victims, high-risk, were found in fai rly good condition, aside, of course, from the gaping neck wound. No blood at the drop site, but I would say it’s a safe bet, the original crime scene was left a mess. The victim’s were covered by a blanket-a gesture that sug gests remorse. But then along comes the third victim, also high-risk. She i s murdered and left for us to find. Her blood is everywhere. A change in MO . Not to mention we now have a quote. “Maybe he intended to go back and clean up the mess, but I doubt it. The fo urth victim, low-risk, another change in MO, is dumped in her daddy’s yard with a note attached to her chest. I think we have a nocturnal individual w ho is somewhat able to cope in society.” “What the hell makes you say that? The son of a bitch drinks blood, for cryi ng out loud,” Cole nearly roared. “In all four cases, there was no sign of struggle. The first three were prost itutes and may have been hired by him. But the fourth had to have gone with h im willingly.” Cole knew the agent was correct, but it still gave them little to go on. Cally poked her head in the door, interrupting the meeting, a look of apology written all over her face. “Excuse me, Chief, but there’s a call for Cole.” “You couldn’t have said that over the intercom?” John asked. She shrugged. “I’ll take it in my office. If you two will excuse me, I’ll be back in a few.” Cole walked out of the office, shut the door, and placed an arm around Cal

ly’s shoulder. “How did you know?” She smiled back at him. “I know you. Besides, you really do have a call, lin e two. They found the Stanton girl’s car.” Cole withdrew his arm and hurried down the hall, yelling a quick thanks to the secretary before slamming his door behind him. Cole picked up the receiver and tapped the button to line two. “Lieutenant K incaid here,” he said into the phone. “Lieutenant, this is Officer Johnson from the fifth precinct. We found Victor ia Stanton’s car, license plate, TORI.” “Where at?” “There’s a club called the Agora-” “I know the place. Have you brought it in yet?” “We had it towed. The manager noticed it had been sitting in the parking lot.. .thought he better report it.” “Hold the car for fingerprinting. I’ll send someone over to pick it up. Do you have the manager’s home address?” After getting the information from the officer and thanking him for the help, Cole grabbed his suit jacket and headed for the back of the station. “Tell the chief I had something to attend to,” he called out to Cally, who wa s watching him with interest. There was no way in hell he would take the agent with him on this one. This case still belonged to him.

Chapter 26 Cole parked the detective’s sedan along the curb as he walked to the porch of a house badly in need of a paint job. Obviously, being the manager of th e Agora paid little or this man cared nothing about material possessions. H e rapped twice on the wooden-screened door then waited for the occupant to answer his call. Within seconds, a man of average height approached the other side of the scr een. He appeared neatly kept though his blond hair hung well past his collar . Cole estimated his age to be somewhere near mid to late thirties. “What can I do for you?” the man growled through the closed door. With his wary look, Cole knew he was not about to be invited in. Cole withdrew his wallet from his pocket and flipped open the leather cove r, presenting the man his badge. “Lieutenant Cole Kincaid with the Fairvie w Police. I have a few questions I’d like to ask you concerning the car yo

u called in. Do you have a few moments?” “Darling, what is it?” came from behind him. Cole spotted a shorter African-American woman standing in the background. Probably in the doorway of the kitchen, he assumed. She was slender and ve ry beautiful. The man turned around briefly, told her he would be right ba ck, then stepped onto the porch beside Cole, offering him a seat on the wo rn bench. “What do you need to know?” he asked, his tone impatient. “Just answer my questions and I’ll be out of your hair before you know it,” Cole said as he withdrew a pad and pencil. “When did you first notice the ca r in the parking lot?” “Monday evening, I guess.” The man shrugged, looking up and down the stree t nervously. “Look, I really don’t want any trouble. And I already told ev erything I know to the other officer who picked up the car.” “Now tell me.” By his actions, Cole would bet this man was involved in more than just running a night club, but he was not here to make assumptions on another possible case, besides-it belonged to another jurisdiction. “I’ll wrap this up as quickly as possible. You say you noticed the car Monday eve ning. Why wait until Friday to call it in?” The man leaned forward on the bench and placed his elbows on his knees, cl asping his hands in front of him. “Lots of people park their cars in the l ot, go away a couple of days. We don’t charge for parking. Know what I mea n?” Cole nodded and allowed the man to continue. “Anyway, I had to go into the club this morning-I left something behind the n ight before-and I notice the car still sitting there.” He took a deep breath, then went on, “I don’t know, maybe I shouldn’t have called.” “You did the right thing, Mr. Rieser.” “Why? Is the car involved in a crime or something?” “Not the car. The owner. We found her murdered and dumped on her father’s front lawn.” “The mayor’s daughter? Jesus! I read about that in the paper. Have you caug ht the guy yet?” “No, but we’re hoping for some physical evidence to turn up on her car, thoug h it’s not likely we’ll find any.” “Why would you say that?” “By the looks of things, she probably got in the subject’s car willingly, leav ing her car behind.” A car drove past the house slowly, the occupants glanced at Phil and Cole as they sat on the front porch, then picked up speed and turned the corner dow n the block. “Someone you know?”

Even though his eyes told a different story, Phil Rieser shook his head. Cole had no time to pursue the subject, so he continued his line of question ing. He was in a hurry to be on his way, anxious to retrieve the Stanton veh icle and have it gone over with a fine-tooth comb. “Have you been managing the Agora long enough to compile a list of peopl e who might have been there on Saturday night?” “That’s our busiest night, but I suppose I could come up with some names.” “Do you recall seeing Victoria Stanton there on the night in question?” Cole asked. “Tori was there-one of our regulars.” “See her talking to anyone suspicious?” “Everyone there could be deemed suspicious, Lieutenant.” Phil’s expression grew restless. “If you knew Tori , then why did you not recognize her car? Especially with the license plates bearing her name?” Cole could tell this man would not offer information unless asked. He would have to be careful to check under every rock or wind up leaving a possible stone unturned. “Many people are regulars to the club, Lieutenant. I recognize a lot of faces and names, but I don’t know what kind of cars they drive. As far as the plat es go—I didn’t pay attention. I saw the car from across the street; I didn’t get close enough to read them.” Cole felt in his gut that Phil Rieser might just be another dead end. But all leads had to be investigated to their fullest on the notion this one time his instincts proved to be dead wrong. “ Dragonslayer play Saturday?” “Yeah,” he chuckled nervously. “Why?” “I ask the questions, Mr. Rieser; you answer.” Cole rose from his seat, shoo k Phil’s hand and said, “I may need to speak with you again. But for now, dr op the list off at the Fairview Park Police Department, attention Lieutenant Kincaid, ASAP. Drop it by today if at all possible. I have a few more witne sses to question and I’d appreciate it if it were at the station when I got back.” “I’ll get to it right away.” The man stood as Cole descended the steps and headed for his car. Cole hea rd the screen door slam against the wood frame behind him as Phil entered his home. Half an hour later, he pulled the sedan into his normal parking spot at th e Westgate House Apartments and got out. Cole walked to the door, found it unlocked and thanked his lucky stars Damien Vincent was at home. Halfway through a frozen dinner, Damien looked up as Cole entered the room. Damien set the cardboard tray aside and rose from his sitting position, gr

asped his discarded long-sleeved tee, and yanked it over his head. “What brings you by? You normally don’t come home for lunch,” Damien state d, heading for the kitchen. Cole followed him without saying a word. “I th ink there’s another dinner in the freezer if you want.” Damien grasped a glass from the cupboard, filled it with tap water then turn ed around in time to receive the blow from Cole’s fist. Blood splattered his face as the sound of a bone snapping filled the quiet air between them. The glass of water flew from Damien’s hands and crashed to the floor, sending s hards of glass everywhere. “Jesus! What the hell was that for?” Damien swore, grasping the affected a rea. “Damn, I think you broke my nose.” Cole grasped a towel, wet it beneath the faucet and handed it to the longhaired singer. “I hope it doesn’t hurt your voice any-after all, that’s all that matter s, isn’t it?” “What the hell are you talking about?” Damien mopped his face with the towel . “Shit! It’ll be swollen for days!” “You’re lucky that’s all you got. Lord knows you deserve more.” Cole open ed the refrigerator and withdrew a loaf of bread and a bowl of fresh made chicken salad. “Would you mind telling me what the hell this is all about?” Damien remov ed the towel and Cole saw that Damien’s nose had already begun to swell. Cole used the knife he put mayonnaise on his sandwich with to point at Damie n’s nose, and said, “You better just hope you don’t get two shiners out of t hat as well.” Then he slapped the two slices of bread together and took a bi te, leaning back against the counter, staring at Damien. “Well?” the singer prodded. “Cindy VanWarren took her life Monday after you so callously dumped her. I found her last night floating in her bathtub where she had sliced her wrist s three days prior.” Damien’s face went blank as he stared at Cole. He pulled out a kitchen stool and sat onto the padded top as he looked to the linoleum. “God, you’re not kidding.” “I’m afraid not. I spent the entire night soothing Laurie over the tragedy.” Damien’s gaze snapped back to Cole’s at the mention of Laurie’s name. “Sh e’s the reason you didn’t come home last night?” “She’s taking the news pretty hard. And the irony is that she’s blaming you.” Damien’s face flushed red. “This isn’t my fault.” “No, it’s not. Cindy was an unstable person; you can’t be blamed for that.” “But Laurie?” “ She needs someone to blame. You just get to be the lucky candidate,” Cole said, taking another bite of his sandwich.

Damien narrowed his eyes. He gingerly touched his now fat nose. “And that’s from Laurie. Had she been here, I’m sure she would have done th e honors.” Cole smiled sarcastically. “So you’re telling me you came home for lunch to deliver a punch?” Damien’s voice rose with his agitation. “Shit, I’ll probably have to cancel tonight’s gig.” “That’s all it’s about for you, isn’t it? Whether or not you get to sing and pick up a few chicks. Hell, you obviously have no problem forgetting Cindy,” Cole spat in distaste. “Look, I feel bad that she…died. I had no way of knowing. But even had I kno wn...” his voice trailed off as he glanced at the floor. “What? You wouldn’t have changed a thing? Damn, Damien, you are cold.” His gaze centered on Cole’s. Something close to regret lurked within them. “Was I suppose to stay with Cindy the rest of my life to keep her from do ing anything stupid? Christ, Cole, what would you have done?” “I wouldn’t have left her to go out with her best friend. That’s not the only reason I’m here, I have a few other questions to ask you.” “About?” Cole reached for a few ice cubes from the freezer, placed them in a Ziploc b ag, and handed it to Damien. “I think we better go into the living room.” Cole sat across from Damien with his note pad out and a pencil at the ready. He glanced at his notes then at Damien who sat in the recliner holding the ice bag over his nose. “You played at the Agora Saturday night?” “Yeah. So what.” “I have a dead girl who can be placed there.” “So now you’re going to blame me for Tori’s death, too?” Damien glared at Cole from over the plastic bag. “All I want to know is if you saw her there that night. You obviously know h er.” “Know her?” Damien chuckled. “I’ve had her. She was a pretty good lay. To o bad she had to go like that. Same guy?” “Same guy,” Cole acknowledged, nodding his head. Maybe he didn’t know Damien as well as he had thought. A woman dies a vio lent death and all Damien can say is she had been a good lay. Damien ran a hand through his hair to rid his face of the stray strands and for the first time Cole noted a similarity to his case. Long black hair. Surely, it was only a coincidence. But now, Cole could place Damien at the last place one of his victims had be en seen alive. “Did you see anyone unusual talking to her that night?”

