The sixth book in the Last Stand series, 2009

These men who killed their wives…they didn’t have a clue how to do it right, how to get away with it.

Malcolm Turner frowned in disgust as the credits appeared at the end of the true-crime show he’d just watched on TV. It had featured a male nurse who’d murdered his mouthy, blonde wife. As far as Malcolm was concerned, she’d deserved what she got-she’d been a straight-up bitch. But what kind of idiot talks about succinyl chloride right before using it to end a life?

“Punk,” Malcolm muttered and glanced over at his wife, asleep in bed next to him. When he killed her and her teenage son, no one would question a thing. They’d believe exactly what he wanted them to believe because he knew what the hell he was doing.

He should-he’d been in law enforcement for fifteen years.

Mary looked good. Better than she had in high school. There were more curves to her body, a new sophistication to her face, and her smile seemed to have more meaning behind it. But Malcolm could tell she was weary. The divorce had taken a heavy toll. And she did a lot for her two boys.

He shifted, ducking when he heard an engine in the street. He was partly shielded by a large poplar tree and, judging by the volume of the music emanating from what appeared to be a muscle car, the driver was probably a teenage boy who was as oblivious and self-absorbed as he used to be at that age. But it wouldn’t do to have someone see him peeking in Mary’s windows.

The car, bass pounding through its speakers, passed without slowing. Then the beat and the motor dimmed, and the neighborhood returned to sleep mode. This was Malcolm’s favorite time to watch Mary-although he sometimes came when the sun was up, too, if he thought she’d be home from work. Now that he was unemployed it was hard to fill all the hours in a day. His new life hadn’t turned out remotely the way he’d imagined when he’d planned to start over. He missed the people he’d known before, wanted to contact some of them-but they thought he was dead and they had to go on thinking that.

Maybe that was why, after so many years, he’d looked up his high-school sweetheart and followed her to California. The compulsion to reconnect didn’t make much sense otherwise. He’d moved on without her quite easily twenty years ago. Married twice, divorced once and…

He didn’t want to think about what he’d done to his second wife. He didn’t regret killing her or her son. As far as he was concerned, they deserved what they got. But ever since he’d gambled away most of the insurance settlement he’d taken when he left Jersey, he’d been forced to live in dumpy rental houses out in the boondocks where the smell of cow shit was so strong it sometimes felt as if he was standing in it. Tough to find something better when the only jobs he could get were at two-bit security companies that paid a buck or two over minimum wage.

With a silent curse, he remembered the last job he’d held. It wasn’t the meager pay that bothered him so much as the lack of respect. He couldn’t take it; not after being a real cop.

Fingering the badge he still carried everywhere, he slid to the next window so he could have a better view of Mary checking her computer. She was probably expecting to hear from him. Claiming to be someone she’d once met briefly, he’d contacted her through her jewelry-making Web site and managed to strike up a relationship. But hiding behind an alias and a computer screen wasn’t satisfying him tonight. He was bored, restless…

After only a few minutes at the computer, Mary stood and started turning off the lights. With the kids in school and her job at the hospital, she was pretty damned predictable. From here, she’d go into her bedroom, pull the blinds and the show would be over.

Unless she didn’t bother with the blinds. In the months he’d been watching her, she’d forgotten only once, but that gave him hope.

Creeping around to the other side of the house, he squatted in the shrubbery and waited for her to enter her bedroom.

She came in, turned on the TV, put away some clothes that were folded and sitting on a chair. Then she approached the window. They were only inches apart, so close he could see the mascara smudges that told him she’d been rubbing her eyes-

Then the blind went down.

Shit. Malcolm sank lower on his haunches. What now? Should he head to the Indian casinos and while away a few hours?

No. He needed something more visceral, something more exciting, something to remind him of the power he’d once enjoyed.

He toyed with the idea of slipping into the house, exploring the empty rooms, touching Mary’s things, stealing a pair of her panties. Maybe even watching her sleep. The temptation to do so was growing stronger every day. He certainly thought about it a lot. But he was afraid he’d get caught and screw up the possibility of having a real relationship with her once he could trust her enough to reveal his true identity. He’d come too far to blow all that by being impatient…

He had to leave. But that didn’t mean he had to call it a night. Thinking of the Kojak light he kept in his van, he felt his mood improve. Playing cop wouldn’t put him in Mary’s bed tonight, but it would give him the adrenaline rush he craved-and maybe a few sexual favors to go with it.

Three weeks later…

Jane Burke recognized an opportunity when she saw one. Ever since she’d started working at The Last Stand, she’d been waiting for her chance, hoping a case would come along that would allow her to prove herself.

She was pretty sure it had just walked through the door.

“The man who let me in said you might be able to help me.” A short cannonball of a woman stood uncertainly in the entryway of Jane’s office, swiping at tear-filled eyes.

Motioning for her to come farther into the room, Jane brought over a box of tissues. “I’ll do my best,” she promised. “But first I need to learn more about why you’re here.”

The young woman’s obesity made it difficult to guess her age, but Jane pegged her at twenty-four or twenty-five. Gerald, the volunteer who’d admitted her, had told Jane she had two siblings who’d recently gone missing. So far, that was all Jane knew. If it’d been on the news, she hadn’t seen it or heard about it. But that wasn’t too surprising. She’d been so busy she hadn’t even turned on the TV. “What’s your name?”

In an attempt to control her emotions, the woman took two tissues and blew her nose. “Gloria. Gloria Rickman.”

“Gloria, I’m Jane Burke. Please sit down so we can talk.” Jane returned the tissue box to its generally ignored corner, then pulled a chair away from the wall, placing it in front of the desk, where it would’ve been if she’d been in the habit of taking her own cases. She was still in training, had been since she’d started six months ago, which meant she did all the tedious record searches, time-consuming court runs and boring clerical work for the three partners who were the backbone of the victims’ charity. But she had a feeling the criminal justice courses she’d been taking, and everything she’d learned on the job, was about to pay off. With Skye Willis and Ava Trussell in South America on a rare job-for-hire, tracking a father who’d stolen his child from his ex-wife, and Sheridan Granger out on maternity leave, Jane had been left in charge of the office. This was the perfect time to tackle her first case. Other than the three volunteers who came in to stuff envelopes or solicit donations, she was the only person here.

“Let me get a notebook. Then I want you to tell me what’s upset you so much.”

The chair creaked as the woman settled into it. Rolls of flesh spilled over the wooden frame, but Jane didn’t care about her excess weight. She’d once been heavy herself. Maybe not quite to this degree, but definitely frumpy. If not for the counseling, daily workout sessions and self-defense classes that’d become her routine-all a product in one way or another of her friendship with Skye-she’d probably still be the disillusioned, overweight, hard-edged smoker she’d been four years ago.

Now she ran an hour a day, weighed a trim one hundred and ten pounds, and had stopped trying to kill herself with cigarettes. Only her smoker’s voice remained. And the scars from that period of her life, of course. They’d never go away entirely-especially the ones on the inside.

“I’m here ’bout my two sisters,” Gloria said. “They went missin’ three weeks ago.”

“Three weeks ago?” Jane echoed, unable to hide her shock.

Tears welled up again. “Three weeks ago las’ Saturday.”

It was Monday morning. That added another day, almost two.

“Why haven’t I heard about this?”

“I don’t know. There were articles in the paper. I reported it to the police the same afternoon it happened,” she said, “but the detective who called me ain’t found nothin’ yet. He’s been tryin’, but…no one’s got any idea where my sisters are an’…I’m so scared. That’s why I’m here. I have to do somethin’ more. I can’t jus’ sit around an’ wait. I’m all they have. I’m all they ever had.”

“Where’re your parents?”

“We have different fathers, but none of ’em are any good,” she said. “Our mother didn’t hang with the best crowd, you hear what I’m sayin’? She died of a drug overdose when I was twenty-three. I was the oldest and had my own place, so I moved my sisters in with me. Latisha, the youngest, wasn’t even in high school yet.”

Jane could easily identify with being raised by another member of the family. Her parents had been killed in a car accident when she was six, leaving her to be raised by an aging aunt who’d stayed single her entire life and had since died, as well. “Where do you live?”

“In a one-bedroom apartment on Marconi. We been there since they came to live with me. It’s a small place, but we make it work. I won’t uproot ’em again and again and again, like what my mama did to me.”

“It’s wonderful that you’ve been able to provide some stability,” Jane said. “How long ago did you assume responsibility for them?”

“It’s been ’bout three years now. They eighteen and seventeen. They both graduated this last June,” she stated proudly. “Marcie got her GED, but Latisha, she was put up a grade on account of she’s so smart. She graduated with honors and won a scholarship to Sac State.”

So the missing sisters were, for the most part, adults. That was probably why this case hadn’t become a major focus for the media. That and the fact that there’d been nothing more to report. “Did you have an argument with them? Try to punish them? Anything that might’ve made them angry enough to leave?”

“We argue all the time, but that ain’t what’s wrong, Ms.-”

“Jane. You can call me Jane.”

“They ain’t never left before. They know I yell ’cause I want ’em to be more and have more than our mother. They gotta go to college. They keep tryin’ to drop out so they can help me keep a roof over our heads. It’s tough to earn a livin’ workin’ at a convenience store. I put in a good sixty, seventy hours a week. But I got Marcie’s tuition at ARC to pay for, in addition to all the other bills. They’re what make it worth doin’-knowin’ they’ll have a better life if I keep goin’. I can’t lose ’em.” More tears streaked her bronze cheeks. “We been through too much. It can’t end like this.”

Already Jane feared she might be in over her head. Be careful what you wish for, she silently chided herself. She’d been bugging Skye to let her start taking on her own cases, and Skye kept saying she wasn’t ready. But if she didn’t get involved now, Gloria would have to wait for Skye and Ava to return. Depending on what happened in South America, that could take a week to ten days, maybe longer. With the economy the way it was, donations were down by a significant margin. Skye and Ava needed to finish this job in order to keep the charity’s doors open. That was the only reason Skye’s husband had agreed to her going so far away. He was the one who’d insisted Ava go with her, since he couldn’t take the time off work. They wouldn’t be back until the woman who’d contracted them had her child back. And Sheridan, their other partner, was planning to spend the next three or four months at home with her new baby.

“Have you been in touch with all their friends?” Jane asked. “Do you have any other family in the area?”

“I talked to everybody. I been on the phone night an’ day. Ain’t nobody seen ’em.”

“When’s the last time you had contact?”

“That same Saturday. Latisha was sleepin’ when I had Marcie take me to work. Latisha had to wait tables at noon and Marcie had to be at the Rancho Cordova Marriott at three. She’s a maid.” She leaned forward, as if taking Jane into her confidence. “I let ’em work part-time if they’re keepin’ up with their schoolwork and all.” She rocked back. “Anyway, Latisha never showed up at the restaurant. I didn’t know ’cause nobody called me. But when Marcie didn’t go to work like she always does, the hotel wanted to know what was what. I tried her cell, but it kept goin’ to voice mail.”

“So you’re thinking they disappeared from your apartment?”

“No. As soon as I could get someone to cover the store, I took the bus home and foun’ the house jus’ fine, locked up an’ everythin’. But the car was gone. We have a little Honda Civic.”

Jane made a note of this information. “Is there any chance your sisters could be into drugs, Gloria?”

“Oh, no! You think I’d let that happen after I watched my mama kill herself with that shit? After all I done to raise ’em up good? They wouldn’t dare. They know I’d kick their asses clear to kingdom come.”

Jane believed she would, too. “Where do you think they might’ve driven?”

Gloria’s double chin wagged as she shook her head. “With the price of gas, they had no business goin’ nowhere. We gotta pinch pennies jus’ to survive. Mosta the time, we take the bus. But maybe Marcie decided to buy some doughnuts and a paper. She been talkin’ ’bout gettin’ a new job, a better one. That’s my best guess, since the car was found near Hank’s Donuts. Hank’s is our favorite.”

Jane quickly tried to assemble the scenario in her mind. Car abandoned; girls missing. Both sisters were going to school and working. They were also living in an environment that wasn’t easy by any stretch of the imagination, but it was very apparent that they were at least loved. What could’ve gone wrong?

“What condition was the car in? Did it have a flat, a breakdown?” she asked.

“That car has one problem after another. It ain’t worth but a few hundred bucks. But the police found it parked on a residential street off Franklin Boulevard, a few blocks from the doughnut place, like I said. And it was runnin’ jus’ fine.”

“Was there anything inside to indicate where your sisters had been that morning-some napkins from Hank’s? A grocery sack? A Starbucks cup?”

“Jus’ the books and stuff they leave in there all the time. I keep tellin’ ’em not to leave their backpacks in the car. It don’t even lock right. But sometimes they do. You know what kids are like these days.”

This woman was only in her twenties, but she acted a lot closer to Jane’s forty-six. With so much responsibility thrust on her at such a young age, she probably felt at least forty. “What about cell phones? Have the police checked to see if they’ve been used since Latisha and Marcie disappeared?”

“Their phones were in the car.” Covering her face, Gloria broke into sobs but spoke through them. “That’s another way I knew they didn’t walk off. They wouldn’t leave their phones behind. We got no money for two extra cell phones but they’d rather go without food.”

This wasn’t sounding very hopeful. Jane forced a pleasant expression to cover her concern. “Do you have the phones? We’ll need to check all incoming and outgoing calls. It’s possible they know someone you didn’t realize they know. Maybe that person’s seen them since you have.”

“The police have the phones. A detective’s goin’ through their recent calls.”

“Which detective is that?”

“They gave the case to a white guy named Willis. He a handsome man. But he wearin’ a weddin’ ring. I checked.”

Jane might’ve been tempted to laugh at Gloria’s aside, but she was too distracted by the name. “Did you say Willis?”

“Yes, ma’am, I did.”

Too bad. Willis was Skye’s husband. That would be tricky if Jane wanted to hide her involvement from her bosses, who wouldn’t be happy to hear she’d dived in without permission.

On the other hand, having David on the case was fortuitous, too, since he was cooperative and sympathetic to what they were trying to accomplish at The Last Stand. Not all members of the department were friendly. They believed the mere existence of TLS sent a message to the community that the police weren’t being effective. Some of the unflattering comments Skye, Ava and Sheridan occasionally made to the media didn’t help. “Your husband’s the cop, not you!” someone had yelled at Skye a few weeks ago.

Jane wasn’t a cop, either. She wasn’t even a full caseworker. Not yet. But if she’d learned anything in the past six months it was that drive, determination and sheer hard work could make up for a lot in an investigation.

Gloria was explaining the situation in greater detail. Taking a deep breath, Jane refocused.

“I guess Detective Willis worked them cases down by the American River a few years back.” She wiped her nose. “Murders. They think this might be related.”

Jane felt her eyebrows slide up. If those cases were the ones that sprang immediately to her mind, this wasn’t related. It couldn’t be. Jane knew the perpetrator. She’d been living with him at the time. Oliver Burke was dead. But the memory of what he’d done in the years she’d been married to him still made her shudder. He’d been so good at compartmentalizing, at playing whatever part he needed to play in order to avoid detection. He’d fooled even her, right up until the end.

That was what she had to offer The Last Stand that none of the others could, she reminded herself. She knew how a psychopath thought, how he behaved, how manipulative he could be. Not only had she shared a decade of her life with Oliver, she had a child by him-and was nearly murdered by him, too.