“Tori has a lot of friends. You could say she was a popular girl. But I’m su re Mayor Stanton would not be too happy to hear what a party girl she was.” “How’s that?” Damien chuckled. “You want the behind-the-scene stories, Cole?” “I want anything that might help my case.” “She liked the night life, liked to drink, to party. She liked sex anyway she co uld get it.” “And you know this first hand?” “Put it this way, there wasn’t a part of Tori I didn’t know...physically. Sh e could take every inch of you and then some. But why talk to just me? I thi nk every member of my band has had her. Man, but I could tell you some stori es.” “I’m sure you could.” Cole took a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. “But wh at I’m more interested in is who she left with that night. Was she talking to anyone special? A member of the band?” The ice bag now forgotten on the stand beside the chair, Damien shrugged. “ I didn’t see her leave Saturday. Sorry,” he said. Mockery laced his words. Bile churned in the pit of Cole’s stomach hearing Damien speak of the dead g irl callously. It was as though he cared little for human life-for Tori Stan ton or for Cindy VanWarren. Cole rose, denoting the end of his interview, and replaced his pad in his ja cket pocket. “Tell the guys in your band I’ll be speaking with them. But for now, I have to get back to the station. The FBI ought to be looking all ove r hell and back for me by now.” Damien raised a brow. “The FBI?” “They landed sometime this morning and are not going to take kindly to my sudden disappearance.” Cole headed for the door, but turned back when he o pened it. “Don’t worry if I don’t make it home again tonight.” “Laurie Michaels?” “Imagine that, Damien. Your misfortune with Cindy VanWarren, God rest her soul, brought Laurie closer to me and not you.” “That’s great.” Damien picked up the ice bag and held it against his throbbi ng nose again. “Just great.” Nine hours later, thoroughly chastised for leaving Jim Mathers sitting in John McCray’s office when he had had a viable lead, a Big Mac weighing hea vily in his stomach, Cole pulled into Laurie’s driveway. The house appeare d uninhabited because no lights illuminated the windows. Cole shut the door to his Ranger and walked up the short sidewalk, striking the brass knocker against the door’s plate. Zeke could be heard on the other side as he yipped, probably dancing in circles about the foyer as he waited

for Laurie to answer the call. Managing to wrap up all business at the office, Cole lifted a few weights to relieve tension, showered, and still arrived within a decent hour. After all, who went to bed at ten o’clock? The porch light lit up, shortly followed by the turn of the dead bolt, and La urie opened the door. A tender smile rested on her lips as she leaned against the frame. “I wasn’t sure if you were coming by,” she said, her tone soft. The puffiness of the night before had left her face, leaving behind blood-s hot eyes. She wore makeup with her lips painted cinnamon, reminding Cole of the first time he had laid eyes on her. Even then, he had been captivated. “How are you feeling today? Better I hope,” Cole said as she stepped back a nd invited him in. She blushed. Cole stepped across the threshold and kissed her cheek. She wo re no heavy perfumes, though the light scent of soap wafted to his nose, su rrounding him with her presence. “I’m much better now that you’re here,” she said. Grasping his hand, she le d him to the family room. “Did you get anything to eat yet?” Cole asked, fully prepared to take her so meplace if she had not. She would need to keep her strength up. “I ate a salad,” she replied as she sat on the sofa and hit the button on the remote. MTV came into focus with some white kid strutting back and forth on the stage pretending he could rap with the best. Cole sat down beside her, feeling awkward as hell. Since crossing the line t o starting some sort of relationship, Cole had no idea how to act. He had no t taken an interest in women other than getting them into his bed and out ju st as quickly. Now here he was, trying to converse, his mind drawing a total blank. “I talked to Damien today.” Laurie’s gaze snapped to his. “What did he say?” “After I busted his nose-” “You hit him? God, Cole, couldn’t you get in trouble for that?” Her gaze ap peared genuinely concerned for Cole’s welfare, but a smile curved her lips. “I suppose so.” Cole smiled and shrugged. “It wasn’t anything he didn’t deser ve.” The grin slipped from Cole’s face. “I think he’s affected by the fact th at Cindy took her life because of him. It’s something he’ll have to carry aro und with him the rest of his life.” Tears formed and glistened within her eyes and Cole knew much more of the subject would have her sobbing all over again-the last thing he wanted. He opted to change the subject. “The FBI showed up today.”

“You’re kidding!” Her eyes lit up, the journalist in her making an appearan ce. She’d want another front-page story. “Have they come to help you find th e killer?” “I would suppose.” “I take it you don’t want them nosing around your case.” “I’m not incompetent.” Cole felt the day’s tension all over again as a dull ac he centered in his temples. As though Laurie sensed his apprehension, she reached out and touched the so ft area beside his eyes and rubbed it. “You shouldn’t take it as an insult,” she said. “They’re only here to help. They want the same end you do-to put this man behind bars.” “I know.” He sighed, pulling her into his embrace. “I just wish we had more to go on. Right now I don’t have squat and I feel like I’m running out of ti me. Something bad is going to happen, Laurie; I can sense it.” She snuggled against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. “Not with you on the case. This sicko doesn’t stand a chance.” Cole smiled as she tilted her head back to look at him. “I hope you’re righ t, Miss Michaels, because I don’t want to see another innocent woman die.” She reached up and placed a kiss on his lips. Cole returned the favor, grasp ing the sides of her face out of desperation, afraid to let her go. He feare d this would be nothing but a dream and when he awoke, he would be alone onc e again in his bed, back in Cleveland while his wife slipped between the she ets with his best friend. Laurie broke the kiss and she set herself away. “Tell me about her.” Stunned by her request, Cole cautiously studied her face. She could not pos sibly be privy to his thoughts. “Who?” “Your wife. It’s all right to think about her, Cole. It’s only human that you would.” “How did you know?” “I felt it in the desperation of your kiss.” Cole stared blindly at the television for a long moment, then returned his att ention to Laurie. “She was my life.” When Laurie said nothing, he continued, “I had just beco me a cop on the force in Cleveland. She was what we called a cop groupie. I remember the first time I saw her, I knew then I had to have her. “She followed one of the other cops around, played games with him like lock ing her keys in the car at the mall and requesting that he had to come out and unlock her car.” Cole glanced into the distance, seeing it as if it were only yesterday. “Anywa y, one day Mike couldn’t take the call, so I did.” “If she liked Mike so well, why didn’t he wind up with her?” “Mike was married, but she didn’t seem to care. So, I took his call, unlocked

her door, and invited her out for dinner.” “And she went?” “No,” Cole chuckled. “She wasn’t interested in a greenhorn like me. She wa nted Mike; he was our lieutenant.” Laurie’s brows came together and Cole had the urge to smooth away the tiny lines it caused across her forehead. “How did you wind up with her?” “Mike left and went to another precinct and I became an evidence technician o n our shift.” Cole shrugged. “I don’t know, I guess with Mike out of the pict ure I felt I had a chance. I was persistent and finally she gave in. “A few short years later, we had married in what I thought was the perfect m arriage. Now that I think back on it, I believe I worshipped her more than l oved her.” “Why would you say that?” “Jeanne was a goddess and every cop on the force was jealous of what I had. Men would stare at her when we went out together. You know what that does to a man’s ego? I ate up the attention since I got little from her at home. That is until she wanted a baby, of course. Then, I couldn’t give her enou gh. “I wasn’t ready for a child and she was. One day she informed me she quit ta king the pill. That was the end of it. I guess I didn’t want a child so much so that psychologically it shut me down. I couldn’t get an erection. I took to sleeping on the couch and she took to sleeping with Charley Nash.” “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. It happened a long time ago...and I think you know the rest.” “I read about it,” she agreed. “But it doesn’t say how you felt when you fo und out from the autopsy she was pregnant.” Cole looked at Laurie. He knew she had not meant to hurt him, only to heal h is old wounds. For without letting go of the past, there would be no future. “I remember being so damn angry. Hell, if it hadn’t been for everyone else there, I might have killed Charley with my bare hands as much as I hated him at that moment. But you know what?” She said nothing, only waited patiently for him to tell her. “The irony is, I think he loved her more than I did. The news brought Cha rley to his knees. They just gave out on him. A two hundred and twenty po und man collapsing to his knees as he cursed the heavens and Robert Freem an for taking her away from him.” Cole paused. “From him , God dammit. No t from me-from him.” A tear slipped down his cheek and Laurie used the pad of her thumb to swipe it away. “You’ll never have to worry about it again, Cole.” “God, don’t ever do that to me,” he said, knowing he could not take the rejec tion and hurt a second time. “I couldn’t go through it, not again.”

“So what are you trying to tell me, Lieutenant?” she asked, a timid smile tur ning up her cheeks. “I’m telling you that I think I’ve fallen in love with you, Miss Michaels, for better...or for worse.” The smile grew on her lips, her white teeth flashing brightly in the dim lig hting. “Why, Mr. Kincaid, I do believe we feel the same about each other.” Cole pulled her toward him and kissed her, drawing her bottom lip gently in to his mouth. He wrapped his arms around her, the softness of her causing h im to groan. Out of breath, Cole pulled back, staring into her beautiful face. If he had t o wake up the rest of his days not being able to look upon her lying beside h im, his life would not be worth living. He understood how Cindy had felt. “Do you want to go upstairs?” Laurie asked. “You need not ask me twice,” Cole said as he stood, scooped her into his arm s and took the stairs two at a time. Life was too short to waste a precious moment.

Chapter 27 The cold gray walls of the interrogation room lent a chill to the air as Cole paced the white and black tiled flooring. James Mathers sat calmly at the tabl e, tapping the eraser of his pencil on its surface. The slight buzz of the ope rating video recorder filled any lulls in conversation. Cole turned to look at Dragonslayer’s drummer again as the man sat nervousl y tapping his knuckles on the table to a tune Cole was sure he had heard be fore. “There really is no reason to be nervous, Cary. We’re not here to arrest you , only question you,” Cole attempted to assure the fidgety young man, but on e glance in the agent’s direction told Cole why Cary could not sit still. Jim glared accusingly at the poor man as though one wrong word would se nd him pouncing on the thin drummer. Hell, a good wind would blow the g uy away. “We’re only here to determine if you knew Tori Stanton and how well,” Cole said. “I knew her,” Cary said. “But I didn’t kill her,” he added quickly. “No one is saying you did.” Jim leaned in, his eyes narrowing. “How about Shana Darby? Did you kno w her? Or maybe Mary Stine?”

Cary’s gaze darted nervously from the FBI agent to Cole. “I don’t know wha t he’s talking about, man.” Cole shot a look of warning at Jim, then said, “Look, Cary, we have a murd er investigation going here. You’ve been informed of your rights to seek c ounsel if you wish. But at this point, we are only attempting to find out who knew the victims. You’re not being accused of murder. We already estab lished that you knew Victoria, but did you know either of the other women?” “No, never heard of them.” “Then back to Tori.” Cole glanced at the FBI who had settled back in his c hair. “How well did you know her?” “She came to the club to see us play several times.” Cary said, obviously no t about to offer more than asked. “Did you ever date the woman?” “No.” “Did you sleep with her?” Cole continued to prod. Cary looked like he was about to deny the fact he had, then changed his mind . He glanced from the agent back to Cole, then down to the table. “I slept w ith her a few times.” Jim sat up straighter and once again leaned in. “I thought you said you didn’ t date her,” the agent growled in a threatening voice. Cole thought it amazing that the FBI ever got any information at all from p otential suspects, if the entire agency used this man’s tactics at intervie wing. They had talked to several people who had been there on Saturday nigh t, and Jim had managed to make each and every one of them squirm in their s eats. “I didn’t date her,” clarified Cary. “I banged her. That’s it.” “Did you... bang her last Saturday night?” Cole swore Jim’s lips curled back like a rabid dog’s. “No. I didn’t.” “I think you’re lying,” Jim said, standing up, walking around the table. Cary flinched. Cole had seen enough. No more good cop, bad cop routine. “For crissake, Jim , sit down before you have our guest peeing his pants. He isn’t being accus ed of a crime.” Jim glared at Cole, obviously furious with a lowly cop interfering with the way he did his job. Not that this tactic didn’t work, just not on everyone . And Cary was not going to be one of them. He would more than likely bolt from the room, seeing as how he was not under arrest for anything. Undaunted by Jim’s obvious unspoken reprimand, Cole continued. “Did you see anyone leave with Tori last Saturday night?” “She left by herself,” he replied. “You’re sure?”