“I’ll give Detective Willis a call,” she told Gloria. “I know him. He’s a friend.”

The chair groaned as Gloria shifted. “You don’t think my sisters are dead, do you? I can’t even imagine what I’d do if they was dead.”

Jane wanted to promise that they weren’t. But Latisha and Marcie had been gone for three weeks. They’d left their car and their cell phones behind, and there’d been no trace of them. What were the chances that they weren’t lying lifeless in the woods somewhere? The only thing they had going for them was the fact that they’d been together. That was better than disappearing alone. Unless the worst had happened. Then Gloria would lose both sisters at once.

“We’ll find them, one way or another,” she said. “Can you get me some photographs?”

“I got ’em right here.” She took several pictures from a large purse, as well as a crudely made flyer. “I been postin’ that flyer everywhere I can.”

Jane accepted these items, stared into the faces of the missing girls and felt a renewed sense of urgency as they became real to her. One had a distinctly darker complexion than the other, cornrows and a nose piercing. The name Marcie was written at the bottom. The other, Latisha, had almond-shaped eyes, a wide smile and an attractive bob. “Good idea,” she said. “I’ll do what I can from here.”

“Thank you.” Gloria dabbed at her wet cheeks. “I-I got no money, but I’ll do whatever I-”

“Don’t worry about fees,” Jane hurried to interject, setting the pictures and the flyer, which had the word MISSING written in large block letters across the top, on the edge of her desk. “Our services are free to those who need them.”

Relief eased some of the tension in the other woman’s bearing. “Hallelujah! Thank you, God.”

“I might require some insight or answers as we go along, however,” Jane continued. “Can you give me your contact information?”

Gloria complied with an address, work number and cell phone number.

“What about their fathers, and your father?” Jane asked. “Can you tell me how to reach these men?”

“What would you want with my no-good father?”

“I’m just being thorough.”

“I don’t want him callin’ me again.” She sank lower in her seat. “But…I’ll do anything if it’ll help. His name’s Timothy Huff. I don’t have a number for him, but you can find him down at the pool hall on Florin Road most Fridays, drunker’n a skunk.”

That was loose contact information indeed. “And Marcie’s dad?”

“He call every once in a while from prison.”

At least they could rule him out. “What’s he in for?”

“Possession.”

“That leaves Latisha’s dad.”

Gloria shook her head. “You don’t wanna bother Luther Wilson. He got a’ anger management problem. We call him Lucifer, but we do it behind his back. That’s how bad he is.”

“Does he know his daughter’s missing?”

“I haven’t told him,” she said. “What’s the use? He don’ care ’bout her. He never has.”

Jane dropped her pen and steepled her fingers. “How’d your mother meet these men?”

“Turnin’ tricks.”

“You’re saying she was a prostitute?”

“She had to pay for her drugs somehow.”

That explained a lot. “What’s so scary about Lucifer-I mean, Luther?” she corrected.

“He was her pimp, and he beat the hell out of her.”

Now Jane knew she was in over her head. She liked to believe a bottle of bleach and a couple of tattoos made her look tough. But at five foot four she was no match for an angry pimp. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Standing, she managed a smile. “Thanks for coming in. I’ll call you when I’ve had a chance to do some checking.”

When Jane walked her to the door, Gloria said, “Thank you. Thank you so much.”

Jane wasn’t prepared for the embrace that accompanied those words, but as Gloria’s shoulders shook beneath her arms, she felt a renewed determination. She wanted to help, but could she handle this case?

Pimps. Prostitutes. Drugs. She’d never been part of that world. She’d lived with a psychopath, but Oliver was dead, and she was safe. She’d been safe for nearly five years…

Jumping into this was asking for trouble. Most people were kidnapped or killed by a family member or friend, which meant she had to contact Latisha’s father. She had to talk to everyone associated with the missing girls. That was one of the cardinal rules of a good investigation.

But if Luther had anything to do with what had happened to his daughter and her sister, he certainly wouldn’t want her snooping around…

Sebastian Costas held the slip of paper the ATM had just spit out closer to his face. This wasn’t a pleasant way to start the week. Was the damn machine running out of ink? Because the figure he saw had to be missing a zero. He knew he was getting low on funds. It’d been more than a year since he’d worked. In addition to the payments on his Manhattan flat and vehicles-not to mention parking for those vehicles-he’d spent a fortune on private investigators, skip tracers, airfare, hotels and rental cars. But…

“Shit, I must’ve thought the money would last forever.” Apparently, he’d gotten too used to being able to buy whatever he wanted.

What now? he asked himself. He couldn’t keep on like this.

“Excuse me. Are you finished?”

A woman stood behind him, waiting to use the ATM. He hadn’t heard her approach, hadn’t sensed her presence. He’d been too absorbed in considering what the paltry figure on that receipt signified.

Muttering an apology, he crumpled the paper and tossed it in the garbage on his way to the car. Nearing the end of his money meant he was almost out of time. He had a month, max. Then he’d be absolutely broke and the effort he’d put into his search would be wasted because all progress would grind to a halt.

He couldn’t let that happen. He was closer now than he’d ever been.

His cell phone rang. Caller ID showed it was Constance, the woman he’d been dating when he left New York two months ago. They’d been together since before Emily and Colton were killed. But she was growing impatient with his lengthy absence and the intensity of his preoccupation.

He almost silenced the ringer and let it go to voice mail. He didn’t want to talk to her right now. But ignoring her call could very easily mean the end of their relationship. He was already hanging on to her by a very thin thread. Did he want his life to be in total ruins after the nightmare he’d been living was over?

No. He needed to fight for her, fight for what was left of his former existence. “Hello?”

She didn’t bother with a greeting. “Have you thought about it?” she demanded.

“Thought about what?” He knew exactly what she meant, but he was stalling for time. Although he’d had all morning to think about it, he wasn’t any closer to making a decision now than when she’d delivered her ultimatum late last night.

“About coming home! Will you give up this…this obsession, Sebastian?”

Obsession? Was that what it’d become? He supposed so. A man didn’t abandon the kind of life he’d led for less. He’d been making more than half a million a year as one of the best investment bankers in NYC-until his ex-wife and son were murdered. After that, all he’d cared about was finding the man responsible.

Of course, given what the market had done since he’d taken leave from his job, he probably wouldn’t have continued to make that amount even if he’d kept on working.

He unlocked the Lexus he’d rented. “Why the sudden rush, Constance?”

“Rush?” she echoed with incredulity. “I’ve waited eighteen months for our lives to return to normal.”

“I’ve only been gone two.”

“Are you kidding me? In the past year and a half, you’ve traveled all over the country, talking to various people, researching leads. Even when you were home, you shut yourself up in your condo and worked like some kind of mad scientist. This case is all you’ve been able to think about since the night it happened. We haven’t made love in four months, haven’t had a decent conversation since you turned into Dick Tracy.”

He’d loved her, would’ve married her if murder hadn’t disrupted his whole world. But what used to be didn’t matter. Colton and Emily were dead and Emily’s money was gone. Why? He couldn’t give up the quest to uncover the truth. He was Emily and Colton ’s last hope-the only person, besides his own mother perhaps, who truly believed Malcolm Turner was still alive.

“I can’t blame you for being disappointed.” He slid behind the wheel and cranked the engine. A Sacramento winter wasn’t nearly as cold as a New York winter, but it was chilly enough to require a heater.

“Then what are you going to do about it?”

She was far more direct now than she’d been before, which made him assume she might’ve met someone else. He’d expected it to happen a lot sooner, couldn’t blame her for being ready to move on. A model-turned-stock-analyst, she was intelligent, successful, beautiful.

And yet, every day he widened the chasm between them. He couldn’t promise to fly back to New York because he knew he’d break that promise. When he and other family members had gone through the house and boxed up Colton ’s and Emily’s belongings, they hadn’t found several things they should have. One was evidence of where the money had gone, money Emily had mentioned to him a week before her death. She’d said there was a safety-deposit box containing the five-hundred-thousand-dollar insurance settlement she’d received for being hit by a drunk driver. She’d said she was keeping it liquid, saving it for a new life, one without Malcolm in it, and showed him where he could find the key in case something should ever happen to her.

Planning to donate it to NYU-where Colton had hoped to go to school-Sebastian had attempted to claim it. The key was there. But the box was empty. And there was no indication of where the money had been moved.

Malcolm had not only killed Emily and Colton, he’d profited from it. Sebastian was sure of that.

“Malcolm didn’t die in the crash, Constance.”

“Oh, God, here we go again!”

It was beginning to rain. The windshield wipers came on automatically-a minor luxury he wouldn’t be able to afford much longer. Considering his financial situation, he’d have to get a cheaper rental car.

“And what evidence do you have?” she went on. “That insurance settlement you’re always talking about? You told me yourself Malcolm liked to gamble on football games, basketball games, any kind of sporting event. Did it ever occur to you that he paid off his debts with that money?”

“If he paid off his debts, why didn’t he pay off his credit cards, some of which were at almost thirty-percent interest?” Sebastian had seen the bills when he cleaned out the house. Emily’s parents had died in a plane crash just after he and Emily had divorced, so even her stuff had fallen to him.

“Maybe they weren’t as good at financial planning as you are. Or maybe they paid off things you know nothing about,” Constance responded. “Maybe they helped a family member who was about to lose his house. You weren’t still married to Emily, Sebastian. Malcolm was her husband. For all you know, they invested it and lost everything.”

He shook his head, even though she couldn’t see him. “There would’ve been proof of any investments.”

“You want to talk proof?” she nearly shouted. “The police have DNA evidence! Do you know what DNA evidence means? It’s irrefutable. It means the body found in that car was Malcolm Turner’s!”

Clenching his jaw, Sebastian struggled to control the urge to lash out. These days she always seemed to get under his skin. “It wasn’t much of a body. It was mostly ashes. And he wouldn’t kill himself, Connie.”

“He would if prison was his only other alternative. You know what they do to cops in prison.”

Sebastian pictured the man he’d been chasing for a year. The buzzed red hair; the freckles that covered his face and arms; the blue eyes and long, effeminate gold eyelashes; the stubborn jaw; the short but stocky-bordering-on-overweight build. “He was too arrogant to give up that easily.”

“Arrogant,” she repeated in disgust. “That’s what has you turning over every rock between here and the Pacific? Sebastian, we’ve been through this dozens of times. It’s no secret that Emily and Malcolm were having problems. Emily told several people she wanted a divorce. She probably tried to act on it and, being the control freak he was, Malcolm snapped and killed her and Colton. Then he realized what he’d done and killed himself.”

“Maybe that scenario would be easier to accept if it was your son and not mine,” he said.

She didn’t have any children, but it was still a cheap shot. The pain he felt at Colton ’s loss ate at him like acid, made him act in ways he’d never guessed he would. Some of that was because he felt partially responsible for Emily’s helplessness. She’d had no family to rely on. He should’ve done more to help her.

“Screw you,” she said. “I’m tired of being sensitive. I’ve done all I can to support you. And now-”

“And now that I’m really finding something, you’re giving up. Malcolm’s in Sacramento. He tracked down his high-school girlfriend and moved here to be close to her. And he’s living on the money he stole from Emily.”

“Or you’re more involved with his ex-girlfriend than you want to admit,” she said.

He rolled his eyes. There’d never been anything between him and the woman who’d placed the call that had brought him to the west coast. They’d only met face-to-face twice, and that was in a coffee shop. “We’re friends, Constance. I’m here because Malcolm’s here. You’ve seen the transcripts of their chats. I’ve faxed them to you.”

“Who’s Your Daddy could be anyone! He claims to be someone named Wesley Boss who lives in L.A., and for all we know that’s true.”

“It’s Turner, Connie. Mary should know. She dated him for two years.”

“Why’d she have to call you?” she muttered.

Because he’d tracked her down first, her and anyone else Malcolm had ever known, and asked them to call if they ever heard from him. He’d also told them why. “Are you kidding? She was an angel to do it. Judging by some of the things this Wesley Boss has said, he’s far more familiar with Northern California than Southern California. I don’t believe he’s in L.A. I believe he’s right here in Sacramento.”

“That’s it,” she said. “I can’t do this anymore. I now realize I’ve been hanging on to a dream, to the memory of a man who no longer exists.”

Closing his eyes, Sebastian let his head fall back. She’d just accused him of being interested in someone else, but it was probably the other way around. “What’s his name?” he asked.

No answer.

“ Constance?”

“Stop it. This isn’t about another man. This is about me being unable to cope with the person you’ve become. It’s over between us,” she snapped and hung up.

Panic, caused by the finality in her voice, tempted Sebastian to call her back. But he didn’t. They’d never agree. Besides, she was better off without him. All he could think about was finding answers to the questions that’d been burning inside him since that hot summer day last year. That was when Emily’s neighbor had gone over to see why Emily hadn’t shown up to carpool for basketball practice and stumbled upon two bodies. They’d been murdered the night before.

Opening his eyes, he focused on the transcripts in the seat next to him. Whoever sent those instant messages and e-mails to Mary claimed to be someone she’d met in the past, someone named Wesley Boss as Constance said, but Mary didn’t remember a Wesley Boss. Their first contact had come through a Web site she used to sell jewelry she made as a hobby, so it could’ve been anyone. After several months of “talking” to this person online, she’d come to the conclusion that it had to be her high-school sweetheart-Malcolm Turner. He knew too much about her to be anyone else.

Sebastian had flown to Sacramento, hoping that the alias Malcolm was using would be enough to find him, but it hadn’t been so far. He’d managed to track down only four men in California named Wesley Boss, three in L.A. and one in Bakersfield. One was an old priest who didn’t even have a computer, one was happily married with five kids, one was a ten-year-old, and the other, the one from Bakersfield, was dying of cancer. Mary had been trying to get Sebastian an address almost from the moment she’d figured out who she was really dealing with, but Malcolm was too cautious. A man with his background knew how risky it was to contact someone from his former life. That made him traceable, if anyone was bothering to look. And Sebastian was doing more than looking-he was scrutinizing every possibility. He’d even hired a private investigator to see if he could trace through whatever means-legal or not-where the e-mails were coming from. But Malcolm was using a remote server. He’d thought of everything.

Popping the transmission into reverse, he backed out of the parking space. Regardless of the cost, he couldn’t give up. Mary was his conduit to the bastard who’d killed Emily and Colton and, right or wrong, he’d keep the promise he made while bearing their coffins to the grave.

“Are you sure you want to get involved in this?”

Detective Willis’s voice came over the phone as Jane stood at her stove, stirring the homemade broccoli-and-cheddar-cheese soup she was making for Kate’s dinner. She’d grabbed a chicken salad as a late lunch and didn’t plan on eating much more today. Now that she was thin again, there was no way she’d let herself gain weight. She wanted nothing to do with the woman she’d been during the Oliver years. Her status as a wealthy socialite before Oliver went to prison; her subsequent fall from grace and expulsion from the tennis-club set; her downward spiral, driven by desperation and despair; her illicit affair with Oliver’s brother; even her job as a two-bit hairstylist. That wasn’t who she was anymore. Taking this case was part of her transformation. “I’m positive.”

“I’m doing all I can, Jane,” he said. “I’ve gone to Luther Wilson’s house three different times. He’s never home or he won’t answer, I don’t know which. I’ve left my card, but he never calls.”

“He opened the door to me.”

“Probably because you’re a woman and quite obviously a civilian. He didn’t feel threatened.”

“So? I got to talk to him. That helps, doesn’t it?”

“Of course it helps, but you don’t have the experience to-”

“How will I get any experience if I never have my own cases? I mean, come on-you have so much to do. With Skye and Ava out of town, and Sheridan on maternity leave, I have time. I can focus on this. Why not let me do some of the legwork?”

“Because I’m not thrilled about you going into Oak Park like you did this evening. Who knows what other risks you might take?”

She’d known in advance that it might be unsafe. She’d brought her gun, hadn’t she? When she’d married Oliver, she’d had no idea of the monster that raged behind his pleasant face… “Are you telling me I did something Skye wouldn’t have?” she challenged.

There was a slight pause. “No. The fact that she’s in South America right now should tell you that. I’m certainly not happy about it.”

“Exactly. I did what I needed to do, and I handled the situation just fine. I believe Luther Wilson will look around, like he said, and call us if he comes up with anything.”

“What if this case really heats up, gets dangerous?”

His mention of heat reminded Jane to lower the temperature on the burner so she wouldn’t burn the soup. “If every person in law enforcement thought only of the danger, the bad guys would win every time. Then no one would be safe.” What if Skye hadn’t taken the risks she did? Jane wouldn’t be around. “Anyway, in this instance, I think the chances of any danger, at least to me, are minimal. These poor girls are probably dead.” Jane hated to acknowledge that, but it was true. And if she wanted to be good at her new job, her new life, she had to deal in the truth. Deal with the truth. When this was over, she’d be lucky to be able to tell Gloria what’d happened to her sisters.

“You could handle that?” he asked. “You could handle getting a call tomorrow saying their bodies have been found?”

“Stop protecting me,” she said. “That kind of loss is hard, but it’s part of what we do. I’m tired of all the coddling. Skye’s protected me for too long. I’ve been at the charity for six months. I’m eager to take my own cases.”

He blew out an audible sigh. “Then what can I say?”

“Say you’ll welcome my help.” Kate entered the kitchen, dropped a kiss on her cheek and grabbed some of the bread Jane had set out for dinner. “Hi, babe,” she murmured before returning to her conversation. “David?”

“Okay, you can help.”

“Good. Is there anything you’ve uncovered that you’d like to share with me?”

“I wish there was,” he said. “I’ve spent three weeks on this case and have almost nothing to show for it.”

“Have you had a chance to talk to Timothy Huff?”

“Gloria’s father? Don’t worry about him. He has an airtight alibi. He was in Arkansas when the girls went missing, staying with a cousin. As a matter of fact, he’s still there.”

So she wouldn’t have to visit the pool hall this coming Friday. “What about the car?”

“We processed it from bumper to bumper and found nothing suspicious. No blood. No foreign strands of hair or other trace evidence. No unusual objects. No receipts. Nothing. I’m guessing whoever kidnapped these girls didn’t have to drag them from the car.”

“You’re saying they got out willingly?”

“It appears that way.”

“So maybe a fellow motorist flagged them down to ask for help? Or waved for them to get off the road because something was wrong with the car?”

“Or they saw someone they knew and trusted,” David added. “A guy one of them had met at a dance place. A friend from work.”

“That opens up a lot of possibilities.”

“This won’t be an easy problem to solve, Jane.”

She nudged Kate’s fingers away from the fruit salad she’d made for dessert. “What about the media?” she asked David. “Could they be of some help?”

“I’ve been in regular contact with them. They’re running the story again tonight.”

She’d have to record the news. “Maybe that’ll stir up some leads.”

“It always does-but I can’t promise they’ll be viable.”

“You’ve already interviewed all the girls’ neighbors, coworkers, friends?”

“Of course.”

“Can I get a copy of your file?”

“I don’t see why not. Just don’t mention that I passed it along.”

“I won’t.” She switched off the burner. The soup was ready. “Where are you now?”

“Home with the kids. But I have the file with me and I have a fax machine in the back room. You want it tonight?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind.”

She laid the spoon she’d been using in the sink. “Fax it to TLS and I’ll pick it up after I get Kate fed.”

“Pick what up, Mommy?” Kate asked as Jane disconnected.

Setting her cell phone on the counter, she turned to her daughter, who seemed to be maturing more and more every day. “Some paperwork on my new case.”

“Your new case? You have your own case?”

“Yep. I got my first one this morning.”

Kate smiled brightly. Her wide dark eyes, thick brown hair and creamy skin-as well as the curves that were just becoming noticeable-promised great beauty. Her face reminded Jane of a young Brooke Shields, but she had little chance of being very tall, not with a mother who was only five foot four and a father who was five foot nine.

“So what’s your case about?” she asked as she slathered butter on her bread.

Oliver had gone to prison when Kate was three and had been killed shortly after he came out when she was seven, so losing him hadn’t affected her as much as knowing what he’d done. But it was hard to live in the shadow of such evil. Jane preferred to shield her daughter from the uglier details of the cases they tackled at TLS. “I’m trying to find two girls, possibly runaways.”

“How old are they?”

“Seventeen and eighteen,” she said, dishing up the soup.

“Why did they run away?”

“We’re not sure.”

She swallowed the bread in her mouth. “I hope you find them.”

Jane smiled. Maybe she’d been shortchanged in the husband arena, but having such a great daughter made up for it. For the most part, anyway. There were times Jane lay awake at night, remembering what it’d been like to love Oliver’s brother, Noah. Despite the betrayal that’d caused her so much anguish, he’d been a good man, the exact opposite of Oliver. Tall, handsome, strong, honest, giving. He’d owned her heart.

“What’s wrong, Mommy?”

Quickly pulling herself out of the melancholy that threatened whenever she thought of Noah-their love, their mistakes, her heartbreak, his murder-she summoned another smile. “Nothing, why?”

“You had such a sad look on your face.” Her daughter’s lip came out in a pout.

Jane carried Kate’s soup to the table. “I’m not sad. We have a comfortable home, we’re both safe and healthy, I like my job and you’re doing well in school. You even get to spend every other weekend with Grandma and Grandpa Burke. What more could we ask?”

Again, the image of Noah drawing her into his arms, of their lips meeting, appeared in Jane’s mind. Not only did she miss his lovemaking, Jane missed his laugh, his conversation, his support. He’d been her life the entire time Oliver was in prison.

But so what if she no longer had the companionship she craved? If, after nearly five years of celibacy, her body hungered for a man’s touch? She didn’t have a boyfriend. And a casual encounter was completely out of the question. She was too afraid of what lurked beneath the smiles of the men she met. She’d once believed she’d married so well. Oliver had been a successful dentist. So pleasant. So friendly. So smart.

And an absolute sociopath.

Remaining single was far safer than seeking another relationship. She knew from experience that there were worse things than loneliness.

The jangle of her phone came to Jane in a dream. She heard it ringing, but it had no relevance to her. It was someone else’s phone. Distant. Removed. Then silence-until a much more subtle disturbance woke her.

Opening her eyes to total darkness, she blinked. For months after Oliver had left her lying in her own blood, she’d dreamt she heard him in the hallway, coming to finish what he’d started. He always had a knife in his hand and the look of murder in his eyes. She knew that look because she was one of the few who’d seen it and lived to tell about it. The nightmare was so vivid she could smell him, feel the warmth of his body as he drew close, his fingernails biting into her arm as he dragged her up against him-

“Mom?”

Jane gasped. She could breathe. It wasn’t real. Oliver was dead. The noise that’d awakened her had been Kate. Her daughter was standing in the doorway. “Wh-what?” she said, willing her heart to slow its pounding.

Kate came to the side of the bed. “Didn’t you hear me? Someone’s on the phone for you. And she sounds like she’s crying.”

Who would call her in the middle of the night crying? Sheridan? Skye? Had there been an accident?

Alarmed, she threw off the covers and sat up. Then the memory of the day’s events snapped into place, along with the news snippet she’d watched before bed, and she realized that her caller could be someone else.

“Thanks, babe.” The time on her clock radio indicated it wasn’t the middle of the night as Jane had thought. It was only ten-thirty. She’d been asleep for half an hour. “Go back to bed,” she told Kate, but her daughter didn’t leave. Understandably curious-they didn’t receive many calls like this-she sat on the edge of the bed as Jane brought the receiver to her ear. “Hello?”

“Ms. Burke-Jane?”

It wasn’t Skye or Sheridan. It was Gloria, as she’d suspected. “Yes?”

“They jus’ called me,” she blurted, so breathless she could hardly speak.

Jane cleared her throat to eliminate the rasp of sleep. “Who just called you? Latisha and Marcie?”

“Marcie, I think. I couldn’t tell for sure. She was talkin’ so low I could barely hear her.”

The mind-numbing fatigue fell away like a cast-off shirt. “What’d she say?”

“She say, ‘Gloria, you gotta help us.’ I say, ‘Where are you? Tell me where you’re at an’ I’ll be there.’ An’ she say, ‘I don’t know.’ So I told her to hang up and call 9-1-1. But she say she already tried that an’ they put her on hold while they sent a cruiser.”

“A cruiser’s good.”

“I know, but she was so terrified she panicked. She hung up and called me. I told her, ‘Give me some clue, baby. Help me find you.’ But she was cryin’ so hard she couldn’t talk. All she could say is, ‘Oh, God, he’s here!’ Then the line went dead.”

Jane’s blood seemed to freeze in her veins. The girls were alive. But where? In what condition? And who had them?

“Someone has ’em both,” Gloria was saying. “She said us. I heard that much. They’re alive, but I don’t know for how long. We gotta find ’em!”

Jane clutched the phone tighter. If they were alive, they needed someone better than her. Just hearing about Marcie’s call-Oh, God, he’s here-made Jane’s own past rush up on her like a wave surging from behind. She tried to beat back the fear, but with little success. She’d already broken into a cold sweat.

“Hello?” Gloria cried when she didn’t speak.

Drawing a deep breath, Jane forced a calm she didn’t feel. She had to pretend she was everything Gloria thought she was, had to act as if she knew what she was doing or she’d be letting her client down. What good would it do to add to the poor woman’s panic? “Have you contacted Detective Willis?” she asked.

“I called the number on his card, but it went straight to voice mail.”

Of course it did. Jane hadn’t been thinking when she’d asked that question. Detectives were basically on call twenty-four hours a day, but that didn’t make them available to the general public. “I can reach him at home,” she said. “Did your phone show the number Marcie called from?”

“It did. It wasn’t blocked. I got it right here, on my list of incoming calls. But I already dialed it at least a dozen times, and I can’t get anyone to pick up. A recording comes on, saying the voice-mail box hasn’t been set up yet.”

Jane wished Gloria hadn’t done that. The ring might’ve alerted Marcie’s captor to the fact that she’d made a call. But she didn’t want to make Gloria feel bad for doing what anyone would want to do under the circumstances. “Give me the number. If we’re lucky, I can find the owner via a reverse directory. Or maybe David can get the information from the phone company.”

Gloria’s voice shook as she dictated each digit, but she was careful to enunciate.

“I’ll call David and get back to you,” Jane promised.

Throughout the conversation, Gloria had held up admirably, but now she broke into tears, as she had in Jane’s office. “Can you find ’em? You gotta find ’em. Right away. I can’t live without ’em. They all I got.”

And you’re counting on me? Jane was hoping that aborted call to 9-1-1 had been more helpful than it appeared. Maybe it was just a matter of time before they heard from the police. Maybe the cruiser dispatched by the emergency operator had arrived…

Maybe she’d be able to believe that if whoever had taken Marcie and her sister hadn’t appeared while Marcie was using the phone.

“I know. I’ll talk to you in a few minutes,” she said, and hung up.

Movement from across the bed startled her. She’d become so engrossed in the conversation, she’d forgotten her daughter was in the room.

“What is it, Mommy?” Kate asked, creeping closer.

“Someone needs help.” Jane took her daughter’s hand. As usual, having Kate beside her made her grateful that they were alive and together. The situation five years ago could’ve ended very differently. But after Gloria’s call, even Kate’s reassuring presence couldn’t keep the doubt that plagued Jane from striking deep.

Maybe Ava’s right about me. Maybe Oliver put me through too much, and now I don’t have the nerve to do this job. She felt physically ill at the thought of what might be happening to Latisha and Marcie. Somehow she couldn’t imagine Skye or Sheridan or Ava taking it this personally. They all seemed to face every challenge with cool resolve.

Kate snuggled closer. “Those girls who ran away? Are they the ones who need help?”

“Yes.”

“They didn’t run away?”

“No.”

“Are you going to rescue them?”

Jane rubbed the back of her daughter’s hand against her cheek. “Do you think I’m capable of rescuing someone?”

Kate reached up to kiss her cheek. “You saved me, didn’t you?” she said. “You can do anything.”

A lump rose in Jane’s throat. “I’ll do my best,” she said. Then she sent her daughter off to bed and called David.

Several hours later, Sebastian was still up, keeping an eye on Mary’s buddy list while rereading the transcripts of her and Malcolm’s previous online sessions. If he had the opportunity, he wanted to be sure he could pick up the conversation with full knowledge of everything that’d been said before.

He’d put on a pair of boxers and a T-shirt, but hadn’t been able to relax enough to sleep. Malcolm was signed on. He’d been on for most of the night. Sebastian imagined him chatting with other women, stringing them along with compliments and promises of flowers, just like Mary.

How could he bring this bastard out of hiding?

Sebastian was dying to initiate a conversation, to see what he could do now that he had control. But it was nearly four in the morning and Malcolm knew Mary had children she had to get off to school. She also worked, which meant she was rarely up this late.

“Don’t break the pattern,” he warned himself. But he couldn’t continue to nudge Malcolm along at a leisurely pace; he needed to draw him out, make him commit.

Ignoring caution, Sebastian clicked on the WhosYourDaddy screen name. Brandon just woke up with the flu. Poor kid, he typed.

No, kid should be baby. Baby would sound more feminine. Using the backspace key, he made the change. And now I can’t go back to sleep.

He sent it, but there was no response. “Come on,” he murmured. “Forget whatever porn site you’re on and take the bait. Don’t you care about poor little Brandon?”

Sebastian adjusted his chair so he could stretch his legs. He’d been sitting too long. “Of course you don’t care about Brandon,” he said, settling in again. “You don’t care about anyone but yourself.”

After another five minutes, he made a second attempt. I keep thinking about you. Maybe that’s the real reason I can’t sleep. I get so lonely at night.

He waited…and waited. No response.

With a curse, he turned to the transcripts and skimmed through the exchanges he hadn’t reread. A lot of these conversations had taken place last September before Mary realized she was dealing with someone other than WhosYourDaddy represented himself to be, but they offered insight to the man’s psyche.

WhosYourDaddy: Are you as hot as you were when you were sixteen?

BrownEyedGirl: You don’t know?

WhosYourDaddy: I haven’t seen you for years.

BrownEyedGirl: I’ve sent you pictures. You’re the one who hasn’t sent me any pics. Where are they, by the way?

WhosYourDaddy: I lost my camera. I’ll get one taken soon, though.

Sebastian paged through to find the Xeroxed picture Malcolm had eventually sent. It was of a man handsome enough to be appealing but regular enough to be believable-a smart choice, and probably no one Malcolm even knew. Sebastian’s guess was that Malcolm had taken a snapshot of some random guy and used the picture to satisfy Mary’s curiosity. Or he’d bought a stock photo.