“Yeah, I saw her hanging around like she might be waiting for someone.” Ca ry chuckled. “We all made jokes as to which one of us she had targeted. I left the back room and when I neared the entrance, I saw her leave.” The hairs on the back of Cole’s neck rose. Someone else had seen Victoria leave also. “Were you alone?” “No, the rest of the band was still there...oh, and the manager of the club, t oo. Phil Rieser was behind the registers counting the night’s take. I’m sure h e saw Tori leave. Then, we all left and Phil locked up after us.” “Did you see anyone in the parking lot with Tori?” “No, man, we left out the back door. Tori walked out the front.” “And Phil?” Cary shrugged his bony shoulders. “I don’t know, man. He didn’t follow us out the back door. I don’t know where he went. We all went our separate wa ys.” “ We as in the band?” “Yeah.” Moments later, Cole found himself in the same position all over again as J im Mathers attempted to intimidate yet another suspect. This time with a d ifferent member of Damien’s band. Sandy Brown. Cole had met the man a few times in the past and knew by Sandy’s actions, he was no more comfortable than Cary had been, though he sat still. The only thing moving was his eye s as he glanced back and forth at the only other occupants of the room. He , too, after being read the Miranda, waved his right to seek council. Afte r all, he hadn’t killed anyone. “Did you know Tori Stanton?” “I knew of her,” Sandy replied. “Ever date her?” Jim jumped in. Cole’s agitation grew. After all, this was his case. Sandy glanced at Jim. “No.” Of course, they had already been down this road and Cole knew the question before Jim even asked it. “Ever bang her?” Sandy grinned, one side of his lips curling higher than the other. “No.” His reply stopped Jim as though he had not expected this response from S andy. Recovering his momentary shock, he said, “Every member of your ban d has admitted to sleeping with Tori Stanton. Why not you?” “She wasn’t my type.” “And who is?” asked Jim in a snotty tone. With the way things were going, C ole might as well take a seat and allow Jim to take over the case. Sandy shrugged. “Someone a little less promiscuous. And I like blondes. It’ s said they have more fun.” Undaunted, Jim leaned in. “Did you know Mary Stine...Shana Darby?” Sandy leaned back in his chair. “I read about them in the paper, if that’s wha

t you’re asking.” “No,” Jim stated. “I want to know if you knew them personally.” Sandy shook his head and said, “No.” “Did you see Tori leave the club last Saturday night?” “She went out the front door.” “Alone?” “Alone.” “Did you follow her?” Cole asked, attempting to regain the line of questionin g. Taking the hint, Jim sat back in his chair. “No.” “Did you see anyone who did?” “No. I went out the back door and she went out the front. Phil Rieser locked up after us.” “Us, as in, the rest of the band?” “Yes.” “Did you see Phil Rieser leave?” “No.” “Was there another way to get to the parking lot in front of the building asi de from the front door?” Cole asked. “You could walk around the building, I suppose.” “Could someone, hidden from view, have waited for Tori to come out?” “I suppose.” Sandy shrugged again. “Is there anything else?” “No,” Cole said. “You can go, but if you hear anything-” “I’ll call,” he finished as he stood and exited the room. Cole sat across the table from Jim. The day had been a long one. All in all , they interviewed twenty-five people including the three remaining band me mbers, Damien being interviewed the night before. One week had passed since Victoria’s murder and they still had little to go on. “Phil Rieser should be brought in for questioning,” Jim said, breaking the sil ence. “I was thinking the same thing,” Cole agreed. “After locking up, he could have easily gone out the front door. The only thing that doesn’t fit is the long b lack hair. Phil is blonde.” “I wouldn’t put much stock in the single hair found,” Jim said. “We’ve had past cases where body bags were improperly cleaned; a hair from one of he r Johns. It could have come from anywhere. Did you note his shoe size?” “They were large,” Cole shrugged, “but at the time, I didn’t think to ask.” “Out of all we interviewed today, I’d say at least five of the men would co me close to having size eleven shoes,” Jim stated. “The drummer and the bas s player’s feet were too small-that counts them both out. Sandy Brown’s fee t might fit the size.” “As would Damien Vincent,” Cole said. He narrowed his gaze and chewed on

his bottom lip. “Anything else with this Damien? Why wasn’t he brought in today?” “He’s my roommate. I questioned him at home.” Jim narrowed his gaze, as though weighing the idea of questioning Cole’s j udgment at not bringing Damien in for a formal interview. Instead, he aske d, “What else do you have on him?” Cole looked the agent in the eye. “He has long black hair...and a possible taste for blood,” Cole said as he remembered back to the day Laurie Michael s injured her finger in the bar and Damien licked off the blood welling to the surface. “We could do a DNA fingerprint on the hair sample.” “Then what the hell are you waiting on, Kincaid?” Jim rose from the table, h is face reddening, then slapped a palm on the surface. “Bring the son of a b itch in and we’ll get him to volunteer a blood sample.” “I don’t think he did it,” Cole said. He squared his shoulders and looked up at the tall agent. “Neither did Ted Bundy’s girlfriend or the cops who knew Edmund Kemper per sonally. I say we bring the son of a bitch in and see what he has to say f or himself.” “I can bring him in first thing Monday.” “And what happens if another girl winds up dead between now and Monday ?” Cole rolled his eyes. “For crying out loud, Jim. That’s two days away.” “Long enough.” “I’ll keep a personal eye on him.” “Another girl dies and I find out Damien Vincent is the murderer-” “I know, you’ll have my job,” Cole finished. “You’re damned right, Lieutenant. You’re damned right.” Cole sat at his desk about an hour later, looking over his notes, wonderin g if he could be so wrong where Damien Vincent was concerned. Jim Mathers had made a viable point. Edmund Kemper, while during a tirade of kidnappin g, killing, and dismembering coeds-giving him the nickname “Coed Killer” i n Santa Cruz, California, insinuated himself into the investigation by bec oming a friend with the cops on the case and hanging with them at local ba rs. Damien Vincent had had access to everything going on in Cole’s investigati on, via Cole’s mouth-not by hanging out with Cole, but by living with him in the very same apartment. “Jesus,” Cole swore aloud. He hoped Jim Mathers intuitions were wrong. The phone rang on Cole’s desk, shortly followed by the buzz of his intercom . Cole tapped the black button. “Yes?”

“Line two, Lieutenant,” Cally’s sweet voice rang clear. “Laurie Michaels. She sounds a little frantic.” “Thanks, Cally,” Cole said and lifted the receiver. “Laurie?” “Oh, God, Cole.” Her voice shook with fear. “I’m so glad you’re there.” “What is it, Laurie?” He could hear the unshed tears in her voice as she tri ed to hold herself together. “Calm down and tell me what has you so upset.” “Please get over here-I’m so scared.” “Laurie, tell me what the problem is. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me.” There was a lengthy pause as he heard her unfolding what sounded like a pie ce of paper. “I received something in the mail today.” “Read it to me.” A chill ran down Cole’s back as the room temperature seem ed to drop ten degrees in the span of a mere second. “It says ‘ The disease—for not to be all well is a disease—interest me, and t he sweet young dear, she interest me, too. She charms me, and for her, if not for you or disease, I come. ’” “Laurie,” Cole said, apprehension creeping into his own voice as he finished writing the missive in his notebook. “Place the paper on the table and don’t touch it again. I’ll need to have it sprayed for prints. Make sure your door s are locked and your alarm is on. I can be there in a matter of minutes.” “Please hurry.” Cole slammed the receiver on its base, grasped his jacket, hanging on the back of the chair, and headed for the door. At John McCray’s office, he po ked his head into the opened doorway where he encountered Jim Mathers agai n. “Come in, Cole,” John motioned. “We were just talking about you. Jim was t elling me what a fantastic job he thought you were doing on the case.” “That’s good. But right now, I don’t have the time.” Cole shoved his arms in to his jacket, then straightened the collar. “We have another lead.” Jim’s gaze flitted to Cole. Excitement filled the cores of his dark eyes. “There’s been another quote, and I’ll lay odds by the way it’s written, it comes from the same source: Bram Stoker’s Dracula .” “What is it?” Jim asked. Cole flipped open the note pad and read to Jim what Laurie had moments ag o. Jim’s eyes widened. “Where’d you get this?” “Laurie Michaels, the reporter working with us, just called me. She received it in today’s mail.” “You thinking what I’m thinking, Jim?” John asked. “Our perp has just picked his next prey,” Jim said, running a hand down his jaw. “I’m going over there now, but maybe it would be wise to put her under surv eillance.”

“I think you’re right, Cole,” John said. “I’ll send two unmarked cars over to her place.” “Don’t make it obvious,” Jim said. “We want to catch the little prick. Hell, maybe we could use her as bait-” “No way,” Cole interrupted. “I won’t let you put her in jeopardy.” “Jim has a point, Cole. It might be a way to flush this piece of crap out,” Jo hn agreed with the agent. Heat rose in Cole’s face; his ire peaked. “No way in hell!” he roared. “Laur ie has been through enough with the VanWarren suicide. I won’t allow you to put her life at risk.” “Why don’t you let her decide,” Jim stated as he rose. “As a matter of fact, I think I’ll accompany you on your way over there.” Without them finding out about his involvement with Laurie, Cole could do no thing short of agreeing to let Jim Mathers tag along. How the hell did he al low things to get so far out of control? The last thing he wanted was to use Laurie as a pawn in this twisted son of a bitch’s game. Cole had to find hi m-and fast, or chance losing Laurie to the same fate as his late wife.

Chapter 28 Cole glanced down the short street as he approached Laurie’s front door. An unmarked pale-blue sedan sat at the beginning of the street. Real obvious, Cole thought, shaking his head. He highly doubted it would go unnoticed by the murderer either. He stepped up to Laurie’s door, Jim close on his tail, hoping like hell she wou ld not give away their relationship, at least not until after the investigation . The door flew open even before he had time to knock. Laurie hesitated as th ough she were about to fly into his arms before noting the tall man behind Cole, then stepped back to allow them to enter. At any other time, Cole would have welcomed her gladly into his embrace. H e wanted nothing more than to protect her from the evil that had arrived o n her doorstep. Of course, Cole had wanted to know the identity of the nex t selected victim, but he had not counted on the murderer’s choice. Damn t he SOB to hell. “Miss Michaels,” Cole greeted formally, “this is Agent James Mathers with t he FBI. He’s here to assist me on the case.” “Please,” Laurie said, her voice trembling as she stiffened her spine, “call

me Laurie.” “Laurie.” Cole smiled hoping to defuse the tense situation. “Can you show me where you laid the note you called me about earlier?” She pointed to the kitchen. “It’s in there, on the table. I didn’t touch it again, just like you said.” Tears brimmed in her eyes as she looked at Cole. His heart ached to pull her into his protective hold and shield her from everything harmful. Jim walked past them into the kitchen without waiting for the invite, paying them little mind. Cole laid his palm briefly on her cheek as she leaned into the heat of his touch. A single tear slipped past its barrier. Cole brushed i t away with his thumb. “I’ll protect you with my life,” he whispered, knowing without a doubt he wo uld hold true to his promise, even with his very last breath. “I know you will.” Her eyes showed the comfort his pledge offered. Cole walked past her to where Jim stood, studying the note. The quote stare d back at him in their perp’s handwriting, just like the last found quote. He had gone beyond bold; he was getting damned cocky. “We can take it in and have it sprayed with ninhydrin, see what develops, b ut I bet our boy is smarter than that. I would lay odds this missive will t urn up nothing. And without anything to compare his handwriting to...” Jim shrugged. Then turning to Laurie, he asked, “What about the envelope?” “It’s on the counter.” She pointed to the center island, containing a stainles s steel sink. The white envelope looked like a lost ship out to sea on her spo tless brick-colored counter top. “I didn’t want to chance touching it again.” Jim took a rubber glove from his pocket and a couple of plastic bags. After inserting the paper in one and the envelope in another, he handed the bags t o Cole to tag as evidence. “Our boy comes from right next door by the looks of the postmark or at least he mailed it within Cleveland city’s limits,” Jim said. “We’ll need to fing erprint you at the station so we can determine your latent on the note, Laur ie.” He looked at Cole. “We’ll also need to test the envelope for DNA, see i f we can get anything from where the son of a bitch licked it.” “I don’t have a problem with that,” Laurie agreed, her arms wrapped around herself in what appeared to be an attempt to stay warm. Cole had a feeling, until they caught this murderer, Laurie would not likely succeed. “We’ll also need to question you. Is now okay?” Jim asked. Laurie appeared ready to take flight when Cole jumped in. “For crying out loud, Jim. This poor woman has been through enough already. Say what you h ave to say here, then when she’s less shaken, we’ll have her come in for a statement and fingerprinting.” Jim glared at Cole. This was the second time today he had refused to bring in someone upon Jim’s request, first with Damien, now with Laurie. He wou