Setting it aside, he went back to reading.

BrownEyedGirl: Do it tomorrow. I want to see who I’m talking to.

WhosYourDaddy: You know who you’re talking to.

BrownEyedGirl: No, I don’t. I still can’t remember meeting you at Joe’s party.

WhosYourDaddy: You really know how to hurt a guy’s ego. I guess I didn’t stand out.

BrownEyedGirl: There were, like…two hundred kids at Joe’s house that night. And I had a boyfriend, so I wasn’t paying much attention.

WhosYourDaddy: I remember your boyfriend. What was his name again?

BrownEyedGirl: Malcolm Turner.

WhosYourDaddy: That’s right. You were really into him.

BrownEyedGirl: No joke. I was head over heels.

WhosYourDaddy: Lucky guy.

BrownEyedGirl:

WhosYourDaddy: Have you seen him lately?

BrownEyedGirl: No. We lost touch when we graduated.

WhosYourDaddy: Do you know what became of him?

BrownEyedGirl: No idea.

WhosYourDaddy: You think about him sometimes, though, don’t you?

BrownEyedGirl: Sometimes.

WhosYourDaddy: If you’d married him, maybe you’d still be married. Maybe your kids would be his.

BrownEyedGirl: I doubt we would’ve made it. He cheated on me with Sherry Stewart. I caught them together in the bedroom at Dennis Marchant’s house. Broke my heart.

WhosYourDaddy: Only an idiot would cheat on someone as beautiful as you.

“Were you that idiot?” Sebastian asked and turned the page.

BrownEyedGirl: They got together after I broke up with him, but it didn’t last long.

WhosYourDaddy: I met her once. She wasn’t half as pretty as you.

BrownEyedGirl: Thanks. I never could understand what he saw in her.

WhosYourDaddy: She was a slut, and at that age, a guy thinks with his dick. He’s dealing with too many hormones to know when he’s got a good thing.

BrownEyedGirl: Does that ever really change? LOL

WhosYourDaddy: I’d never risk losing someone like you, that’s for sure. Were you giving it up to Malcolm?

“You already know, don’t you?” Sebastian said. “You just like thinking about it, talking about it.”

BrownEyedGirl: You can guess the answer to that question.

WhosYourDaddy: You did.

BrownEyedGirl: It’s not like I was easy. We were together for two years.

WhosYourDaddy: Would you make me wait that long before you let me touch you?

BrownEyedGirl: That depends.

WhosYourDaddy: On what?

BrownEyedGirl: On my level of trust.

WhosYourDaddy: You can trust me, babe.

BrownEyedGirl: I’d like to think so.

WhosYourDaddy: Do you ever talk to Sherry Stewart?

Sebastian checked his computer screen. Still no response from Malcolm.

BrownEyedGirl: Never. Not since that night.

WhosYourDaddy: What about your other friends from high school?

“Wondering what she’s heard about you?” Sebastian asked. WhosYourDaddy was always probing. Sometimes it was just more subtle than at other times.

BrownEyedGirl: Not really. My best friend died of cancer while we were in college. That’s when I realized I wanted something deeper than most of the people I’d hung out with in high school seemed to want. They were still partying on the weekends and screwing around. It was time for me to get serious about life. That’s when I met Jimmy.

WhosYourDaddy: At UC Berkeley?

BrownEyedGirl: Yep.

WhosYourDaddy: Did you go back to San Antonio after college?

BrownEyedGirl: No, we stayed in California to be near his family.

WhosYourDaddy: So you haven’t been to Texas in how long?

BrownEyedGirl: Years. My parents moved to Portland while I was at Berkeley, so there’s never been any reason to go back.

Fortunately, that was all true, so they didn’t have to worry about Malcolm learning otherwise.

WhosYourDaddy: Don’t you want to see Malcolm?

BrownEyedGirl: I don’t even know if he’s still there. Last I heard, his family was, but he’d moved on.

WhosYourDaddy: What if you were to hear from him? How would you react?

Sebastian had highlighted this part. It showed Malcolm throwing out more feelers, seeing how he might be received if he ever decided to reveal himself.

BrownEyedGirl: Not sure. That would depend on why he was contacting me in the first place. I still haven’t completely forgiven him. I’ve never been hurt like that, even by my ex-husband.

WhosYourDaddy: Maybe he’s changed, grown up.

BrownEyedGirl: And maybe he hasn’t. Once a cheater, always a cheater. That’s what I say.

WhosYourDaddy: You don’t know that.

BrownEyedGirl: I don’t think I could trust him again.

Unfortunately, this conversation preceded Mary’s realization that she could be talking to Malcolm or she would’ve answered differently.

WhosYourDaddy: Poor Malcolm. He’s missing out on so much.

BrownEyedGirl: Don’t give me that. He brought it on himself. I might be divorced but I’m not desperate.

WhosYourDaddy: I’d treat you better.

“Than you used to?” Sebastian murmured.

BrownEyedGirl: I’d like to believe that.

Sebastian grimaced. “If you’re smart you won’t.”

WhosYourDaddy: I’ll prove it to you.

BrownEyedGirl: Have you ever cheated?

WhosYourDaddy: I’d never cheat on someone as beautiful as you.

BrownEyedGirl: So you have cheated.

WhosYourDaddy: Not on my first wife.

BrownEyedGirl: How many wives have you had?

WhosYourDaddy: Two.

So had Malcolm.

BrownEyedGirl: You went out on your second wife?

WhosYourDaddy: She went out on me first. I think she was sleeping with her ex the whole time we were married. I know she never got over him. She was always throwing him in my face.

BrownEyedGirl: What was his name?

WhosYourDaddy: Prick, at least to me. LOL

Sebastian hesitated here. Malcolm was talking about him and Emily, but he couldn’t be more wrong. There’d been times when Sebastian had felt a spark between him and his ex. He couldn’t deny that. They’d cared about each other, cared for their son. But they’d never slept together, not after the divorce. If Emily hadn’t married Malcolm, they might’ve reconciled, but she had, and then Sebastian met Constance and everything changed.

Trying to imagine what it would’ve been like if they’d managed to reunite their family, he closed his eyes. Emily and Colton would both be alive, and Colton would have the complete family he’d always dreamed about…

It was Malcolm who’d removed that possibility. First, when he convinced Emily to marry him by pretending to be a better man than he was. Then, when he’d assumed, without any proof, that Emily was cheating on him and killed her.

Or was his unfounded accusation just an excuse to get rid of her and take the money?

His eyes too bleary to continue reading, Sebastian put the transcripts aside and reached over to turn off his computer. Before he could press the off button, however, the response he’d been waiting for finally appeared on the screen.

WhosYourDaddy: You up? Sorry, I didn’t see your message.

The exhaustion that’d been dragging at him fell away as Sebastian considered how to reply. He didn’t want this session to be more inane chitchat, leading nowhere. He wasn’t here to entertain Malcolm while Malcolm fantasized about getting it on with his ex-girlfriend.

After stretching his neck to loosen the tense muscles, he typed.

BrownEyedGirl: I’m up, all right, wishing you were here to hold me.

WhosYourDaddy: We’ll be together someday.

BrownEyedGirl: I’d like that. You make me feel special-like more than a tired soccer mom. LOL

WhosYourDaddy: Because you are special.

BrownEyedGirl: Do you mean that? Or is it just a bunch of writing on a screen?

WhosYourDaddy: Touch yourself for me. Be my hands. I’ll tell you what to do.

Sebastian rolled his eyes. Internet sex? “Mary” couldn’t settle for that.

BrownEyedGirl: No, it’s not the same.

WhosYourDaddy: It’s the next best thing. I can’t be there, babe, but I can do my part from here.

BrownEyedGirl: Why won’t you agree to meet? L.A. isn’t that far.

WhosYourDaddy: I can’t.

BrownEyedGirl: Even if I come to you? I already told you I would. Let’s get together and see if what we’re feeling is as real as it seems.

There was a short delay.

WhosYourDaddy: My life is complicated right now, Mary.

BrownEyedGirl: You’re not married, are you? You haven’t been leading me on while you have a wife sleeping in the next room!

WhosYourDaddy: No, nothing like that. I swear it.

BrownEyedGirl: Then what?

WhosYourDaddy: I’m just…having some trouble with my roommates. It’s been a rough night.

BrownEyedGirl: You’ve never mentioned any roommates.

WhosYourDaddy: They didn’t have a place to stay. I was nice enough to take them in.

BrownEyedGirl: When?

WhosYourDaddy: A few weeks ago.

BrownEyedGirl: Are they male or female?

WhosYourDaddy: Female. Sisters. But there’s nothing going on between us. They’re not my type. I thought they could help out with the cooking and cleaning, that’s all.

BrownEyedGirl: Right.

WhosYourDaddy: What’s that supposed to mean?

Sebastian didn’t respond

WhosYourDaddy: I can tell what you’re thinking. But stop it. I told you, I’m not sleeping with these girls.

BrownEyedGirl: Then why don’t you want to see me?

WhosYourDaddy: I do. I’ve wanted to be with you for years.

BrownEyedGirl: And yet all you do is chat. There’s got to be a reason. You’ve got to be hiding a wife or a girlfriend.

WhosYourDaddy: I’m not! I’m just taking it slow, like you asked me to. Don’t pick a fight. We were doing fine.

BrownEyedGirl: Having no physical contact is fine? Making empty promises through a computer is fine? You say I met you at a party, but I can’t even remember what you look like.

WhosYourDaddy: I sent you a picture.

BrownEyedGirl: It’s not enough.

When this brought no answer, Sebastian got up and opened a beer from the courtesy bar. He had so much adrenaline pumping through him he couldn’t stay seated. Was he being too aggressive? Maybe. But this Internet relationship could go on indefinitely. He had to trick Malcolm into blowing his cover.

At last Malcolm’s response appeared.

WhosYourDaddy: Someday, like I said. I promise. I think about you all the time.

Sebastian studied those words. Should he give up for tonight? Back off? He decided to at least change his approach. Sitting down again, he wrote back.

BrownEyedGirl: Forget I said anything.

WhosYourDaddy: No, it’s okay to want to see me. I like that. I want to see you, too.

BrownEyedGirl: Then why don’t you pick a place to meet? Harris Ranch is between L.A. and Sacramento. We could meet there.

WhosYourDaddy: I don’t understand why you’re suddenly in such a rush. You’re the one who wanted to take this slow, remember?

BrownEyedGirl: But it’s as if I know you already. I mean, more than just a brief acquaintance. There’s a kinship here I haven’t felt with anyone in a long time. Am I crazy?

WhosYourDaddy: Not at all.

BrownEyedGirl: I think it’s because you remind me of someone I used to care about.

WhosYourDaddy: Who?

Sebastian waited, hoping his delay would make Malcolm believe “Mary” was reluctant to respond.

WhosYourDaddy: Are you going to tell me?

BrownEyedGirl: No.

WhosYourDaddy: Why not?

BrownEyedGirl: Because it doesn’t matter. It’s not like I’ll ever see him again.

WhosYourDaddy: Tell me!

The real Mary had made it sound as if she was still bitter over Malcolm’s betrayal. Sebastian needed to spin that into something more appealing. If he played it smart, maybe he could make Malcolm so eager to reclaim Mary’s adulation, the adulation he remembered from his glory days, that he couldn’t help but step forward.

BrownEyedGirl: Just someone I once knew.

WhosYourDaddy: That’s all the info I get?

BrownEyedGirl: You know him, okay? You’ve mentioned him to me before.

WhosYourDaddy: Are we talking about your ex-husband?

BrownEyedGirl: No.

WhosYourDaddy: Someone you met before that?

BrownEyedGirl: Yes.

WhosYourDaddy: This is driving me nuts, Mary. Tell me who you’re thinking about.

BrownEyedGirl: Tomorrow would’ve been our anniversary.

WhosYourDaddy: Is it Malcolm Turner?

Bingo. He knew about the anniversary.

WhosYourDaddy: I’m right, aren’t I? It’s Malcolm.

BrownEyedGirl: Maybe.

WhosYourDaddy: I am.

BrownEyedGirl: Okay, I’ll admit it. But if you talk to him or anyone who knows him, please don’t say anything. He’s no good for me. Even if he’s single, I’m determined to leave him in the past.

Sebastian hoped he wasn’t being too obvious. Malcolm wasn’t stupid. But he was vain and arrogant enough to believe he could cheat on a girl, break her heart and have her pining for him fifteen years later.

WhosYourDaddy: You’re telling me you’re still in love with Malcolm?

BrownEyedGirl: I don’t know what I’m saying. It’s late, and I’m not making sense.

WhosYourDaddy: It makes sense to me.

BrownEyedGirl: It does?

WhosYourDaddy: There’s someone I can’t forget, either.

BrownEyedGirl: Who?

WhosYourDaddy: You.

BrownEyedGirl: So what about this weekend?

WhosYourDaddy: I’ll let you know.

BrownEyedGirl: When?

One minute turned into two, which turned into five. Sebastian was afraid he’d lost him, for tonight, anyway. He knew he should sign off and go to bed; he could hardly keep his eyes open. But he tried to stay awake, just in case…and ended up falling asleep at the desk.

Should he write back? Or wait for the night to pass and hope Mary would be less demanding the next time they talked?

Malcolm spent another twenty minutes in front of the computer on the kitchen table he’d rented along with the other furniture, trying to decide. He didn’t want her to be as indifferent as she’d been before. Their recent conversations had been far more stimulating; he liked that she’d revealed her feelings for him. Despite her anger over what he’d done with Sherry Stewart, he’d known the chemistry between them was still there. But he wasn’t sure where to take the relationship now that Mary was responding as he’d hoped. He hated to walk away, but he couldn’t let her see him.

Being torn between what he wanted and what he knew he should do made him angry.

Damn it! He should never have started this. If he’d been able to go to the casinos, or patrol using his cop light and badge to generate a little excitement, or even go to a damn movie, it might not have gathered such momentum. But ever since he’d acquired Latisha and Marcie, he’d spent far too much time on the computer with Mary.

There was no use lamenting it, he told himself. Their relationship would’ve come to this eventually. Mary wasn’t merely a diversion. He’d visited her place at least twice a week for months. He’d seen her kids playing out front and he’d stood in her yard, watching her move through the house. He’d thought about her a lot over the years, especially after he’d severed his past. She’d been the perfect fit, the one he shouldn’t have let go. If he’d stuck with her, his life never would’ve become what it was now. They should’ve married and raised a family. Splitting up hadn’t worked for either of them.

What a mess. With the incentive of half a million dollars and a fresh start, he’d imagined being able to walk away from his family and friends without a backward glance. He’d actually been eager to do so, had felt a sort of triumph in exiting with such a finale. He’d shocked and hurt them all, and they’d deserved it-especially his immediate family. Nothing he did pleased his parents, but it was the opposite for his older brother. And their baby sister had been absolutely worshipped.

But those people were part of the very fabric of his life. He couldn’t seem to excise them without losing part of his own identity. And he’d discovered that his friends and acquaintances were just as hard to abandon. When he was planning to break away, he’d thought he’d mourn the loss of his career more than anything else. But hanging on to his badge and his gun had softened that blow. When he went out driving at night, he got to enjoy the perks of power without having to answer to anybody. It was the people he missed. That was why he’d reached out to Mary.

It’d been pure luck that he’d been able to find her so easily. Had he not run into Francine, the girlfriend she’d hung out with in high school, he would’ve had a much harder time of it. But, thanks to seeing Francine in New York City while he was vacationing there with Emily, he’d learned about Mary’s jewelry hobby and her Web site, even the city where she lived. That was all it took.

Locating her had given him such a sense of excitement. He’d felt alive again, hopeful that he’d be able to re-create a normal life.

But keeping his identity a secret was no longer satisfying. It was a hindrance. She missed him, wanted him, and he couldn’t go to her. She wouldn’t put up with this situation forever. Another man would come along and she’d fall in love with him instead.

So what could he do? She’d turn him in if he told her the truth. She wouldn’t understand how cornered, how trapped, he’d been, that the path he’d chosen had been the only way out with the debts he’d racked up and a pending divorce. Only something that extreme would allow him to start over.

Would a lie work any better?

He couldn’t see how. Maybe he could present a different version of the past and get her to buy it, but he couldn’t stop her from talking to her family and friends. She’d tell her mom or sister that she was back in a relationship with him, and word would spread until the news reached friends in San Antonio. Before long, someone would say, “I heard he was dead. I heard he killed his wife and stepson, then committed suicide in New Jersey.” And that was all it would take to unravel the perfect murder.

The sound of movement in the extra bedroom brought Malcolm’s head up, his ears tuned for trouble. What was that? He’d thought the sisters were asleep. He’d punished Marcie so severely, he couldn’t believe either of them would dare breathe, let alone move. But something was going on.

With a curse, he shoved away from the table and crossed the hall.

“What the hell are you doing?” he hollered as he turned on the light.

Marcie screamed and curled into a ball. Latisha scrambled into the corner, her ankle chain rattling as she drew her knees to her chest. The mattresses he’d thrown down for them when he first brought them home had been tossed into the backyard. He was making them sleep on the hard floor, punishing them both, even though it was Marcie who’d disobeyed.

“I asked you a question!” he bellowed.

“We’re not doing anything. Her-her mouth’s bleeding.” Squinting against the light, Latisha pointed at her sister. “I was just trying to stop the bleeding.”

“She’s bleeding because she didn’t obey. If you don’t lie down and quit shuffling around, you’re going to be bleeding, too. Your sister’s damn lucky I didn’t kill her!” Lord knows he’d been tempted. If he hadn’t had to concentrate on his driving he probably would have.

“You try to escape again and I’ll do it. You understand? It’s pointless to run. There’s nowhere to go out here. We don’t have any neighbors, no one close enough to help you.”

Tears trickled down Latisha’s face. “Please let us go,” she said, her voice falling to a whisper. “We won’t tell anyone about you. We swear it. We won’t talk to the police. We just want to go home.”

She sounded sincere. But Malcolm knew she’d change her mind once she was safe. He wasn’t stupid enough to believe he could ever set them free. He also wasn’t stupid enough to let them know it. They’d be a lot easier to control if they thought there was a chance.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said. “You be on your best behavior and work hard like you should and in another week or so I’ll see what I can do. Okay?”

Latisha exchanged a glance with her sister, then nodded. “Yes, sir. We-we’ll do whatever you say. Won’t we, Marcie?”

Marcie seemed less willing to agree.

“Won’t we, Marcie!” Latisha prodded.

“Yes, sir.”

Malcolm ignored the sullenness of her reply. “I’m glad we finally understand each other.”

He managed a smile but let it fade as soon as he stomped out of the room. “Stupid bitches,” he muttered under his breath. Most women weren’t good for anything except…

The image that appeared caused a rush of testosterone so powerful it brought him to an abrupt halt. He’d always taken full advantage of the “badge bunnies” who threw themselves at any man wearing a uniform. But he hadn’t touched Latisha and Marcie. He’d told himself he wouldn’t stoop that low. The officers he used to work with held sex offenders in the highest contempt. He didn’t want to know they’d think of him in the same way.

But he’d never see his former coworkers again. So who would know? Besides, it was because of Latisha and Marcie that he couldn’t go to Franklin Boulevard to pick up a prostitute.

After all the teasing and flirting he’d done with Mary, he wanted a woman. Badly. And there were two right here. Two who had nothing better to do. Two who were ripe for the taking.

They were just black women. What would it hurt?

Come on. Go for it. Maybe if he relieved some of his sexual tension, he’d be able to concentrate, make a decision about Mary. Then he might not be so influenced by the desire to get in her pants…

Returning to the bedroom, Malcolm flipped on the light. Both girls shrank away from him, but his gaze lingered on Latisha. His father had taught him from the time he was just a boy that minorities weren’t worth his attention. But the younger of the two…she was quite pretty, if he let himself look at her that way. She had large tits, an itty-bitty waist and nice round hips. And she didn’t have the welts, freshly swollen lip and black eye he’d given Marcie when he’d dragged her into the house from the van.

“I know how you can guarantee your ticket home,” he said.

Latisha’s eyes widened and grew wary at the same time. She’d noticed the change in his voice and manner, but the promise of his words proved too difficult to resist. “H-how?”

“Spend half an hour with me in the bedroom, doing whatever I ask, and I’ll let you go. I promise.”

“In the bedroom?” she repeated, looking as if she was about to be sick.

“What’s thirty minutes?” he asked, trying to make it more appealing. “Thirty minutes for the sake of freedom.”

“Will you let my sister go, too?”

“Sure,” he said. “But that’ll cost the whole night.”

Marcie struggled to scoot closer to Latisha. “Don’t do it,” she warned. “He’s lyin’. He’ll drag you outta here and you won’t be comin’ back, and not ’cause he took you home. He’s gonna kill us both. That’s what he’s gonna do.”

Malcolm felt his hands curl into fists. Marcie was right. He had no choice. But it angered him that she wouldn’t at least hope for the best. “Shut up! I’m not talking to you, you crackhead bitch!”

“Please, don’ do this to her,” Marcie begged. “It’s me you’re mad at. She ain’t done nothin’.”

“But she’s the one I want. So stay out of it.” He nudged Latisha’s knee with his foot. “Take off your clothes.”

Latisha whimpered but didn’t act.

“Come on,” he persisted. “Your sister’s the one who’s lying. I might kill her before we’re through, but I won’t hurt you, not if you’ve been good to me.”

Tears slipped from her eyes, but it was Marcie who began to plead. “Please. She’s my baby sister. She’s a good girl. She ain’t never been with a man. Take me. I can make it fun. It’s me you want to punish.”

This was the most respectful Marcie had been, but Malcolm knew how deeply she hated him. It was all an act to save her sister’s sorry ass. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he responded. “Look at you!”

“You won’t be able to tell what I look like in the dark. Jus’ take me outta here, so she don’t gotta hear it, and I’ll make it worth your while. I promise.”

She’d try to kill him, more likely. He didn’t find her appealing. And because of her, he had to go to the trouble of getting a new phone, which meant he needed another alias. He preferred Latisha. But he’d never forced a woman before. He’d spent fifteen years as a cop, believing that rapists were the worst kind of scum, second only to pedophiles. Did he really want to become one of them?

Even prison inmates had no respect for a rapist. He remembered wondering why they didn’t have enough pride to use some self-restraint, and here he was, facing the same temptation. It showed how much he’d changed, but he didn’t want to think about that.

Attempting to ignore the part of him that still balked at what he was about to do, he stepped forward. He’d unchain Latisha and drag her ass out of here if he had to.

But Marcie got in front of her. “No!” she cried. “You won’t take her! Let her be!”

The stupid bitch was willing to take another beating. He’d probably have to fight them both. And if it got too violent, he wasn’t sure he could get it up.

“Shut your ugly mouth and go to sleep,” he snapped and walked out. He didn’t want Marcie or Latisha. He wanted Mary. And he was going to have her.

He just needed to figure out how.

The ring of his cell phone woke Sebastian. Patting the desk, he managed to locate it without opening his eyes. “Hello?”

“You won’t believe this,” a female voice announced.

Biting back a groan occasioned by the crick in his neck, he sat up. “Mary?”

“Did I wake you?”

Still groggy, he checked the clock. It was after eight. He’d spent the night in front of the computer. “Looks like it’s time to get up, anyway. What’s going on?” He couldn’t imagine she’d heard from Malcolm since she’d given up her screen name. He jiggled his mouse to dissolve his screen saver. She hadn’t signed on from an alternate location. He was still actively connected, and his was the last message in the conversation.

“He sent me flowers!” she said.

“Malcolm?”

“Yeah. A dozen red roses. They arrived a few minutes ago. The card says, ‘Happy Anniversary.’”

Sebastian came to his feet. “How did he sign it?”

“He didn’t. That’s all there is. Just ‘Happy Anniversary.’ But…aren’t you excited? They have to be from him. He’s letting me know his true identity! Malcolm’s falling for it!”

Sebastian raked his fingers through his hair. “The anniversary may not be the giveaway you think it is.”

“Why not?”

Wishing he had some aspirin, he rolled his shoulders. “I mentioned it to him last night.”

“Oh.”

As he passed the foot of the bed, he caught his reflection in that same damn mirror and turned away. He didn’t need to see his raggedy-ass appearance. He needed coffee, even more than aspirin. “I was using anything I could to make him show his hand,” he explained.

“But one guy would never send flowers to commemorate a competitor’s anniversary.”

“True. I guess that makes it a bigger step forward than I initially thought.”

“He’s getting closer and closer to revealing who he really is.”

The scent of coffee granules rose to Sebastian’s nostrils as he tore open the packet of gourmet roast that had been sandwiched between the coffeemaker and the bathroom wall. “Maybe. But I’m concerned about one thing.”

“What’s that?”

Apparently, she was so pleased by their progress she wasn’t thinking of the risks. “He has your exact address.”

Silence. Then she said, “Do you think he sent the flowers just to show that he can find me?”

He poured the grounds into the filter. “Knowing Malcolm? Probably. He told you he could get the information and this is his way of proving it.”

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to see him as the bastard you say he is,” she admitted.

Sebastian’s hand hovered over the start button. “Seriously?”

“He cheated on me, but we were kids. I never dreamed the boy I knew, the boy I slept with, would grow up to become a cold-blooded murderer. To be so dangerous. He had his moments, like everyone else, but he could be really sweet, too.”

Sebastian started the coffeemaker, then wandered back into the room and pulled open the heavy drapes on the window. “Even Ted Bundy was once a kid. Did you call the Jersey police and check out my story, like I asked you to?”

“I did. I wanted more details. I thought it might help me absorb the shock. The man I spoke to said Malcolm killed his wife and stepson. But he also said Malcolm killed himself.”

A thin fog and slight drizzle made Sebastian less than eager to head outside. From what he’d heard, Sacramento had perfect weather nine months out of the year. Just his luck to be here during their three-month rainy season. “That’s the part that isn’t true and you know it. You’ve been communicating with him for months.”

“It’s weird, that’s all.”

“You need to accept it. He’s getting more committed to your relationship.” The flowers signified as much. They also signified that he’d act soon. Now that he really thought about it, “Happy Anniversary” was a commitment of sorts, a milestone. He just hoped Malcolm acted the way they wanted him to. That was where the gamble came in.

“You don’t think he’d surprise me by coming here,” she said.

Now she was beginning to consider the possibilities. “He could.”

“Oh, God. What would I do?”

From his second-story window, Sebastian could see people wearing business suits, getting into cars parked on the shiny pavement below. “You’d play along, buy whatever story he’s selling. If he tells you he’s been hiding behind an alias because he’s in the witness protection program, or he’s in the CIA, or the Feds are after him because he claims to have seen a UFO-whatever he says-act as if you believe it. Your life could depend on it.”

A nervous laugh preceded her response. “That sounds ominous.”

For her, their little fishing expedition had been all fun and games. Until now. These flowers made it real. The fact that Malcolm could get Mary’s home address so easily, the fact that he already had it and was probably far closer to Sacramento than he’d let on, made anything possible. “You okay?” he asked.

“Of course. It’s just…I’ve got kids.” Her voice took on a beseeching quality. “He wouldn’t hurt either of them, would he?”

Sebastian couldn’t say what Malcolm would do. Malcolm had no conscience, nothing to inhibit his behavior, or he could never have planned and executed the deaths of Emily and Colton. Sebastian was sure only of Malcolm’s self-interest. Narcissism was his most consistent trait. “He won’t have any reason to hurt you as long as he doesn’t find out about me.”

“So if he shows up here, should I slip away and call you?”

“Only slip away if you’re positive he won’t catch you. Dial 9-1-1, then call me. Your safety comes before anything else.”

“My safety? Now you’re really scaring me.”

Sebastian couldn’t tell her to relax. She needed to be on guard. Last night, when he was exchanging messages with “Wesley Boss,” he’d represented her as more interested in her old flame than she really was. He’d been hoping to achieve the meeting he was after-not this. What if Malcolm appeared on her doorstep expecting her to fall into his arms, but she refused to sleep with him? He might regret revealing himself and decide to tie up loose ends.

“I’ll send him a message thanking him for the flowers and push for a rendezvous so he won’t feel like he needs to come to your house,” he said.

“Shouldn’t I send that message?” she asked.

“Why?”

“I don’t like not knowing what’s going on. It makes me uneasy. You talked to him last night and today I received flowers for the first time.”

The aroma of brewing coffee drew Sebastian back to the motel bathroom. “I’ll tell you everything you need to know. Just keep your head down.”

“So I don’t get caught in the cross fire.”

He wished he could frame his request in a more positive light, but his conscience demanded he not downplay the seriousness of the situation to meet his own goals. “More or less.”

She released an audible sigh. “Wow. This sucks.”

A beep signaled an incoming call.

“It should be over soon,” he promised and held his phone so he could see caller ID. It showed a local number, one he didn’t recognize. “I’ve got to go. I’ll check in with you later.”

“Okay,” she said, but he could tell she wasn’t happy to get off the phone. She’d gone along with his plans to ensnare Malcolm partly because of the friendship that’d developed between them, and Sebastian felt guilty for taking advantage of her. But they’d come too far. Malcolm was interested in her, already knew her address. There was no way out.

“Take care,” he said and switched to the other line.

Could it really be over? After all the time he’d spent searching?

Sebastian almost didn’t dare hope. But as he drove Jane Burke to Ione-her car didn’t have GPS and he hadn’t yet sacrificed his Lexus-he called to share the news with Mary. He doubted he’d be able to reach her this early. She was at the hospital working in admissions until four. But he could leave a message she might get on her break. With those flowers showing up at her house this morning, he wanted to alleviate her fears as soon as possible.

The voice-mail recording he’d expected came on. He waited for the beep. “Mary, this is Sebastian. I think we have him. Don’t worry about anything, okay? I’ll be back in touch when I know more.”

As he hung up, he felt Jane watching him and glanced over. He wasn’t quite sure what to think of her. She seemed like such a contradiction. She dressed like a typical professional, in conservative business casual, but her hair-dark at the roots and jagged and bleached on the ends-was anything but conservative. Her low-pitched, raspy voice suggested she smoked and yet she was obviously in great physical shape. Then there were the tattoos. She had one on her breast. The V of her sweater came up too high for him to see what it was, but when she moved, he occasionally glimpsed the edge of it. The other was the word survivor written on the curve between the thumb and finger on her left hand.