ld bet the agent was losing any patience he might have. Cole treaded on ve ry thin ice. Finally, a tense Jim turned to Laurie. “We set up a surveillance of your hou se and its perimeter. There’s one man out front and one out back. Here, you are safe. Leave this house alone, and we cannot guarantee your safety. Is th at clear?” “Yes,” Laurie said, her voice still quivering. “When you’re ready to come in, call and I’ll send a car for you.” Laurie nodded. “We’ve come up with an idea that might help catch this man, but we’re goin g to need your help,” Jim said. “Are you willing?” Laurie glanced at Cole. He stood motionless, clenching his jaw. He hoped Lau rie would refuse. But instead she said, “I’ll help in any way I can.” Cole’s gaze snapped to Laurie. “Like hell you-” Laurie brought back her shoulders and interrupted Cole, saying, “I know Lieut enant Kincaid seems to have reservations on using me as a decoy, but if it’ll help to catch the murderer...I’ll do it.” Cole paced the small confines of his office, waiting for the results on the c ar as well as the prints on the paper. Laurie had said she would come in the following day to give her own prints. Though the dusting of the car could be done in a few hours, the prints on the paper could take up to twenty-four. Cole had been eating, sleeping, and breathing this case the last few weeks. With the exception of being distracted by Laurie, everything he did revolved around finding this perp. He’d had hours of brainstorming with his detectives, and still they turned up nil. All evidence was circumstantial. And at the moment, what evidence t hey did have pointed at his doorstep, though he hated to admit as much. Damien Vincent. All Cole needed was one positive lead, and he would arrest Damien if the e vidence proved, beyond the shadow of a doubt, that the singer killed those women. They had a size eleven boot print, a long black hair, black fibers, cloth type gloves, three identified victims-one unidentified, three quotes from Bram Sto ker’s Dracula , telling them their perp liked to read classics, a good imprint of his bite, and a penchant for blood. Damien wore size eleven shoes, had long black hair, and wore black clothes. He was connected to one of the four victims. The incident where Damien had licked the blood from Laurie’s finger in Cole’s presence didn’t bode well for the singer. If he could find Damien in possession of the boots matching the cast he had made, or the cloth gloves, it might be just the thing to t ie him to all the cases. But without a proper search warrant, Cole could no

t search Damien’s room, even if it was part of his own apartment. And for a search warrant-Cole needed probable cause. Right now he had squat . No judge in this circuit would issue the warrant on what little they had against Damien. Besides, Cole still had a gut feeling they were looking at the wrong man. So mething did not feel right about their case against him. Damien Vincent was not the man they were looking for. Cole just needed to prove it, but he sure ly did not want to use Laurie to do so. Jim Mathers walked into Cole’s office carrying a sheet of paper, deep in tho ught. “What do you have, Jim?” Cole asked as he sat behind his desk. Jim took a seat across from him. “I just got a fax from the bureau. Seems the y finally ID’d the other victim in the case.” “From around here?” Cole asked, sitting taller in his seat as adrenaline flow ed through his veins. This is what a detective lived for, anything that might make their case. “No. It appears she came from a place west of here. Ever hear of Bryan, Ohi o?” “Yes, I’ve heard of it. It’s a small town.” “Her name is Jill Anderson. Seems she’s been missing a couple of months. Seventeen, ran away from home,” Jim told him. “Typical story-runaway turn s prostitute.” “Do you have a picture?” Jim handed Cole the faxed photo of the missing girl. His breath caught in h is throat as the room seemed to fade and his ears began to ring. His whole body numbed. He had seen this girl; she had been in his apartment. “What’s the matter?” Jim asked, looking at Cole strangely. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost. You know this girl?” “I’ve seen her before,” Cole said in all honesty. “Alive. But I didn’t recog nize the body.” At this point, he was not ready to confess where. Damien Vin cent had at one time brought this girl home. If he told Jim, he would want to haul Damien in for questioning immediate ly, if not book him on murder one, and Cole was not exactly sure that the timing would be right. He needed the two days to prove the theory wrong: that Damien Vincent murdered four women in cold blood. Monday would be s oon enough. “What else do you have on her?” Cole asked, handing back the faxed photo. The agent relaxed in his chair and steepled his hands in front of him. “Not much, but my guess would be if we showed the picture around, we’d find out my hypothesis is right, that she walked the streets for a living. Our perp began by killing prostitutes and this woman was the first one to die...as

far as we know anyway,” Jim added as an afterthought. “Did you do a check, see if anyone else might have an unsolved case matching the MO and signatur e of our guy?” “Yeah,” Cole said. “Nothing so far. It almost appears that he didn’t start his killing spree until he stepped foot in our city. Lucky us, huh?” “I bet if we look hard enough, we’ll find other cases in other towns. But it’ s a small possibility that he didn’t start killing until he got here. I’ll ha ve the bureau check for sexual deviants, maybe someone who’s done some time, strange sexual oddities, that kind of thing. Chances are, some station brough t him up on charges before. He didn’t just develop these twisted fantasies-th is shit’s been living with them for years. He had to have been brought in one time or another.” “You’re probably right,” Cole agreed. “But so far, I’ve found nothing.” Jim looked at his watch. He stood, grabbed his coat and said, “I think I’ll h ead back to the hotel and get some shut eye. You eat yet?” “Yeah, I grabbed a bite a couple of hours ago.” “Well, tomorrow’s another day. You go to church?” “No,” Cole said, drawing his brows together. “Why? You want me to pray fo r us?” Jim laughed. “Hell, no amount of praying is going to help me I’m afraid. I ju st wanted to see what time you’d be rolling in tomorrow. After all, it is Sun day.” “I’ll get here early,” Cole said, standing. He grasped his gray jacket and put his arms into the sleeves, then straightened the collar around his neck. “You see Mr. Vincent-” “I’ll tell him he needs to come in on Monday.” Very good,” Jim said, smiling. He turned and headed for the door. “We’ll s ee you tomorrow then.” “I’ll be here,” Cole said to his retreating back. Cole sat bolt upright in bed; sweat dripped from his brow as the sheets tan gled about his legs. He ran a shaken palm down his unshaven face and glance d to the amber glow beside the bed. Three o’clock in the morning. A glance beside Cole told him his new dream had not been a reality. Laurie r olled over; her inky black lashes fluttered as she opened her eyes and looke d up at Cole. “What is it?” she asked, turning onto her back and stretching. She sat up beside him. Her eyes swam with concern as she ran a hand down h is bare chest. His muscles trembled beneath her fingers. Even though they had just made love a few hours earlier, Cole had yet to become unaffected by her touch. Damn if he did not want to roll her over already. “A dream,” Cole said. “Nothing special.”

“You’re sweating,” she said. “And by the look on your face, it doesn’t appe ar to have been a pleasant one. You want to tell me about it?” Cole leaned back against the headboard and wrapped his arm around Laurie, b ringing her close to his side. He took in a deep breath to calm his frazzle d nerves. “I don’t want you to do this thing,” he said. “What thing?” she yawned, stifling it with the back of her hand. “I don’t want you to go along with what this FBI agent wants you to do. We aren’t playing games here, Laurie.” He grasped her chin, tilting her head s o her gaze met his. “This man is dangerous.” “You think I don’t know that?” she asked. Even though she tried to be strong, Cole heard the fear in her voice. “But I’m the one he has decided to come af ter. I’m the unlucky choice and there is nothing you or I can do to change th at fact. There’s no one else who can do this but me. And if it helps...” She trailed off as she laid her head back on his chest. “What if you lose your life in the process, Laurie? What then? What the hell will I do?” Cole felt her cheeks rise as she smiled. “That won’t happen because I have y ou to protect me.” “That wasn’t enough for Jeanne.” He cursed beneath his breath for bringing up his late wife. Hell, the last thing he wanted to talk about in bed with Laur ie was his ex. “Is that what this is about?” Laurie asked, setting herself away from him. “You think you won’t be able to protect me any more than you did her?” “Something like that.” He did not attempt to bring her back into his embrace. Instead, he stared int o the blackness of the room. The only light was that of the moon casting star k white lines across the carpet through the slats of the Venetian blinds. Laurie reached out and ran a hand through the hair at the top of his head, pushing his stray bangs away from his eyes. “You had no way of knowing wh at Robert Freeman was going to do.” “I knew he was out. I should have protected her.” They sat there for long moments, neither saying a word. Cole stared into th e blackness, as Laurie studied the contours of his face. He knew she wanted him to say something-anything. But hell, all he could do at the moment was indulge in self-hate. Finally, she said, “I won’t get hurt. I promise.” Cole chuckled, malice filling the hollow sound. He turned to look at her. “ You can’t promise me that anymore than I can promise you I won’t allow it t o happen.” “Tell me about it.” “About what?” He knew she referred to the dream, but he did not want to di

scuss it, as though speaking it aloud would somehow make it come true. “You had a dream. It’s not the first, is it?” “No,” he said truthfully. “I’ve had a reoccurring dream since the day I found Jeanne. I’m not so sure I’m any more ready to talk about it now than I was r ight after the first one.” “Maybe if you do, it will help heal the wounds. The dreams might go away.” She paused. When he said nothing, she continued, “I can’t help you, Cole, not if you won’t let me.” “In my dream-” Cole’s voice trembled; he stared at the pale yellow wall “-th ere is blood everywhere. I cradle my dead wife’s battered face in my lap, he r sightless eyes staring at me, accusing me, she curls her lips back and his ses, ‘ You should have been here. ’” Laurie gasped. “She was alive when you found her?” “No.” He shook his head. “It only happens that way in my dream. And when I open my mouth-nothing will come out. I can’t deny it when I know how ri ght she is. And all the while, Robert Freeman stands in the background, l aughing.” Tears slipped down his cheeks as Cole brought his gaze back to Laurie. Tea rs of her own brimmed her lashes. “I was in some bar, for crissake, beating the hell out of some shit who did n’t deserve my anger. I was mad as hell at finding out my wife was sleeping with my best friend. At the same time, Robert Freeman was beating my wife to death. “Can you imagine how many blows she had to suffer before she no longer fe lt the pain? Fifty…a hundred? The autopsy showed half of her skull had ca ved in.” Laurie placed a tender kiss on his cheek as she held her palm over the other . “You couldn’t have known,” she said through her tears. “But had I not been nursing my sorrows over a few beers, I would have bee n home.” “And Robert Freeman would have picked another night. Jeanne is dead, Cole , and no amount of self-punishment is going to change that.” Her caring g aze seemed to wash away some of the guilt, the pain, he had harbored over the years. “Was tonight’s dream the same?” He shook his head slowly. “No. Tonight when I gathered her head onto my lap , the sightless eyes staring up at me were yours.” Laurie’s eye rounded. “My God,” she whispered. “No wonder you don’t want me to do this.” Cole reached out and gathered her into his embrace. “I’ll die before I let this son of a bitch touch you, Laurie. I can’t fail. I’d never be able to live thro ugh losing you.” “I’ll be fine,” she attempted to assure him. Her body trembled against his, t

elling Cole she didn’t believe her words any more than he did. “Don’t do this,” he whispered, then placed a kiss on the top of her head. His arms tightened around her. “I have to, Cole. I’d never forgive myself if another girl died and I knew I could have done something to help stop him.” “And if you fail?” “I won’t.” He settled against the pillow, pulling her with him, afraid to let her go. No thing could happen to Laurie Michaels, not when he finally had found somethin g to live for. An owl hooted and the detective watching the back of the house jumps. His eyes dart nervously around as his hand lies in wait beside the silver nine-millime ter tucked firmly in its holster at his side. Seeing nothing of interest, he r esettles his back against the tree and stares at the back of the house. The soul smiles for he himself is invisible, smaller than a flea on a dog, t inier than a termite on a tree. He can slip into any situation unseen and un heard. Like a chameleon as his skin takes on the color of his background, th e soul becomes one with the shadows. How, then, can they think to catch him when they themselves cannot adapt to his acuteness? Cole Kincaid, the fool is he to think that the soul does not have eyes at the back of his head. He is all knowing, all aware. Hatred glitters in his dark eyes. His muscles become like steel. Cole Kincaid, as he sleeps beside one of God’s own, thinks he can stop the i nevitable from happening. To protect her with his very life. But if he canno t find the soul then he cannot think to stop him, only prolong the inescapab le. Sleep tight, Lieutenant. For soon, your nightmare will become your every real ity . The soul turns and slips into the night, disappearing into the secluded forest. The detective shivers as a chill runs down his spine. The sound of a crunchin g leaf behind leaves him cursing his sudden fear of the night.