The fact that she was working at a victims’ charity led him to believe that tattoo had nothing to do with being a fan of the popular reality show.

What had she been through?

The scar on her neck, noticeable when she turned her head, posed some frightening possibilities…

“You really think we’ll find Malcolm Turner?” she asked, shifting her gaze to a point outside the car, as if uncomfortable with his perusal.

“If this is the right Wesley Boss, I do.” Sebastian signaled so he could make a left onto Jackson Road. They were heading toward a string of historic gold-rush towns in the Sierra Nevada foothills. Since coming to Sacramento, Sebastian had studied the whole area. According to what he’d read, Ione wasn’t a mining town, but it had been a staging and agricultural center for the mining towns around it.

Jane braced herself with a hand against the door as he took the corner a little too fast. “DNA evidence is pretty reliable.”

“I know. Malcolm’s certainly been able to rely on it.” He passed the vehicle in front of him. They’d only left the office fifteen minutes ago, but his impatience made the drive seem interminable. “He was a cop. He knew the men who’d be taking the samples, how they’d go about it, where they’d store them after they were collected, where they’d be tested.”

“You think he traded them out or something?”

When she stated it that way, it sounded far-fetched, even to him. But stranger things had happened. He’d once read about a UCI professor who found that DNA evidence as evaluated by a certain police lab had resulted in a young man’s wrongful conviction of rape. Sloppiness, sample corruption, dishonesty, human error, overstatement of the odds-all of it could potentially “prove” the wrong thing. “He could have. They were bone-marrow samples. But it might not have been necessary to go that far. He had half a mil to buy the help he needed.”

She whistled softly. “I can see why the police might not have bought your accusations. If what you say is true, they have a bigger problem than one bad cop.”

“Definitely not a possibility they want to consider. I would’ve been happy just to convince them to take a new sample. But by the time I realized something wasn’t right, it was too late. Malcolm’s family had already cremated the remains of whoever was in that car.”

“Do you have any idea who that person was?”

“No.”

“No one else in the area suddenly went missing.”

“No. I’m guessing it was a homeless person or a corpse he dug up. Or he paid off some mortician who had a body awaiting cremation.” That was part of the reason the police were so convinced by the DNA match. There’d been no corresponding missing-persons report or disturbance of a cemetery plot-at least, that had come to their attention. They hadn’t bothered to look very carefully. Sebastian had tried, but he’d come up empty.

“So what tipped you off?” she asked. “How’d you figure it out?”

The Prius ahead of them was traveling more slowly than Sebastian would’ve liked, but it was only a two-lane highway and traffic streaming in the opposite direction wouldn’t let him pass at the moment. “There were too many unanswered questions.”

“Such as?”

“Why didn’t he shoot himself? He used his firearm to kill Emily and Colton. He could easily have turned it on himself and ended his life right there in the house with them. Instead, he ran his car off a steep embankment, after which it burst into flames.”

“Making it impossible to visually identify the body.”

Finding an opening in the traffic, he floored the accelerator. “Convenient, don’t you think?”

“What about dental records?” she asked.

He eased back into the right-hand lane. “What about them?”

“They’re often used to identify burn victims.”

“Not in this case. The police didn’t see any reason to go to the extra trouble. As far as they were concerned, they already had a positive ID. The car they found was Turner’s. They had a bone-marrow sample. They even had a suicide note he’d e-mailed to his sergeant saying that he’d lost a huge sum of money in an investment and his wife was having an affair with her ex.”

She held on to her seat belt as he swung out to pass again, but she didn’t complain about the aggressiveness of his driving. He suspected she was too preoccupied. “Wait, you’re the ex.”

“I’m the ex.”

“Was it true? Were you involved with Emily?”

He’d faced that question a million times. Just because he and his ex-wife had been able to maintain some mutual respect, a friendship, everyone assumed they were intimate. “She was very important to me-she was the mother of my kid. But I wasn’t sleeping with her. Malcolm’s claims were merely an excuse, a way to garner sympathy.”

They flew past an SUV before Sebastian had to move over to avoid a head-on collision with a Dodge truck. “You’ll get a speeding ticket if you don’t slow down,” she warned. “And getting pulled over will waste more time than you’ll save by going so fast.”

Evidently, she was paying more attention than he’d thought. And she was right. Grudgingly, he let up on the gas.

“What does Malcolm look like?” she asked as they slowed.

“Average. Five foot nine, hundred and seventy-five pounds. Irish background. Red hair. Blue eyes. Why?”

“Just curious.”

She might be seeing him in a few minutes. Until then, Sebastian had a picture he could show her. Leaning across the seat, he opened the jockey box and fished around inside, eventually coming up with the photograph he’d been using in his search. “That’s him,” he said, handing it to her. “Emily and Colton, too. It’s what they sent in their last Christmas card.”

She studied the photograph.

“So?” he prompted. “Have you ever seen him before?”

“No.”

“Is he what you expected?”

“Not really. He’s losing his hair.”

“You can tell in that picture?” he asked, surprised.

“I used to be a hairstylist.” She held the photograph closer. “He seems to have a nice physique, though.”

“Classic short man’s complex, trying to compensate with muscle mass for what he lacks in height.”

She didn’t respond to his comment. “Emily is beautiful.”

Bitterness overwhelmed him. “Was beautiful,” he corrected.

Jane hadn’t said anything about Colton, but Sebastian guessed she was studying the similarities between them. His son had looked so much like him, except he’d had his mother’s light-colored eyes.

Grabbing the photograph before she could mention it, Sebastian shoved it back in the jockey box. He didn’t want to talk about Colton. Not with a virtual stranger. And not with anyone who was close to him, either. That was the real reason Constance was moving on. He hadn’t been able to include her in what he was suffering. He’d withdrawn.

Fortunately, Jane said nothing. She watched the green rolling hills between Sacramento and Ione fly past her window-or stared at nothing, he couldn’t tell which-but she gave him some space and for that he was grateful.

Several minutes later, she resumed the conversation, and her question had nothing to do with the photograph he’d shown her. “What about the five hundred thousand dollars you mentioned? Where’d that come from?”

The money he could talk about. He’d been talking about it since Malcolm’s escape. It was the strongest proof that Malcolm was still alive. “That was Emily’s. She’d gotten an insurance settlement a few months before and cashed the check. She was saving it to build a new life for her and Colton. At least, that’s what she told me. But after the funerals were over and we went to clean the house, the key to the safety-deposit box was there but the money wasn’t.”

“Maybe she moved it.”

“Where? There was no record of it ever going into any of their accounts. And if she was ready to invest it, she would’ve asked for my help. I’m an investment banker. She mentioned doing something with it once, but Malcolm put a quick stop to my involvement. He said he didn’t trust me, and he accused us of having an affair.”

“More smoke and mirrors?”

“A way to make sure the money wasn’t tied up when he made his getaway.”

“Malcolm traded his profession, his family, his whole life for an amount that might last him five years-if he lives modestly?”

“People have killed for much less,” Sebastian said quietly.

“Usually those people are on drugs or looking for the money to get high. They’re not thinking straight. This was planned. Was he in debt?”

For someone who’d seemed a little out of her element when they were at the office, Jane was actually pretty savvy. She came across as sort of tough, certainly more streetwise than the typical middle-class white woman. Sebastian respected that. “Deeply. He probably wanted her to bail him out, but she wouldn’t do it. As I said, she planned to use her money to leave him and start over. Not only would he lose her, he’d have no insurance settlement to avoid financial ruin.”

“A major embarrassment, to say the least.”

“Exactly. But if he killed his wife and stepson and faked his own death, he could take the money, escape punishment and evade his creditors without ever having to face the people he’d hurt.”

“A good plan, provided you’re a monster,” she said. “So what kind of debts did he have?”

According to GPS, they’d already driven eighteen miles on CA-14. Sebastian slowed, looking for Ione Road. “His credit cards were maxed out, and he’d pulled all the equity from their house so it was way overmortgaged. He’d borrowed from his parents, his brother, his best friend. He’d even drained his retirement account.”

“Where was the money going?”

“Sports gambling. That’s all I can figure. I’m guessing he kept chasing his losses. I think he was even placing bets online.”

“Online gambling’s illegal, isn’t it?”

“Depends on the state. There’s only been one guy I’m aware of who’s been prosecuted for placing bets online. He paid a five-hundred-dollar fine, but his winnings were over one hundred thousand dollars, so I doubt he minded too much.”

“Did you tell the police about Malcolm’s financial situation?”

“Since he admitted to having financial problems in his suicide note, they weren’t overly concerned.” He shot her a glance. “But they didn’t meet the shady character who showed up at the house one night while I was there.”

“A loan shark?”

Sebastian found their turn. According to GPS they had another five miles before the next one. “He claimed to be a friend, said Malcolm owed him money. Apparently, he’d missed the piece in the paper announcing the death of the whole family. Or he was coming by to pick the bones.”

“What was his name?”

“Johnny DiMiglio. At least, that’s the name he gave me.”

“Did you tell him you thought Malcolm was alive?”

“I did. I was hoping he’d go after him. It would’ve saved me a lot of time and trouble.”

“But that didn’t happen.”

“I haven’t seen or heard from DiMiglio since. He probably figured he’d spend more to find Malcolm than he’d lose by letting it go.” Lord knows Sebastian had lost enough.

“Bottom line, Malcolm thought he had nothing to lose by murdering Emily and Colton and everything to gain.”

“That’s my guess.”

She adjusted her seat belt. “Now I know why you’re doing what you’re doing.”

He felt his eyebrows go up.

“I’d be doing the same thing,” she said.

There was no time to respond. They’d reached their destination.

“So now you’re shutting me out?”

Sebastian glanced over to see Jane watching him with narrowed eyes. They were on their way back to Sacramento, but she hadn’t spoken for the first thirty minutes of the trip. He’d cranked up the radio and the heat to fill the void.

“I’m not shutting you out,” he said.

She turned down the radio until the squeak of the windshield wipers, beating frantically against a fresh onslaught of rain, was the only sound. “You found something at that house. What was it?”

He scowled at the gray sky. The constant damp made the car feel more like a cocoon. “It’s nothing, like I said.”

“Then why’d you take it?”

Realizing she wouldn’t let the subject go, he pulled the cover of the dishwasher manual out of his coat and handed it to her.

She read it, then frowned at him. “This is directions to an Indian casino.”

“See what I mean?”

“No, I don’t. Why do you want it?”

He adjusted the heat coming into the car. “It’s written by hand.”

Understanding dawned in her eyes. “You think Malcolm Turner wrote this?”

“I think he could’ve written it. The gambling would appeal to him. That’s what caught my attention.”

“I doubt handwriting evidence would ever trump DNA evidence,” she said, but she spoke slowly, as if she was still considering his find, wondering about its value. “But I guess if the handwriting matched, it would show us that your Wesley Boss and my Wesley Boss are indeed the same man. Right now, all we have to connect the murders and the kidnappings is the name and those cryptic comments your Wesley Boss made about the ‘sisters.’”

“Handwriting is unique to each individual. And handwriting evidence is more than I’ve got now, which is just a pile of missing money, along with a missing gun, badge and police uniform.”

She put the torn-off cover on the dash. “The gun concerns me.”

“It should. He definitely knows how to use it.”

“What would you have done if Malcolm had been there?” she asked.

He wanted to believe he would’ve called the police. But Malcolm knew how to work the system, was a product of it. If he had sufficient ID to “prove” he was Wesley Boss, they’d start by questioning him about the kidnappings, and he’d know how to play that. If they couldn’t get anything on him, they’d release him pending further investigation-and he’d be gone long before they ever got around to identifying who he really was. It wasn’t as if they’d send him back to New Jersey on Sebastian’s word, or get a court order compelling him to provide a DNA sample. They had certain procedures they had to work through. Police involvement equaled bureaucracy, and bureaucracy was never efficient.

But what did that mean? Did it mean Sebastian would’ve shot him?

Maybe. He might not have been able to stop himself.

“Do you plan to answer me?” she asked.

He turned the radio back up. “He wasn’t there.”

Jane hesitated as she stepped out of Sebastian’s Lexus. Unless the landlord of that house could provide a new address, he was suddenly in a much better position to find Wesley Boss than she was. He was in contact with him, wasn’t he?

That meant she needed to continue working with him, enlist his help, regardless of how she felt about the way he’d handled the situation in Ione. “So you’ll call me? You’ll let me know if you arrange a meeting with Boss?” she asked.

Sebastian leaned forward until she could see his face. “I’ll think about it.”

She didn’t like his attitude. “I shared my information with you.”

“Your information turned out to be a bust.”

“Not a complete bust,” she argued. “You got directions to that Indian casino.”

“Which might mean nothing more than an enjoyable night of craps.”

She adjusted her purse. The gun inside made it unusually heavy. “What about my kidnap victims? Surely you’re not so consumed with revenge that you don’t care what happens to them.”

He scowled. “That isn’t it at all.”

“Then what is?”

“I don’t see how bringing you along will help save them.”

His arrogance irritated her. “Oh, really? Who backed you up in Ione, even though you had no business doing what you did?”

The barest hint of a smile curved his lips. “I wish I could’ve caught that on tape.”

Jane stiffened. “What?”

“You, trying not to get your shoes muddy while hurrying toward me with that gun.”

She hadn’t realized he’d paid enough attention to notice. “Little good it did me,” she grumbled. “My shoes are ruined.”

He sobered. “Could’ve been worse.”

“I think that was my argument.” Besides, it was easy for him to say. He was obviously used to having money. No one she knew rented a Lexus. At least, no one she knew these days. “Point is, I could’ve stayed warm and dry in the car,” she said. “So will you cooperate with me or not?”

Wearing a scowl, he stared off into the distance.

“Sebastian?”

His gaze moved her way, and he studied her as if seeing her for the first time. She might’ve been flattered, except there was a calculating air to the appraisal that told her he wasn’t necessarily admiring her figure. “Maybe there’d be some benefit to having you involved.”

“Meaning…”

“Maybe you could provide a woman’s perspective.”

“Considering I am a woman, that shouldn’t be too difficult,” she said dryly.

Another flash of his pearly whites told her he understood why she was a little piqued. “Good. Mary works until four. Then she does homework with her kids and takes them to various sports practices. Most nights she doesn’t get on the computer until eight. I need to stick with the same pattern as much as possible, so I’ll sign on with her screen name about that time. If you want to be part of this, come to my motel room at seven-thirty.”

Kate would be home then, but Jane knew she could take her daughter to her in-laws’ for the night. Kate would be excited about staying with Grandma and Grandpa. When Oliver was in jail, she stayed there often, but now Jane rarely allowed it on a school night. “Where’s your motel?”

“The Raleigh Pete, off Cal Expo. Room 213.”

That wasn’t far from her Howe Avenue condo. “I’ll be there.” She started to shut the door, but he spoke again.

“If I gave you fifty dollars, is there any chance you’d bring dinner?”

Jane wasn’t sure she’d heard correctly. “What?”

“I hardly ever get a home-cooked meal,” he admitted, as if that was reason enough to make her agree.

Austin, an intern from Del Campo High School who was working at TLS in order to get credit for a sociology class, had just parked in the lot. Jane said hello and waited for him to go inside before responding. Then she said, “You want me to make you dinner?”