Chapter 29 Damien sat in the chair across from Jim, his face impassive, unappreciative . Anger radiated from his dark eyes. Cole paced the white-and-black tiled f

loor, every once in a while glancing back at Damien. He had lived with this man day after day for two years, never really knowing what he might be cap able of. Could anyone ever be aware, though, what was in another’s subconscious? Di d they really know another well enough to be privy to their darkest fantas ies? Cole glanced at Jim who sat tapping the eraser of his pencil on the table s urface, glaring at Damien, as though given a reason he would pounce on the unsuspecting singer at any given moment. He looked to Damien who toyed with the frayed edges of his flannel shirt as his mind wandered to worlds unknown. In many ways, this man had yet to reach maturity. He might very well be the seductive singer of the band D ragonslayer , but when alone, became the same monster Cole had stalked fo r weeks. Stepping in front of Damien, Cole laid his palms on the table and stared at him. Damien held his gaze for long moments, neither saying a word. Cole co uld see the rage at being dragged down here and being accused of the unthin kable. But as Cole figured it, Damien had nothing more pressing to do at the momen t. Practice for the night had been canceled due to the broken nose the sing er recently received, so it was not like he had had a better offer than to spend the evening with the Fairview Police. Both eyes were blackened and sw ollen, though the bruises were beginning to green around the edges. Cole straightened his stance, crossed his arms over his chest and started th e interrogation. “We have evidence-” “You don’t have squat,” Damien growled. His black eyes narrowed as his upp er lip curled, reminding Cole of the hounds of hell. Backed into a corner with Damien Vincent suddenly looked like a place he would not relish to be . “What size shoe do you wear?” Cole asked, looking down on Damien’s large black Nike’s. Damien ran a hand through his long dark hair and glanced to the shoes on hi s feet. “Eleven,” he replied shortly, looking at Cole. “Why?” Jim shifted in his seat, looking at Cole. Cole knew without a doubt, Jim th ought this the perfect time to read the man his rights. If Cole proceeded o n without this benefit, they chanced losing any slip or confession Damien m ight unknowingly give them. “I have to do this, Damien. We have to protect ourselves,” Cole apologized before beginning. Damien grumbled while Cole read him his rights. He crossed his arms over h is chest, glaring at Cole. Damien then signed a Miranda card, stating he u nderstood everything Cole had informed him of.

He grasped the pen and hastily scribbled his name atop it. “You saying I ne ed a lawyer?” “It’s your right,” Cole said. “I haven’t done a thing.” He slid the card to the center of the table. Jim snatched it up like a dog on his last meal, walked out of the interroga tion room, and handed it to someone who could compare Damien’s handwriting to that on the note sent to Laurie. Sprayed with ninhydrin, the envelope and missive not only turned up Laurie’ s prints but someone else’s as well. They had struck pay dirt. The perp was either getting very sloppy or overly confident. All they need to do now was find who the prints belonged to. One latent had a double loop whorl with an outer trace and could be matched easily to tha t of the perp’s. Damien’s prints, from an earlier found arrest, at this ver y moment were being compared to the ones found on the note, as well as the unknown latent being run through AFIS. “You want to tell me what this is about, man?” Damien glared at Cole. “Wha t the hell am I being charged with?” “Nothing at the moment, Damien,” Cole assured. The agent retook his seat. The whirring sound of the video recorder played in the background. “As y ou know, we are conducting a murder investigation.” Damien chuckled, raking his hair from his face with his hand. “And you thin k I did it? You think I’m this ‘Vampire of Fairview’ running around the cit y? Come on, Cole, you don’t have anything better than this?” “What I have and don’t have at the moment is not your concern.” “The hell it isn’t!” Damien roared, coming out of his chair. The agent shif ted in his seat, ready to cuff Damien if need be. Damien wisely sat back do wn. “You want to pin this on me and you say it’s not my business? I have a right to know, Cole. What the hell do you have?” Cole reminded Damien of his right to seek legal council, but Damien waved i t off with the brush of his hand. “I don’t need a damn lawyer. I didn’t do anything.” “We have a size eleven shoe print at two of the scenes,” Cole said, taking a seat at the table, folding his hands in front of him. “Do you wear size eleve n shoes?” Damien shifted in his seat. “Yes.” “Do you know a Victoria Stanton?” “You know I do,” Damien grumbled. “That doesn’t make me guilty.” “How about a Jill Anderson?” Both Jim and Damien’s gazes snapped to Cole’s. He would pay hell for this l ater. Jim was bound to be angry with Cole for not telling him about this vi ctim’s tie to Damien Vincent before now.

A hasty bite is taken from the sandwich as the detective looks up to the hou se. No one or anything is moving. He takes another bite from his sandwich as a cool breeze drifts into the opened window of the car. A gloved hand grasps his head, pinning it to the headrest of the seat. And be fore the detective can utter a sound, the metal of the knife flashes from the glow of the late day’s sun, slipping cleanly through flesh, jugulars, and th e larynx, nearly decapitating the man. Blood splatters from the air being for ced from the lungs as the heart continues to pump the life’s fluid. A bloodied glove pushes the detective forward; his head rests on the steerin g wheel. Turkey and rye falls to the floor. Laurie ran a dust cloth over her furniture. She had dusted two days earlier, but she needed to keep her mind preoccupied. Cole said he would be running late tonight due to the fact they had a viable suspect to question. Damien Vincent. Laurie shivered as she recalled the time he sucked the blood from her fing er. She knew Damien was evil. But she had never guessed how deep his depra vity actually went. Could he possibly have been responsible for the four v iolent deaths? Cole lived with the singer for two years and Laurie had a hard time believ ing he could have read Damien Vincent so wrong. Cole’s instincts always se emed right on the mark. She sat on the edge of her chair in the formal living room, staring at the walnut-finished wall clock as the pendulum swung back and forth. She could almost see the victims’ faces as the blade swiped cleanly across their thro ats. None of them had had a chance—none of them saw it coming. Cole said there was no sign of struggle with any of the victims, so that wo uld mean the victim had to have trusted the assailant who struck from behin d. Damien Vincent was a master at seduction. She, too, had been held captiv e by his hypnotizing eyes more than once. Laurie’s thoughts drifted to Cindy VanWarren. She had been lucky to escape with her life, only to end it tragically herself. Another death Damien Vinc ent should be held accountable for, though not by law. Her heart clenched. Laurie missed her friend. The doorbell rang, bringing Laurie from her musings. She glanced at the clo ck on the wall. Eight-ten. Cole was early. Maybe with any luck, Damien had confessed to all of the murders and they could now put the horror far behin d them and get on with their lives. The bell rang again. “Coming,” Laurie called out as she laid her dust cloth on the kitchen counte r, heading for the door.

“Jill Anderson ,” Cole repeated. “I’m sure you’re aware I know her.” Jim’s face turned hard; his mouth nothing more than a slit as he narrowed hi s eyes at Cole but refrained from castrating him in front of the suspect lik e Cole knew he wanted to. Damien shrugged his shoulders, and leaned back in his chair, stretching his l ong legs out in front of him. “So what’s she got to do with this investigatio n?” “She was one of the victims,” Cole told him. Damien’s jaw tensed though no other muscle in his body moved. “So you think I killed her, too,” Damien said in a controlled voice. “You tell me. Did you know Mary Stine? Shana Darby? Or were they just pi ck-ups for you?” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Damien said, his eyes taking in th e stack of manila envelopes at Jim’s right hand side. “Sure you do,” Jim said, picking up on Damien’s eye movement. He patted the pile of files. “We have it all right here. What you did with each girl, wh ere you left them.” Jim opened the top file and threw a couple of crime scene photos on the tab le in front of Damien. The first photo showed a close up of Victoria Stanto n’s neck with the purplish bite marks, the second showed the inside of Mary Stine’s motel room, blood splashed every where, and the third showed a clo se up of what was left of Jill Anderson. Damien turned his head, looking to the gray wall just feet beyond the table. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat. “You got the wrong guy,” Damien said in a softer tone. Jim leaned in. “Then prove it.” Damien narrowed his eyes as he turned his hate-filled glare on the agent. “ You prove I did,” he spat. “You don’t have anything on me.” “We have a size eleven shoe print. We have you connected to two of the d eceased women. We have a long black hair found on Shana Darby’s body. We know the perp wore black clothes,” Jim said, never once taking his eyes off Damien. “You have squat,” Damien chuckled, sitting tall in his chair. “I have long bl ack hair, I have size eleven shoes, I wear black clothes, and I knew two of t he four victims. Big deal. None of it proves anything.” “It will prove a hell of a lot if your fingerprints match those on the note,” Ji m said. “What note?” Damien asked, looking back at Cole. “Someone sent a threatening note to Laurie, picking her as the next victim ,” Cole said. “Remember the quote I told you about a few weeks ago?” Damien nodded. “Yeah.”

“We’ve found two more since then. One on Victoria Stanton and one sent to Laurie. They all come straight out of Bram Stoker’s novel.” “I’ve never even read the book. I’ve only watched the movie.” “So you’ve said.” Cole paused and looked into the one-way glass. “Right now you’re our number one suspect, Damien. I hope like hell you’re right becau se if you’re lying...” The room went silent except for the sound of the camera as the video continu ed to roll. Suddenly, the door opened and Jack Douglas stuck his head in. “T he results came back on the latent,” he said. Jim nearly came out of his sea t as he turned to the officer. “They’re negative. Not a match.” Laurie looked through the peephole on her door as the caller rang the bell a third time. Although disappointed not to see Cole standing on the other sid e, she was more curious as to why this man was. Quickly punching in her four-digit code to the alarm, Laurie unbolted the d oor. Upon opening it, she smiled when the caller withdrew a dozen red roses from his back. “Why thank you.” She grinned, accepting the offering. He wore all black, right down to the hiking boots on his feet, but she figure d it par for the course. Every member of Damien’s band wore black; it was par t of their image. She placed the roses in the clear vase sitting on a pedesta l behind her, then returned her attention to her guest. “Can I offer you something to drink?” she asked, Zeke yipping at her ankles. “I really don’t have the time,” he responded. “Then you came by to simply bring me the flowers?” “ To one of God’s own ,” he responded. Laurie’s gaze snapped up to his. “What did you say?” “ Fashioned by His own hand to show us men and other women that there is a heaven where we can enter. ” He quoted Bram Stoker eloquently. Laurie’s limbs trembled as she stared into Sandy Brown’s empty eyes. For the first time, she realized what was so strange about them. They were th e eyes of a dead man. Cold and without emotion. She backed away from him as he advanced. The pedestal with the flowers tipped to the floor as her back connected with it. Red and green scattered about the white tiles. Zeke ran in the opposite direction. “Please, God,” she whispered as her fingers groped behind her for something , anything. “He won’t help you now,” Sandy laughed. “He had his chance. Now I have mine.” He reached out lightening quick and placed a rag over her mouth. Laurie smel

led the strong scent of chloroform. Her fingers clawed at his, scraping fles h beneath her nails. One fingernail snapped. Her mind went hazy and soon blackness enveloped her. “Shit.” Cole said as Damien’s gaze flew to his. “Sorry to disappoint you.” “Anything from AFIS yet?” asked Cole. “Not yet. But if this dirtbag’s been arrested for anything before-it’s only a matter of time,” Jack said before shutting the door and returning to his busin ess. “You have another wise plan?” Cole glared at Jim. “Can I go yet?” “No!” they shouted in unison as Cole and Jim continued to stare each other down. “We know that Damien is not the killer,” Jim said tapping his eraser on the t abletop. Cole jerked the pencil from his hand. “No kidding.” “I still say this connects to him in some way. After all, he knew two of the four women.” “I knew all four,” Damien admitted, his face reddening slightly. “What?” the two said as one again, then glared at one another before Cole took a seat before Damien. “Why the hell didn’t you say something?” Cole asked. “And implicate myself further?” Damien chuckled. “Yeah, right. Look, I date d each girl once or twice, no big deal.” “Did you know they prostituted themselves?” Jim asked. Damien shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t pay for it. I met them at a club. I w as out for a piece of ass, nothing more.” “Shana Darby wasn’t old enough to get herself into a club.” “Fake ID,” Damien said. Jack Douglas poked his head back in the door. “Line one, Lieutenant. I think you better take this.” “Kincaid here,” he snapped into the receiver he picked up from a table besid e the wall. Heat rose in his face as his body began to tremble and his stoma ch threatened to rid him of its last meal. The detective from behind Laurie’ s house apprised him of the present situation. “Jesus Christ!” Cole slammed down the receiver and turned to Damien. “Anyone else know you were coming here?” Damien shrugged. “Why?” “Because the son of a bitch has Laurie.” His world teetered as he grabbed a h old of the table to steady himself.

“You all right?” Jim asked, jumping to his feet. “I’ll be fine.” Cole batted away his offering hand. He looked back to Dami en. “Laurie knows whoever took her.” Jim narrowed his gaze. “And you know this because...” “She was scared to death. She would have never opened that door to just an yone. She shut off the alarm and opened the goddamned door. She knew the c aller.” “Maybe she went away with someone,” Damien offered. Cole glared at the singer, wanting nothing more than to break his nose again . “I have a detective with his throat slit from ear to ear. Whoever paid her a visit wasn’t making social calls. Who knows I brought you in for question ing?” “What does this have to do with me?” “I can tie you to every girl. That tells me it’s a strong possibility it’s som eone close to you. If that’s the case and they knew I brought you in for quest ioning, then they also know I can’t be in two places at the same time, leaving Laurie open.” “I told Sandy Brown I wouldn’t be making practice tonight, that you were h auling my ass down here to question me for something I didn’t do.” Cole turned to Jack who still stood by the door. “Get a fix on Sandy Brown. I f he has a prior, check the prints.” “Right away,” Jack said. “Know where he lives?” Damien shrugged. “I don’t know, man. I’ve never been there, but he menti oned something about an old warehouse.” Cole looked back at Jack. “See if you can’t get an address. Send one of the dick’s over to Laurie’s and do the crime scene. Have Frank Cooper called in to go along.” Jack slipped out the door as Cole turned to Jim. “I’m heading over to Laurie ’s. You see what you can find on this prick and radio me.” “I’ll check with the bureau,” Jim said, then turned to Damien. “If you can th ink of anything...” Cole heard as he headed out the door, taking the stairs b y two to the Sally Port and out the back of the station to his Ranger. He hoped to God time hadn’t run out.

Chapter 30 Laurie slowly opened her eyes, blinking them into focus. Her head pounded,

ears rang, and everything around her seemed red. Every muscle ached from lying on the cool cement. She pushed up to a sitting position and glanced at her environment as she rubbed the gooseflesh from the surface of her ar ms. Panic seized her heart. The walls surrounding her were painted red; the room no larger than the size of a prison cell. Laurie imagined had she died and gone to hell, it would h ave looked similar to this. Her heart thumped against her ribs, reminding he r of her mortality. She stood on shaken limbs and glanced around. No windows, no pictures on the walls. Just a single bare bulb, suspended from the ceiling by a black elect rical wire, illuminated the room. An oak-carved stand sat in the center, ado rned with many unlit candles and a silver cup. Tool marks, looking to belong to a knife, marred its surface. A small box lay on the floor beside it. Oth er than the table that appeared to be an altar of some sort, the room was em pty sans the reddish-brown stains on the floor. Laurie looked down, noting she still wore the same outfit she had on since ...When? The night before? She had no idea how long she had been out or ho w much time had passed. Without the benefit of windows, she had no idea if it were daytime or nighttime. She walked to the door and tested the knob. Locked. Not that she expected to find it any other way. Turning back to the red walls, she leaned against th e wooden door and glanced at the floor in defeat. For the first time she rea lized what the reddish-brown stains meant. Blood. The room seemed to tilt; her breathing became shallow. How many of the wom en had died in this room? She covered her mouth and swallowed, hoping to s till the rising bile burning the back of her throat. Laurie, unfortunately for her, had been dumped into the crime scene. And she would bet, if they tested the stains on the floor, they would match at least one of the four victims. She chuckled, though she felt none of the humor. What a story she had stu mbled upon. Laurie even knew the murderer’s name. The air in the room constricted, hampering her breathing even further. It f elt as though someone had grabbed hold of each lung and squeezed the oxygen from them, then held tight, not allowing them to refill with air. She was about to become victim five. Tears welled in her eyes and slipped down her cheeks as she reminded herself to breathe or she’d pass out cold on the flo or again. Laurie slid down the wall to a crouching position and placed her head betwe en her knees. She would not make this easy for him. He would not find her u nconscious-easy to control or to kill. With a survivor’s instincts, she wou

ld fight him to the deadly end. Her hands trembled. Her legs shook. She sank the rest of the way to the floor and grasped the hair at the top of h er head, tightly within her fists. How in the world would she ever get out of this one? Surely, by now, Cole had found her home empty. She had no way of knowing, though, if Cole would be aware of the events tha t had taken place. Sandy could have cleaned up after the spilled roses and locked the house behind them. After all, she had been out cold. Cole would know Laurie would not have just taken off on a whim of her own, not with a murderer targeting her as his next victim. Or would he? She had always portrayed herself as being strong and it was possible, even after th e passion they shared, Cole would believe that the only thing that mattered to her was getting the story. “Dear God,” she cried out to the Creator, her words echoing eerily off the wa lls, “please let Cole find me.” After a short prayer, she made the sign of the cross over her chest then glan ced up and noted the wooden box lying at the base of the stand like an offeri ng. Laurie crawled over to the object, terror ringing within her ears. She fe ared lifting the cover and finding something nefarious like a tongue or an ea r, though none of the victims were ever found mutilated. The lid fell easily away. Her breath caught in her throat. Her world seemed to careen as she grasped the table’s leg to steady herself. One shiny gold hoop, her missing earring, and her Mont Blanc lay amongst th e collected articles from four other victims. Sandy Brown had been stalking her. She thought about the night she ran to the Convenient Mart for a bottle of Advil. She doubted now it had been a c oincidence running into him. Or the time, too, she had been at Pugz and Ba iley’s with Cindy and had lost her earring. Cindy and she had run into Dam ien...Sandy had been there also, though at the time she had not realized w hom he was. Two driver’s licenses belonging to a Jill Anderson and to Mayor Stanton’s d aughter, Victoria, lay within the container along side a thin silver chain bearing a crucifix and a gold band adorned with diamonds and pearls. Laurie remembered hearing about Shana Darby’s missing ring. She picked it up. A chill ran down her spine. A flash of the lovely young girl’s face played before her eyes. Shana’s eyes widened in fear as a blade came from behind, flashed in the dim lighting, a nd sliced through her jugular. Her time had come to its end.

Shana’s hands went to her throat as the wound made a deathly whooshing sou nd from the sudden exit of air expelling from her lungs as she attempted t o gasp for oxygen. Laurie’s body racked with shudders. She dropped the ring into the box. She didn’t want to feel Shana’s last thou ghts a moment longer. The temperature in the room dropped unnaturally as she replaced the lid and slid the box back to its place. The door to the room swung open. A cool breeze shot through the closed space like the cold icy winds of the An tarctic. Laurie squealed as she jumped to her feet and backed herself against the wal l, trying to put distance-all eight feet of it-between her and Sandy Brown. His cold, dead eyes were without conscience as he approached her, a thin smi le upon his lips. Fear twisted in her gut. Gone was the will to fight. She could not lift a limb had she wanted to as she stared into his unfeeling eyes. “What do you want from me?” she whispered. He stopped in front of the small stand. His eyes took in the chalice, the can dles, the box. “You’ve looked?” he asked. She nodded, unable to speak, to lie, though at the moment he wasn’t looking at her at all. Her body numbed. His gaze returned to hers. She expected anger for glancing upon something that belonged to him. But his eyes remained placid, without emotion. He shrugged. “I like to remember,” he said with conviction. He bent before th e box and lifted the lid. Laurie spotted the still open door. Eight feet to freedom. She inched along the wall as his fingers toyed with the articles in the box, t aking his time to lovingly caress each item. Laurie wondered if he, too, could feel the fear of the girls as he relived every detail of their murders in his twisted mind. She moved a foot further. Sandy remained immobile, paying her no regard. As far as she knew, he had not even detected she was aware of her route to es cape or the fact he had left the door open. Blackness awaited on the other side. Laurie inhaled a deep breath, pushed off the wall, and bolted for the door. Panic seized Cole’s chest as he looked about Laurie’s home. Red roses lay sc attered about the white tiles like a bloodied offering. A symbol of perfecti on, a flower in its purest form, and the color of the fluid Sandy craved. Th e rest of the house remained untouched. Thus far, they had turned up only trace evidence. Black fibers had stuck to the bleeding neck wound of Detective Gonzales and could be a possible matc

h to those found at the other scenes. Jesse had had not a chance, never saw it coming. The blood spatter patterns on the window told them the story. Sandy Brown had approached from behind and grasped him through the opened window of the car and sliced him cleanly through the arteries and beyond, nearly de capitating him. A boot print, found in the flowerbed, became another piece of invaluable ev idence, as Sandy had peered into one of the family room’s windows, to see i f Laurie was alone. He had been careful, though, not to allow detection by the officer scouting the rear of the home. What looked like blood contaminated the stems of a few of the roses, but who se was yet to be determined. They, too, would be sent off to the lab for ana lysis. “Damn,” Cole cursed the black night as he struck the wall with his fist, leav ing a hole in the wake of his anger. Zeke poked his tiny head around the corner, then bolted up the stairwell, a s though he, too, knew the wrongness of what had occurred here. He rubbed his sore hand as Officer Cooper approached. “Jesse Gonzales is on his way to the Coroner’s. I’d stake my badge on it t hat he was killed by the same weapon used on the women,” Frank said, glanc ing at Cole’s already swelling knuckles. “What the hell happened to your h and?” “You’ll find my imprint in the plaster in there,” Cole said, pointing to th e foyer, then headed for his truck. “Finish the scene here, Cooper, question the neighbors. Somebody had to see something. Send Casey over to the corone r’s office to witness the autopsy of Detective Gonzales. Then, take care of her dog, Zeke. You’ll find him upstairs in the yellow bedroom. I have to fin d Laurie.” “Where the hell are you going to start?” Cole shrugged as he got into the cab. “I have no damn idea. But if I don’t fi nd her soon, I’m afraid she won’t see daylight again.” Cole stuck the key into the ignition and as soon as the engine turned over, h e circled the drive and drove off down the road. She was somewhere out there...alive. He could feel her fear, taste it. Sweat broke out on his brow; his stomach knotted. Dear God in heaven, it was happening all over again. Someone wanted to ta ke away the one thing he loved more than his own life and there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about it. Jeanne Kincaid died because of his negli gence. Now Laurie Michaels was about to meet the same fate-because she ha d the misfortune of becoming involved with Cole. The world suddenly seemed enormous. There were thousands of places Sandy could have taken Laurie. And he had no idea where to begin.