“I’ll pay for it, like I said. Is some pot roast or meat loaf too much to ask?”

“How do you know I can cook?”

“You’ve got a kitchen, don’t you?” He pulled out his wallet and handed her a fifty-dollar bill. “I’ve been on the road since forever. Anything’s got to be better than what I’ve been eating.”

As Jane accepted the money, she couldn’t help feeling some measure of sympathy. Maybe Sebastian wasn’t the humblest person she’d ever met. But he’d been traveling a long time and no one knew the impact of violence like she did. “I’ve got to cook for Kate, anyway,” she said.

“Kate?”

“My daughter.”

“I didn’t realize you had a child. How old is she?”

“Twelve.”

“What will you do with her?”

“She’ll go to her grandparents’ for the night.”

His gaze fell to the tattoo on her hand. “What happened to you, Jane?”

Survivor. That word had reminded her of who she was during the difficult months when she’d fought to recover from being attacked by her own husband. Skye had been with her when she’d visited Express Yourself Ink. They’d both gotten the same tattoo. Skye’s was on her shoulder blade, which she usually kept covered, but Jane had needed hers in plain sight.

“Maybe we’ll talk about it later,” she said and closed the door.

The room smelled like clean male. So many of Jane’s memories of Oliver were negative that she’d forgotten this more appealing aspect of the opposite sex. Afraid she’d never experience that scent again, at least not in such an intimate setting, she paused to appreciate it before the aroma of the food she carried in her picnic basket could overpower it.

“Come on in.” Sebastian was standing at the door, wearing faded jeans and a burnt orange long-sleeved thermal shirt.

A second later, that male scent was gone, replaced by the sausage in her homemade lasagna and the garlic butter on the bread.

“That smells good,” he said, taking the basket from her as she passed him.

She smiled-she’d just been thinking the same thing but about a completely different scent.

Moving into the room, she purposely turned her attention to the furnishings, which were beige and green and fairly standard, so she wouldn’t be tempted to stare. If she’d thought Sebastian was handsome before, he looked even better without his coat. That shirt fit his upper body like a second skin, revealing the contour of every muscle-and there were plenty of muscles to admire.

Even at his best, Oliver had never been built like that. Jane had been attracted by his sweetness, his harmlessness, his earnestness, his intelligence. And the fact that she’d felt safe with him…

“Is something funny?” Sebastian asked.

Sobering, she shook her head. “No, I was just…remembering.”

He’d been about to dive into the hamper, but at this he paused. “Remembering what?”

“What it was like,” she said.

“To…”

“Be innocent.”

He gave her an odd look. “In what way?”

She shrugged. “In every way, I guess.” She could never go back, never be the person she’d been before. That made her sad. But trusting the one man who was supposed to love her above all else had nearly gotten her killed. Wasn’t it better to be wise than innocent?

Her eyes swept over the bed. Experience, at least the kind of experience she’d endured, changed everything, even the simplest of life’s pleasures…

The stillness in the room told her Sebastian wasn’t digging into the food as she’d expected. She turned to find him watching her, his expression tinged with surprise and curiosity.

“Is there a Mr. Burke?” he asked.

The tone of his voice told her he knew she’d been thinking about sex, knew she was hungry in a way that had nothing to do with food. But, regardless of the promise inherent in such a perfect body, there was nothing he could do to satisfy her. She wouldn’t let him, or anyone else. She couldn’t. She was incapable of lowering her guard to the degree making love would require, especially with a stranger.

“I’m a widow,” she said. “But I might as well be married.”

“You’re seeing someone, then?”

“No.” She didn’t bother to explain.

He put the picnic basket on the dresser next to a flat-screen TV and waved toward a bottle of white zinfandel on his nightstand. “Would you like a glass of wine?”

“No, thank you.”

Undaunted, he uncorked the bottle and poured himself a glass. “I’m sorry to hear about your husband’s death.” He took a sip. “How long ago was it?”

She regretted turning down the wine. Maybe it would help settle her nerves, take the edge off. “It’s been nearly five years.”

“And…you’re still in love with him?”

She chuckled without mirth. “God, no.”

His eyebrows knotted as he walked toward her with his wine. “What happened?”

When she didn’t answer, he set his glass down and took her hand, rubbing his thumb lightly over her survivor tattoo. “Did he have anything to do with this?”

Like an old heater with a pilot light that’d gone out years ago, she didn’t think she’d ever get warm again. But his touch sent a spark through her that somehow made her shaky.

Surprised, she jerked her hand away and stepped back, but in just half a foot she came up against the bed.

“Whoa, I didn’t mean to scare you.” She was still within his reach, but he didn’t attempt to touch her again. He held out his hands, palms up, as if to show her he had no intention of hurting her.

The last time Oliver had made love to her had been a cruel experience, one of the worst in her life. In some ways, it had hurt her more than the violence that’d followed because it involved hate disguised as love. But Jane knew it was her past-and nothing Sebastian was doing-that had her so rattled.

Overriding her panic, which seemed to come out of nowhere, she forced herself to stand where she was, instead of edging farther away. “I’m not scared.”

He seemed unconvinced but didn’t argue. “Did he do this to you?” He pointed to his own neck, but she understood that he was talking about her scar.

“Yes.”

He lowered his voice. “How’d he die?”

From the deference in his tone, she knew he was guessing she’d killed Oliver in self-defense. She’d often wondered if that would’ve made her recovery easier-or more difficult. “After he left me for dead, lying beside his murdered brother, he attacked a woman he’d attacked once before, a woman by the name of Skye Kellerman.”

“The woman who started The Last Stand.”

“You’ve been doing your homework.”

“I pulled up the Web site.”

“Skye knew he’d be coming for her eventually.” She shrugged. “She was ready for him when he did.”

“She killed him.”

“Yes.”

“It didn’t say that on the Web site.”

“No. She doesn’t talk about it, either. But she was prepared to do what had to be done. She had the benefit of knowing what he really was. I didn’t.”

Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets. “What was he exactly?”

“A serial rapist and murderer, masquerading as a dentist, a husband, a father.” Her voice dropped involuntarily. “My lover.”

He whistled. “How did you survive such a brutal injury?”

“His knife missed my jugular by a fraction of an inch. Skye brought the authorities to my house before I could bleed out.”

“This Skye sounds like an impressive woman.”

“She is. That’s partly why I work for her.” Jane motioned to the picnic basket. “You’d better eat. The food’s getting cold.”

He spoke over his shoulder while reclaiming the basket. “You’re not planning to eat with me?”

She had been. She’d fed Kate, then loaded her daughter and the food in the car and raced to her in-laws’ place, thinking she’d have dinner at the motel. But she felt too jittery for food right now. She wasn’t sure why Sebastian’s touch had affected her so deeply. She’d been alone with men plenty of times since Oliver’s death-at work, at home, in the car. She’d been fine.

But she’d never been this attracted to any of them. That had to be the difference-that and the fact that they were standing next to a bed.

“I’ve already had dinner,” she lied and tilted the screen of his computer so she could avoid the glare of the lamp. “Wesley Boss isn’t WhosYourDaddy, is he?”

Sebastian decided to make Malcolm wait. He didn’t want to come across as too eager, didn’t want it to seem as if Mary was always online, hoping to hear from him. The role he was playing would be more believable if Malcolm had to work for the attention he craved. Earlier, Sebastian had sent an e-mail from Mary, thanking him for the flowers. That would suffice until after dinner.

Jane sat at the desk, sipping the glass of wine she’d finally accepted when he was halfway through his meal. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a human being eat so much in one sitting,” she mused as he polished off a second gigantic piece of lasagna and yet another slice of garlic bread.

“I was lucky. I grew up in a home where my mother cooked. I miss that.”

She swiveled in the office chair, back and forth. The nervous energy in that motion told him she wasn’t quite as comfortable as she was hoping to seem. “Where’s your mother now?”

“Upstate New York.”

“Is she still with your father?”

Full at last, he put his plate aside. When he’d asked her for dinner, he’d assumed she could cook, and he’d been right. “No, he passed away a decade ago.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It was a blessing in the end,” he said, remembering those difficult days.

“What happened?” He doubted she would’ve asked had he not been so direct with her.

“After being perfectly healthy his whole life, he woke up one morning and started convulsing. Then he went into a coma. My mother got him to the hospital right away, but when he came to-” he shook his head “-when he came to, it became obvious that he’d suffered quite a bit of brain damage.”

Concern softened the hint of suspicion with which she seemed to view him. “What caused the convulsions?”

“A rare infection that’d gone straight to his brain. There was no warning, nothing we could’ve done to stop it.”

“How terrible!”

It had been terrible. Although Sebastian was grateful for the time they’d had at the end, he and his mother had spent three long years looking after Angelo, knowing he’d never recover, knowing how much he’d hate being so helpless. It was during that dark time that Emily had married Malcolm. Sebastian had been far too preoccupied with his job, his father and taking his turn as a custodial parent to pay attention to the kind of man she was dating. He wasn’t sure he would’ve been able to spot trouble even if he had paid attention. Malcolm was a cop, and cops were supposed to be safe. “As I said, it was a blessing in the end. I think he wanted to go.”

“Your mother hasn’t remarried?”

He pictured his trim, attractive mother. She looked twenty years younger than her age, but she didn’t seem interested in the men who asked her out. “No.”

Jane crossed her legs. “What does she think about you chasing after Malcolm?”

“I think she’d prefer it if I gave up and came home.”

“But you can’t.”

After what he’d learned about Jane, he was sure she understood why. “No.”

“So you have to hire strangers to cook for you and then you eat a meal for ten all at once.”

He refilled her wineglass. “When you leave, the food goes with you, right?”

“I’d let you keep it, but it doesn’t look as if there’s a fridge in this room.”

“There’s not.” He poured himself more wine. “You see my dilemma.”

Apparently pleased that he liked the food, she smiled as she sipped from her glass. It was a pretty smile, one that contrasted with the caution in her eyes.

He didn’t know exactly what had changed, but her coming to his room had somehow altered the chemistry between them. He’d realized she was attractive when they’d first met. He couldn’t miss that. But the two of them sitting here alone made him far too aware of her on a physical level, far too aware of the possibilities.

As if to avoid the awkwardness that sprang up with any silence, she turned to his computer. “Looks like Malcolm’s getting impatient.”

“What’s he saying?”

“‘Hey, where are you?’” she read.

“Tell him you had to get the kids to bed.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

He couldn’t imagine why she’d think so. “No.”

“That’ll only remind him that Mary’s an exhausted mother. What’s sexy about that?”

“It might not be sexy, but it’s believable. It’s something the real Mary might say.”

“He won’t care if what we say is believable. People who have online relationships are usually trying to fulfill a fantasy.”

Again, the bed seemed to take up all the space behind them. “Are you talking from experience?”

“No. I can’t afford to have fantasies.”

“Everyone has fantasies, Jane.”

“Okay, then I could never afford to fulfill mine, especially with someone I couldn’t see. There are a lot of perverts on the Internet. There’s no way I’d expose my daughter to another man who could be like her father.”

This brought up a subject Sebastian had been curious about. “Did your husband ever hurt Kate?”

“That depends on what you mean by hurt,” she said. “He didn’t physically molest her, but he killed her uncle and hurt those she loved most. Living with that knowledge isn’t easy. And there’s always the genetic factor, you know? The question you’d ask yourself late at night-am I even remotely like him? Kate sees this scar on my neck every day, and she knows who put it there.”

He pulled the cushioned chair from the corner and placed it beside her so he could see the screen. “Is she in counseling?”

“She was. We both were for a while.”

“Did it make a difference for you?”

“It did. But doing what I do at The Last Stand has made a bigger difference.”

“Fighting back.”

She nodded. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“Are you getting any counseling?”

“No.”

“You should. It might help.”

“Seeing Malcolm go to prison for the rest of his life will help more.” He motioned toward the computer monitor. “So Mary can’t talk about her kids. What do you suggest she say?”

She typed: Thinking about you. Then she raised her eyebrows, asking his permission to send it.

“Go ahead.” He’d tried a similar approach last night and it hadn’t gotten him anywhere, but it was a start.

The response came almost immediately.

WhosYourDaddy: You can’t think while we talk?

Jane began to type again. I’m afraid talking will only make me more confused.

“Where are you going with this?” Sebastian asked.

“You’ll see,” she said and sent it.

WhosYourDaddy: I’ve confused you? About what?

I think I’m falling in love with you. Jane looked over at Sebastian. “Is it too much?”

“Judging from past transcripts, I’d say so, but…”

“He wants to conquer her, wants to feel safe, as if there’s no way she’d reject him,” she said. “Let’s give him that.”

He had to try something different; he was getting desperate. He nodded, and she hit the enter key. Again, Malcolm’s answer popped immediately onto the screen.

WhosYourDaddy: I’m already in love. I’ve been in love with you for years.

Jane had been right. Malcolm was going for it. But Sebastian was a little uncomfortable that there hadn’t been much transition between his and Mary’s more cautious chats and this. Were the flowers enough to explain it? Sebastian didn’t want to tip Malcolm off…

Just in case, he took over the keyboard and typed: All from meeting me at one party?

WhosYourDaddy: From making love to you so many times in my mind.

“Things are heating up,” Jane breathed and typed the next entry.

BrownEyedGirl: When will you do it for real?

Sebastian caught her before she could hit Enter. “He’s got Mary’s address.”

“We have to draw him into the open. Until then, he’ll be a threat to her regardless. And Latisha and Marcie don’t have forever.”

She had a point. They needed to put an end to this… “Okay.”

Jane sent it and they waited.

WhosYourDaddy: You want me in your bed?

Sebastian deferred to Jane, who responded.

BrownEyedGirl: Now. I can’t wait any longer. I dream about your hands on my body, about feeling you move inside me.

Sebastian tried to separate Malcolm’s fantasy world from his own reality, but it wasn’t easy when he was sitting in a motel room with an attractive woman who’d looked at him the way Jane had earlier.

WhosYourDaddy: Sometimes that’s all I think about.

BrownEyedGirl: The thought of it makes me wet.

Shifting to ease the tightening in his groin, Sebastian told himself to ignore the deluge of testosterone. But images of making love to Jane filled his head.

WhosYourDaddy: I should’ve sent you roses ages ago.

BrownEyedGirl: I’m going to Fresno this weekend. Meet me there.

“ Fresno?” Sebastian said, even though she’d already sent it. “ Fresno isn’t the most romantic place.”

“Do you have a better idea?” she asked. “It’s about halfway between here and L.A., not too far to drive. And it would allow him to see me and keep pretending he lives down south.”

“Once you know who he really is, the L.A. part won’t matter.”

“But it does now.”

His nerves taut with hope and fear, Sebastian held his breath as he awaited Malcolm’s response. Would he fall for it, or would he shut them down?

WhosYourDaddy: I told you, this is a bad weekend for me.

BrownEyedGirl: I’m going, anyway. I’ll be at the Motel 6. If you want me like you say you do, you’ll be there.

“Are you sure about this?” Sebastian asked, catching her before she could send it.

“It’ll work,” she replied. “I can feel it.”

He nodded, and she hit Enter.

WhosYourDaddy: Are you serious?

BrownEyedGirl: You’ll see.

WhosYourDaddy: But I’m in a mess right now.