Damien mentioned a warehouse. Cole knew there were none in Fairview, but C leveland had an abundance of buildings, both vacant and occupied. Without thought, Cole headed up Lorain Road. The Flats was as good a place as any to start his search. Not only did bars line the river, but it also carried the reputation as the warehouse section of Cleveland. Darkness consumed Laurie. She had made it beyond the door with no time to allow her eyes to adjust to t he light change. Holding her hands out in front of her, she ran blindly. Fate, thus far, had been on her side. Certainly, God would not fail her now, not when she needed him most. A curse followed her as Sandy dropped the box to the floor, the sound filling the room behind her like a litany, as he took chase. Oh, God . Her heart thudded in her chest; her pulse pounded in her ears. Pani c took her soul hostage as she spotted the outline of the door to the elevato r ahead. A few more steps to freedom . Her shoe caught in the folds of a hastily laid carpet, sending her sprawling h eadfirst onto the floor. Her fingers clawed at the rough material as she despe rately endeavored to get to her feet. Sandy tackled her back to the cement, sending the air from her chest in a d eep whoosh. As she attempted to regain her breath, she could feel Sandy’s anger in his t aut, forceful movements as he flipped her over. She doubted now, had she the luxury of light, his eyes would appear dead. Instead, they would be the mir rors of his soul, alive with burning emotion. Anger and hate would fairly ra diate to the cores. She thanked the stars for darkness. “Please,” she pleaded, tears streaming down her cheeks to pool in her ears. “Don’t hurt me.” “Hurt you?” Sandy laughed. The sound carried through the empty air and echo ed off the walls. Chills raked her spine; gooseflesh popped out across her skin. Never had anything sounded so ill fated. Images of the dead girls flashed before her eyes as though touching Sandy ena bled her to see and feel them as he stole their lives. “No,” cried Laurie, her feet and arms flailing. Sandy pinned her to the floo r. His super-human strength rendered her inert. “God, no,” she whispered. Her struggles seemed to heighten his awareness of their lecherous position as she felt his erection within the confines of his jeans against her thigh. Te ars continued to swell in her eyes and fall down her cheeks. “My dear, your beauty is beyond words, have I not proven that to you?” His s tale breath sent her gulping for fresh air as the bile in her stomach churne

d and threatened to spill. “The others paled in comparison. I had to take th eir lives. They were tainted, dirty. But you…” Laurie hoped by keeping him talking that it might buy her time. Maybe, with God on her side, Cole would be able to find her before her time had run ou t. “They weren’t all prostitutes. Why Victoria?” Her voice trembled giving way t o her near hysteria. Laurie tried to intake a deep breath, but failed as Sand y’s bulk on top of her hindered her actions. Sandy shifted his weight. The carpet did little to soften the cement beneath it. Her tailbone ached, her shoulder blades hurt, and her pelvis felt as thou gh the slightest move might crush the bone into tiny shards. “Victoria is your fault,” he hissed. She had struck a raw nerve. He blamed her? His malice-filled chuckle mocked at her misunderstanding. “You wrote the a rticle. Vampire indeed.” “But you drank their...” Her body shivered beneath him, unable to voice the word. “Blood?” he asked, his tone rising. “‘ Blood is the life ,’ Bram Stoker so wisel y put it. I require it to exist.” “So you do think you’re a vampire?” Again he chuckled, ridiculing her for her stupidity. “A fiend of the night i s immortal. Shoot me where I lay and I bleed like the rest. What I have, my dear, is an extreme thirst for blood. If your body is low on calcium-you cra ve milk. If you are an alcoholic-you can’t stop thinking about you’re next d rink. Me? I crave blood.” “So you think you can’t survive without it?” “Surely, I can.” He laughed at her again. “But when it is so easily accessible. ..” “You’re insane. How many others have there been?” “You mean before I came here? No, Jill Anderson was my first.” Deep in thought, he looked away, into the rat-infested warehouse he called home. He lived no better than a homeless man did. Laurie wondered what thou ghts ran through his mind then his gaze returned to hers. Even in the darkn ess, she caught a glimpse of the anger within their depths. His grip tighte ned on her shoulders. “But you...you shall be my last,” his tone calm but l echerous. “And we shall meet Satan together.” Fear unfurled within her, tinting the black room with a haze of red. “What d id you do before them?” she tried desperately to keep him talking. “Surely y ou didn’t just become affected by this...this craving.” “Always. Birds, dogs, cats-they fed me for awhile. Stopped the cravings. Th en I realized, my dear angel, that death comes to all. And I met Jill, who

sold her body for money…the blood of the slut tasted sweet, more satisfying than anything I’d ever put into my mouth.” His hand left her shoulder and brushed across the hard bulge in his black je ans as though he wished to relive each fantasy at this very moment. His brea thing became shallow, his eyes rolled into his head. Laurie knew her only chance to escape rested on his continued distraction. Sh e swallowed the bile rising in her throat; now was not the time to wretch. Wi thout another thought, for fear of losing her will, she rolled from beneath h im, shot to her feet, and headed for the elevator. She had her hand on the gate before Sandy had time to catch her. An inhumanlike growl escaped his throat as he grasped her hair tightly within his fist and yanked. Her head jerked from the force as her scalp singed with pain. L aurie screamed, her hands going to the back of her head. Red flashes of hot, searing agony played before her like the fourth of July. She had been right ; she was in hell. He turned her around as if she were a rag doll and pinned her to the elevator gate. He pressed his arousal against her, causing her to whimper as she real ized his exact intention. With her, he would not simply kill her. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks as his hand twisted in the silk of her b louse, then ripped the fabric away from her. A sob escaped her throat. She was going to die. The radioblared senseless noise. He turned the knob until it clicked off. N ow, the only sound in the cab, besides the endless disquiet of the engine, was the police radio as it squawked every now and then, grating on his nerv es. Cole would have turned that off too, but feared missing news about Sand y Brown’s whereabouts. Cole’s thoughts drifted back to the night he had gotten the call from a fell ow police officer that something had happened to Jeanne. His hands swollen f rom an asinine bar fight, one eye blackened, he raced his truck through the streets of Cleveland to reach his wife. He had been too late, though. Jeanne had passed away before he had gotten home. For the first time in his life, Cole had been taken by tears. In the end, the police officer at the scene ha d to drag him away from his dead wife before Cole destroyed any more evidenc e the killer might have left. After the press had had their day with Cole, Robert Freeman had been easy t o catch, bragging to one too many how he had beat to death Cole’s wife with his bare fists. Comparing the DNA of the blood from bleeding knuckles left at the scene, to that of Robert Freeman, had come back a perfect match, th us sealing the case and putting Freeman back behind bars for life. Little c

omfort that it gave Cole. Much like the night of his wife’s death, Cole now felt helpless. The clock w as ticking. If he arrived a minute too late, it could mean the end of Laurie ’s life. Cole could not hold himself responsible for yet another senseless d eath and not meet the same end as Cindy VanWarren. It would certainly not be the first time he had entertained thoughts of suici de-he had just been too much of a coward to carry it through. His cellular phone rang, breaking into his musings, causing him to jump. Co le pulled the slim phone from his coat pocket, flipped back the cover, punc hed the red SEND, and spoke into the receiver. “What do you have?” Cole asked hastily. His palms were damp with sweat. Jack Douglas said, “We just finished speaking with another member of Dra gonslayer . Seems the drummer had been with Sandy one time at his wareho use.” Cole’s heart thudded; his adrenaline flowed. “Where?” “He says he didn’t go in with Sandy, just sat in his black sedan outside. Bui ck he thinks, maybe an eighty.” Cole reached for his flashing light beneath his seat and placed it on the da sh of his Ranger. “Where?” he barked again into the phone. “West Sixth Street.” “I’m on my way.” Cole pushed the accelerator all the way to the floor. “Wait for backup, Cole.” He heard the concern in Jack’s voice and knew he a cted out of concern as well as duty, but there was no way in hell Cole woul d wait for backup from one of Cleveland’s precincts. “I’ve already radioed them for help.” “I’m ten minutes away,” Cole said as he slapped the flap shut on his cellular . “But I’ll be damned if I’ll wait a moment longer if backup is not already t here,” he grumbled as he shut off the police radio. His pulse pounded in his ears. If there were ever a God, Cole thought, the n He would surely allow him to arrive before Sandy could hurt the woman Co le loved.

Chapter 31 The tires of Cole’s Ranger screeched to a halt on the dry pavement of Wes t Sixth Street. Backup was nowhere to be seen, but he wasn’t going to wai t. He had no idea where to begin looking when he noticed an opened door l

arge enough to drive a car through. The windows were broken and by the ap pearance of the hinges, Cole doubted the door would have closed anyway. He peered into the darkened warehouse where he spotted a black sedan, a Bui ck that looked to be in need of a good paint job. And Cole would bet this c ar was an ‘80 or ‘81 model. His heart skipped a beat; adrenaline rushed through his body. There certainl y must be a God, Cole thought, to have him find the right warehouse on his f irst try. Standing stationary, Cole cursed the pulse pounding in his ears. He needed hi s hearing to be keen, though at the moment, he heard nothing but the soft scu rrying of a critter scampering across the dirty floor. He stepped into the warehouse, over broken glass and debris on the floor. H e tread carefully knowing that even the meager sound of crunching glass ben eath his soles would echo loudly throughout the building. If Sandy Brown wa s in residence, the slightest noise could prove fatal for Laurie if her lif e had not already been taken. The thought of Laurie’s possible death sent b ile churning in his stomach. Cole prayed to the heavens that he would find her in time. An empty elevator shaft sat near the back corner in the shadows, the car to i t obviously on the second story. Cole needed to find another route to the ups tairs. Using the elevator was out of the question. Going back outside, he hur ried around the building to an alley situated beside the warehouse. A fire es cape, to his luck, had been stuck in the down position. Thankful for the soft soles of his boots, he started his ascent. The black ened, cracked windows and the dark of the night would help shadow him from discovery. He couldn’t lose Laurie, not when she had managed to thaw his heart, something he thought to be permanently frozen. A scream broke the quiet dawn. Laurie . Thank God, she was still alive. Wit h renewed hope, Cole took the stairs two at a time as the approaching sound s of sirens echoed in the distance. Reaching the landing near a broken pane of glass, Cole kept his momentum, even when he thrust his whole body through the window, sending shards skit tering across the cold floor, then tucked and rolled on the cement. He jum ped to his feet, gun drawn as Sandy turned from the elevator shaft where h e had Laurie pinned. Her blouse lay in tatters as her fingers clumsily held the shreds together. S he slid down the grate and crouched at the opening by Sandy’s feet, her eyes wide in the dimly lit room, tears glistening in them. Cole’s ire overflowed as his gaze narrowed and his jaw clenched in near rage . Sandy advanced on Cole; Laurie forgotten. His eyes brimmed with hatred. H e chuckled menacingly. “What? The good detective can’t take me on without

the benefit of a gun?” He paused, his smile turning to more of a sneer. Cole stared into the eyes of Satan himself. Sirens continued to wail in the background as several cop cars raced closer. Only a few brief minutes befo re backup arrived. He could easily put a bullet through Sandy’s black heart well before then and no one would question his judgment. “Don’t you know that mere bullets cannot stop a vampire, Detective?” Laurie whimpered in the background, drawing his gaze for the briefest of se conds, but it was all Sandy needed for him to let out an animal-like growl and leap at Cole, sending him to the hard cement. His nine-millimeter skidd ed across the pavement, stopping some twenty feet away. Cole wrestled beneath the strong man; Sandy possessing more power than his thin, wiry body seemed to be capable of. Cole snapped his leg upward, con necting with Sandy’s groin and sent the man rolling. Just as quickly, Cole jumped on top of Sandy, his fingers deftly wrapping the slender cords of his throat. Sandy grasped his wrists; his feet flailed as h e tried to loosen the lieutenant’s grip. Nothing would stop Cole from killing this man. Flashes of Robert Freeman washed through Cole’s mind as his wife’s battere d face came back to him. Never again would he allow someone to take anythi ng so precious from him. He tightened his grip. Sandy let out a strangled gasp. The engine to the elevator car cracked and sputtered to life as three arm ed cops stepped through the broken window. Laurie screamed from somewhere behind and the next thing Cole knew several police officers surrounded h im with their weapons drawn and pointed at him. Laurie, having left her spot by the elevator, pulled and clawed at his arms, trying to save Sandy Brown’s life. The son of a bitch deserved death and no thing more. “Lieutenant Kincaid?” The nearest cop to him asked, obviously unsure at th is point which man to apprehend. Cole growled in response as Laurie pleaded for him to loosen his grip. A re d haze distorted his vision as everyone’s words seemed muffled in his brain . The roaring of his blood drowned out their pleas and shouts. He wanted no thing more than to take this man’s life. His grip tightened. “Lieutenant, let go of this man’s neck. If you don’t, I’m going to have to sho ot you.” Laurie yelled again then leapt on his back as though to protect his body wit h her own from a bullet piercing him. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he muttered, loosing his grip. But nothing could have stopped him from throwing the punch that splattered Sandy Brown’s nos e. The sickening sound of shattering bones echoed about the building. He le apt to his feet and he grasped Laurie by the shoulders, pushing her against

the wall. “What in God’s name do you think you were doing? You could have been shot ,” Cole’s tone rose to near hysterics. Behind them, Sandy still gasped for air as the officers from the other precin ct rolled him to his stomach and slapped on the cuffs with a clack. Laurie’s body shook with tears and delirium as all fight left her body and sh e sagged against the wall, Cole’s hands the only thing supporting her. “An ambulance is on its way, sir...uh, for the lady, that is,” an approachi ng officer from behind told him. “We’ll see Brown downtown and put him in l ock-up until you’re ready for him.” Cole gave the shorter man his attention for the briefest of seconds. “You can accidentally shoot him for all I care.” Then ignoring the chaos behind him, Cole returned to Laurie. Tears marred he r lovely face; her eyes filled with the horrors she had seen. In the end, Co le had not protected her from the poison of the world. Her innocence was for ever lost. He smoothed her bangs from her forehead, searching her face for marks left behind of her ordeal. “Did he hurt you, sweetheart? I’ll kill him if he eve n so much as touched you.” Her lower lip puckered and trembled as she shook her head, then collapsed in to his arms and sobbed. Time, after all, had not run out. Red lights flashed in the waning darkness as the sun bathed the horizon in orange. The sound of the siren sent cars to the side of the road as the amb ulance sped through downtown Cleveland. It had taken every word of compassi on he had left in him to coax Laurie inside the EMS when it had arrived sho rtly after the capture of Sandy Brown. The city of Fairview Park would once again be a safe place for its citizens. Cole left the crime scene clean up to the officers left at the scene and Jim Mathers, who had promptly arrived after hearing about the capture. Though t he case belonged to Cole, he was more than willing to relinquish his control to the FBI agent. At this moment, he would not have traded places with anyone as he sat besid e Laurie, who lay on a white sheet-covered stretcher, holding her hand. He ran a palm across the top of her head, smoothing her hair. “You’re going to be all right, you know.” Her smile was small, but there nonetheless. “I know,” she said, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze. “With you at my side, how could I not be?” Cole leaned down and gave her forehead a tender kiss. “I’ll never leave you if that’s what you want.” Laurie’s smile widened in a dream-filled state, the medicine the EMTs gave her taking effect. “You told me that once before. When you crawled into b

ed with me the night you told me Cindy took her life.” “So I did.” “Just so you know, Lieutenant, I take your vow very seriously, because I do n’t ever want you to leave me again.” She yawned into the back of her free hand, her hold slackening on the other, then promptly fell asleep. “Just so you know, lady, I take my vows seriously, too. And when you wake up ...the first thing I want is for you-” “To be your wife,” she mumbled, speaking his exact thoughts. She peeked at him through her lowered lashes. “And if that’s a proposal, Lieutenant, the answer is yes.” Then Cole smiled for the first time since Laurie’s disappearance. Maybe, just maybe, life at the top of the hill wouldn’t be so bad.

Epilogue Cole walked up the brick steps leading to the front of the house, inserted h is key, then held open the door. Today his life had changed forever. One yea r ago to the day, he had carried Laurie Kincaid over these same steps and ha d made her his wife for eternity. Today, Laurie carried his daughter, Gabrielle Elizabeth Kincaid. At first when Laurie had announced her pregnancy at the office, Cole had hy perventilated, sat in a chair with his head between his knees, feeling his world careen around him. At any moment, he thought for sure he would embarr ass himself by passing out in front of his fellow officers. Strong Lieutena nt Cole Kincaid brought to his knees by a fetus no bigger than his thumbnai l. How in the world would he ever make a good father? He had lain awake man y a night there after in fear of what his life might become. Today, he knew it to be a beginning. Gabrielle was an extension of the love Laurie and he shared and as he look ed down on her when Laurie passed through the doorway to their home, his h eart swelled. There had been, after all, room for one more. Laurie sat the car carrier in the crook of the sectional sofa where she pulle d back the baby’s blanket to reveal Gabrielle’s small round sleeping face. Sh e ran her finger down the soft cheek. “She’s perfect.” Laurie smiled, then glanced up at Cole who peered at the t iny baby from over her shoulder. “But then I knew she would be.”

Zeke jumped and yipped at the small carrier,trying to get a peek at the new a ddition to their family. Cole laughed, patting the dog’s tiny head and scratc hing his ears. “I don’t think so, Zeke,” Cole said. “You’ll get enough of Gabrielle when sh e can chase you and pull your stubby tail.” Laurie and Cole’s wounds had long since healed and they rarely talked abo ut the past. Time had soothed them both and with little Gabrielle, Sandy Brown would be no more than a fleeting memory. Over the past year, Fairview Park’s worst crime had been a bank robbery and the culprit had been easily caught, his image being captured on film. Cole could not have been more pleased to settle back into an uneventful life. Laurie had gone to work for the Plain Dealer shortly after her exclusive on the “Vampire of Fairview” hit the newsstands, from which she had taken a l eave of maternity. Cole wrapped his arms around his wife’s waist and kissed her neck; her newl y bobbed hair giving him easy access. He knew the reason for the change had a lot to do with the past, but now they could get on with their lives and concentrate on being a family. Laurie wrapped her arms around his and leaned into his strength. “Do you th ink she will change our lives?” “How could she not?” Cole whispered into her ear, tugging on her lobe with h is teeth. “We’ll just have to start taking advantage of her naps.” Laurie grinned as Cole felt a shiver passing down her spine. “Newborns sleep a lot from what I hear.” Cole turned her in his embrace, earning him a naughty grin as her abdomen r ested against his erection. “Then I suggest we take advantage of every one. ” “You know what the doctor said-five weeks,” she told him, procuring her a growl. Then her smile turned positively wicked. “But you know there are wa ys-” Cole leaned down to kiss her and tell her exactly what he’d like her to do when the phone rang. He gave her a look of warning; she was not to move. La urie complied. Grasping the cordless, he hit the TALK. “Hello.” “Did I call at a bad time?” “For crying out loud, Charley. Is there a good time?” Laurie laughed, earning her a dirty look as she took Gabrielle from her seat and held her close to her breast. She cooed at the baby and kissed her soft h ead. “Now is that any way to talk to a long lost buddy?” Charley snapped in Cole’ s ear. “Lost? I could only be so lucky!”

“My, aren’t you in a grumpy mood. What’s the matter, Cole, the missus not g iving you any lately? Oh that’s right-no sex; doctor’s orders.” Cole snorte d, then held the receiver away from his ear as Charley’s chortles grew in v olume. “Look, you want an invitation to come see Gabrielle or not?” “Yeah, yeah. The little woman and I want to come over and see the newest Kin caid. I just hope she doesn’t have your temper, buddy, or you’re in for a re al ride.” Cole finished his conversation with Charley, glad they had called a truce so me months back due to the urging of Laurie. For once, he was glad she had in terfered. She sat in the corner of the couch and put the baby on the cushion beside her, her finger firmly clasped within the delicate folds of Gabrielle’s. “I guess my sex life will have to be put on hold for the time being. Charley and his family of four are on their way over.” “You’ll live, Cole. We have the rest-” The cordless phone rang again. “Not if that damn phone doesn’t quit ringing.” Cole walked over to the stan d and picked it up again. “Now what the hell do you want, Charley?” “Sorry, Lieutenant. Jack Douglas here.” He could hear the new detective swa llow in the background. “I know it’s the day you brought your daughter home and all, but this couldn’t wait.” A buzzing filled Cole’s ears as his old sixth sense kicked in, raising the hai rs on his nape. “What is it?” he asked, his gaze landing on Laurie and Gabriel le. “ Orient has two dead guards...and Sandy Brown is missing. ”

Afterward I rarely watch television in the morning. But one day, while passing the set as it remained on with no one watching it, as it often happens in my househ old, something caught my attention: long shiny black hair and eyes dark as c oals. One of the daily talk shows had a male guest, via the satellite, who w as very appealing to look at. I stopped what I was doing and took a seat. It seemed this man was serving a sentence for attempted murder in a prison somewhere in Canada. But the part that fascinated me and kept me watching t

he show was how he had landed in jail in the first place. He had a taste for human blood. This man was no murderer, but more of a vampire of sorts. Being in a heavy metal band and easy on the eyes, he had little trouble getting women to cut themselves and allow him a taste of their blood. A real life vampire of sorts . He hadn’t attempted to murder someone as much as had gotten carried away wit h the desire of his thirst. When making the cut, the girl had jerked her han d from his and the slice to her wrist had gone a bit too deep. Charges were filed and he had lost his case. Being a lover of vampire romances, I thought this man was exactly what I’d been fantasizing about whenever I would pick up a book and lose myself into the paranormal. Maybe the appeal to stay and watch the entire show would h ave been lost had the man been unattractive. But that wasn’t the case. This man could have posed for the covers of these vampire novels himself and he re he was, living the role in his real life. He claimed the taste had nothing to do with sex. It wasn’t a sexual draw, but a desire for the blood itself. Of course, the talk show host kept insisting that it was a sexual turn-on, no matter how much he continued to deny it. Eve n in prison, he was able to make trades with other inmates to get them to sli ce their skin and allow him to suckle the cut. “You would be surprised what people will do in here (prison) for a pack of c igarettes,” he had claimed. My husband thought I was disturbed as I talked for days about the man-and even today I wonder what had become of him. This man’s story was so compelling to me that I had to create a character a round him. Thus, Damien Vincent was born. No, he wasn’t the hero of Deadly Obsession , but the story itself evolved around his persona. I hope you enjoyed the reading of Deadly Obsession and that I might have left a lasting impression on you with the telling of it. May your days be full of intrigue and your nights full of romance, Patricia A. Rasey