BrownEyedGirl: Then I guess you’ll miss out.

WhosYourDaddy: You’re killing me!

BrownEyedGirl: Wait till you see what I bought to wear for you.

Fleetingly, Sebastian imagined kissing Jane’s throat, imagined moving lower until he reached the soft curve of her breast and removed her sweater to see that tattoo…

WhosYourDaddy: What about your kids?

Jane looked at Sebastian. “Mary’s ex helps out with the kids, doesn’t he?”

“Every other weekend.” In an effort to conceal his arousal, he scowled in concentration. “But I don’t think it’s his turn next weekend.”

That news didn’t deter her. “Fortunately, we can make an exception,” she said and started typing.

BrownEyedGirl: Their dad’s taking them. He has something special going on, so I agreed. That’s why I’m coming to you. It’s the perfect opportunity.

WhosYourDaddy: You don’t know how bad I want this.

BrownEyedGirl: Then take it. I’ll be wearing my stockings and garter belt and nothing else. Imagine me on the bed, waiting for you…

The same picture popped into Sebastian’s mind.

WhosYourDaddy: Should I bring some wine?

BrownEyedGirl: Yes. And condoms. Lots of condoms.

WhosYourDaddy: You have me so hard I’ll never be able to sleep tonight.

BrownEyedGirl: I’ll take care of you when I get there…

WhosYourDaddy: Talk me through it now.

Jane started to type, but Sebastian took over again. He knew he couldn’t bear letting this get any more explicit.

BrownEyedGirl: Sorry, you’ll have to wait. I’m not interested in anything but the real thing.

WhosYourDaddy: I want you bad.

BrownEyedGirl: You can have me-this weekend.

WhosYourDaddy: But can I trust you?

Eyebrows arched, Jane glanced over. “Uh-oh.”

“Answer right away,” Sebastian murmured. “You can’t seem hesitant.”

Her chest rose as she drew a deep breath.

BrownEyedGirl: What’s that supposed to mean?

WhosYourDaddy: Nothing.

BrownEyedGirl: I’ve got to go.

WhosYourDaddy: No, not yet.

BrownEyedGirl: Don’t worry. We’ll talk again before Friday.

With that, Jane signed off.

Sebastian sat next to her in silence, his thoughts returning to the way she’d reacted when he touched her. That simple brushing of their hands had been an experiment to see how she’d respond to physical contact. He’d assumed it was what she wanted-he’d noticed the way she glanced at his body when she thought he wasn’t paying attention, how her gaze fell to his lips when he was talking, how she blushed when their eyes met. He’d been with enough women to recognize the signs of attraction.

But what Jane wanted and what she’d permit herself were two different things. Considering her past, he understood, but he was reluctant to leave it at that. He hated to see such a pretty, vibrant woman so determined to deny herself any chance of getting beyond what her bastard husband had done.

“I’d better go,” she said.

“You have to pick up your daughter?”

“No, she’s staying overnight, but I should get some stuff done before bed.”

He wanted to stall her if he could. Her actions were opposite to the way she wanted to act-opposite to what he wanted, too. “Like…”

“Laundry, housecleaning.”

“Sounds exciting.”

“Not exciting, but necessary.”

She was making herself seem as asexual as possible. It was the reverse of what he’d just seen her do online. Suspecting that was because she felt the same desire he did and was trying to put some distance between them, he decided to be honest with her. “You know you’re going to have to get over it eventually, don’t you?”

A deeper wariness entered her expression as she packed up the food. “Get over what?”

“Your fear of men.”

“I’m not afraid of men.”

“You nearly jumped out of your skin when I touched you.”

“You startled me-that’s all.” She lifted her chin. “I don’t react that way with every man.”

“Only me.”

She didn’t seem comfortable agreeing or disagreeing. “It’s probably the setting,” she hedged.

“That and the fact that you haven’t made love since your husband’s attack. Five years is a long time.”

Her throat muscles moved as if she had trouble swallowing. “How do you know I haven’t made love since then?”

“It shows. When you look at me, you start remembering what it was like.” He lowered his voice. “I’m guessing you want to be touched. That you want to feel alive, carefree.”

She slung her purse over her shoulder. “That’s a nice illusion. But I can’t be carefree,” she said with a brittle laugh. “Not anymore.”

He put his wineglass on the desk and stood. “You don’t have to give up that easily, Jane.”

“Give up?”

“You could fight for what you want-decide to recover in this way, too.”

She shook her head. “You…you’re wrong. I’m fully recovered.”

“You don’t miss the feel of a man’s hands on your body? His mouth on your breast? His-”

“Stop it! I don’t know why you’re doing this. I don’t miss anything.”

It was a lie. She’d spoken too loud, too rapidly. “Then what are you thinking about right now?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Those wide eyes of yours tell another story.”

Her attention drifted to the bed, but she edged away from it. “I’d better go.”

No matter how much she denied it, she’d rather stay. He could sense it. If only he could convince her to trust him. “I don’t have any condoms, Jane. I haven’t been with anyone in months. But I could get some.”

“I appreciate your including me in your investigation,” she said and grabbed the hamper.

That was a no. He wouldn’t push her any further. “Fine.” He took the basket so he could carry it to the door. “Thanks for the cooking.”

“No problem.” She stepped outside and grabbed the basket from his hands. At that point, he meant only to say good-night, so even he was surprised by the words that came out of his mouth.

“I’ll be here if you decide to come back.”

Jane parked at the convenience store but let her car idle. It was stupid to waste gas, but it was hard to care about such practicalities when all she could think about was the way her body had burned the moment she’d come into close contact with Sebastian. He was right; she missed having a sex life. She’d tried to cut that away, along with everything else that’d been part of her relationship with Oliver, but it was getting more difficult to ignore the natural cravings of a healthy body. She’d assumed that she bore too many scars from the past, that she couldn’t take the risk. Now she was beginning to wonder if she just hadn’t met anyone who tempted her enough.

Go back to his motel. When will you get another chance like this? She was certain Sebastian would be discreet. They knew only David in common. And Sebastian wouldn’t be staying in Sacramento for long. He was living in a motel, for crying out loud. They’d enjoy a short interlude together, he’d leave and that would be it. No one would be the wiser.

Taking a deep breath, she called her in-laws to check on Kate.

“She’s brushing her teeth. Do you want to talk to her?” Betty asked.

“No, I…I just wanted to be sure she was settled in for the night.”

“She’s ready for bed. Her homework’s done. And I’ll get her to school on time. Don’t worry about that.”

Her in-laws were reliable. Betty and Maurice had helped out a lot over the years, especially when Oliver was in prison and Jane had been struggling to make a living as a hairstylist.

“Thank you. You’re so good to us.”

“I love doing it. But…you won’t mind being home alone tonight, will you?”

She heard the concern in her mother-in-law’s voice. As illogical as they knew it was, the Burkes felt some measure of responsibility for Oliver. They’d created him, raised him; therefore, it was their mistakes that’d made him turn out as he had. “I won’t mind.”

“It’s only nine-thirty, Jane. Why not go have a drink somewhere? See if you can meet someone?”

If her mother-in-law had any idea what she was contemplating…“I’m too tired for that,” she lied. “I think I’ll head straight home to bed.”

“I wish-” Betty fell silent.

“What is it?” Jane asked, but she already knew what her mother-in-law wished. She wished they could all heal and forget.

“You must be lonely, Janey.”

She and Noah’s widow, Wendy, and the grandkids were all the Burkes had left. Wendy had grown as close to them as Jane had, but they weren’t close to each other. Wendy still blamed Jane for Noah’s death.

Jane took a deep breath. “Mom, stop worrying about me, okay?”

“I’ll try, honey.” There was another brief silence. “Do you need me to pick up Kate from school tomorrow?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

“Call me if you change your mind.”

Jane smiled at her willingness to pitch in, to be involved. The Burkes adored their grandchildren, clung to them even tighter now that they’d lost so much. “Will do. Love you,” she said and disconnected.

A car pulled in alongside hers. Jane continued to let her car idle as the driver went into the store and came out with a six-pack.

Should she go back to Sebastian’s room?

Why not? What was the big deal? It would be merely a temporary arrangement between two lonely people. Once she knew she could get beyond her fears of intimacy, maybe she’d be ready to start dating again.

Jane couldn’t imagine that, but the idea of a trial run seemed logical. Wouldn’t it be better to know if she was capable of letting go?

Her cell phone rang. She didn’t welcome the diversion-she was too focused on her decision-but it was David, so she answered.

“How’d it go today?” he asked.

Jane got out of her car and walked through the aisles of the convenience store as she explained what had happened in Ione and at the motel with the instant messaging.

“So Sebastian seems normal?” David asked.

He was as “normal” as she was, but she knew she was using the term loosely. They were both damaged, both still fighting to build new lives from the ashes of their old ones. “Yeah, he’s fine. We’re lucky he’s helping us. How’d your search go?”

“I found the gun.”

“The murder weapon?”

“Yep.”

“So you’ll be able to close this homicide case?”

“I can only hope.”

A bored-looking man in his late fifties stood behind the cash register. Every time Jane glanced up, she saw him watching her, so she purposely passed up the condoms and pretended to be examining the snacks.

“Tomorrow, I’ll get hold of the owner of that house in Ione, see if Wesley Boss has a forwarding address,” she told David.

“Let me know what you find.”

“Of course.”

He yawned loudly. “Thanks for your help, Jane. I’m so buried, I don’t know what I would’ve done without you today.”

“You’re doing the best you can. Don’t beat yourself up because you can’t do more.”

“I’ve gotta go. Sounds like one of the kids is up, and I need to get whoever it is back in bed. Have a good night.”

“I will,” she said and hung up.

Trying to assess her birth-control options while standing by the beef jerky, she eyed the condoms. One box touted “ultrathin for maximum sensation.” Another said, “Appealing vanilla scent.”

It’d been far too long since she’d been in the market for such items. What a selection! Red, green, blue, thin, sheepskin, ribbed, large, medium, scented. She had no idea what to buy. Would ultrathin provide enough protection?

Suddenly, none of them seemed to provide enough protection. So what if Sebastian was every woman’s dream? So what if her heart pounded at the thought of touching him? She was a mother; she had responsibilities.

She walked out. But five minutes later she pulled into a drugstore and bought three different kinds-ribbed, sheepskin and vanilla-scented. If she was going to do this, she’d do it right. And why not? Why let Oliver cost her any more than he already had?

“This is for you,” she told him and marched to the checkout register, where she dropped all three boxes on the counter as if daring the clerk to think anything of it.

Tears streamed down Jane’s face as she sat in the parking lot of the motel. She started the car so she could turn on the heat, but she didn’t leave. She couldn’t stop shaking and wasn’t sure she could drive.

What the hell was wrong with her? How could she have thought sex with a total stranger would help anything?

She rested her forehead on the steering wheel. “Because I’m an idiot. I can never get anything right that has to do with men.”

Sebastian had been the perfect gentleman. She had no complaints. But their session hadn’t carried her away as she’d hoped. Not even for a moment. She hadn’t been able to let go, to enjoy their lovemaking the way she’d imagined. Oliver had made that impossible. Just when she thought she’d be able to escape the past, he seemed to reach out from the grave…

“You bastard,” she said. “You cruel, selfish bastard.”

If only she’d never met Oliver. If only she’d been able to have Kate with someone else. But-her fingers sought the tattoo on her breast-Oliver wasn’t all that was holding her back.

A knock on the window startled her. She grabbed her throat as if fending off Oliver’s knife before she realized there was no threat.

“It’s just me.” Sebastian stepped back and held up something. “You left your wallet.”

She looked more closely at the object he’d brought. It definitely was her wallet. How had she lost it?

Then she remembered. They’d made a mess of the bedding and knocked her purse to the floor. It must’ve fallen out.

Shit! If she’d dropped anything else, she would’ve told him to keep it. She didn’t want to speak to him right now, didn’t want to let him know she’d been crying. But her wallet contained all her money and credit cards, as well as her driver’s license. She had to get it back, and the sooner the better.

Great way to top off the evening, Jane.

Lowering the window, she kept her face averted while he handed it to her. “Thank you,” she said, but she knew her voice sounded far too polite. She added a “Sorry” that only made it worse as she began to roll the window back up. She wanted to get out of the lot before he noticed her tears. But a quick glance showed his stricken expression: it was already too late.

She wondered if she should try to explain. She would’ve tried, but she wasn’t sure she could. He hadn’t done anything wrong. These were her issues, issues she’d been dealing with for years. He couldn’t take the blame for that. Anyway, she had no business crying. At least she was alive. At least she had Kate. That was enough. Plenty of other victims weren’t so lucky. She should be grateful, not wallowing in self-pity because she didn’t know how to act like a normal human being anymore.

Determined to put this behind her, to forge ahead as she’d done since Oliver’s death, she shifted into reverse. Forget and move on. That was the name of the game. Don’t look back. Those who did never escaped.

“Jane, wait a minute! I’m sorry,” he called after her, but she didn’t stop. She backed out of the parking space and drove away.

A clap of thunder woke Sebastian. After the initial boom, it rolled across the sky loudly enough to shake the whole building and was soon joined by an onslaught of wind and rain.

“What a morning,” he grumbled. It was still early; he felt like going back to sleep. Especially when his first thought was of Jane-and the disappointment and frustration that had resulted from their lovemaking. He couldn’t help feeling he’d let her down. She’d summoned the courage and trust to return to his room, and he hadn’t been able to deliver what she wanted. She wasn’t sexually liberated enough to take advantage of being in charge. Not after five years of celibacy. Not after what she’d been through. He should’ve thought of that, should’ve realized she actually needed him to take the lead. He would’ve slipped into that role if he hadn’t been so afraid of spooking her.

What she needed was a happy medium between aggressiveness and restraint. He could see that now. But at the time, he’d been feeling his way through the experience, too. He’d never made love to a woman who’d been viciously attacked by a stranger, let alone by the man who was supposed to love her and protect her above all others.

He wondered how Emily would’ve reacted to the violence of having been shot had she survived…

When he considered it in those terms, he had to admit Jane was recovering quite well. She’d been attacked in a brutal, very personal fashion. Yet she was standing her ground, battling her fears. That alone told him she was a brave woman.

He wished last night had brought her some comfort, some satisfaction.

“Live and learn,” he said aloud. Too gentle was almost as unfulfilling as too rough. He instinctively understood that, but he’d made an exception for Jane.

In an attempt to put her out of his head, he showered and checked his voice mail. But he didn’t have any messages and his chores offered little distraction. While he was working, part of his brain kept replaying that moment when her tongue had first touched his and sent his heart racing. He hadn’t been so aroused in ages…

The phone interrupted his thoughts. Halfway hoping it would be Jane, he picked up. “Hello?”

“Sebastian?”

It wasn’t Jane; it was Constance. His disappointment surprised him-and confirmed that he wasn’t himself anymore. Didn’t he want to reconcile with his girlfriend? Maybe she didn’t seem vital to him now, but she would at some point. At this rate, he’d have to rebuild every aspect of his life.

And yet he’d rather speak to a woman he’d met yesterday, a woman with whom he had no future, a woman who’d left him feeling off-balance.

“Yes?” he said into the phone.

“You haven’t called.”

He’d just sat down and booted up his computer, but at the sulkiness in her voice, he pushed away from the desk and stared at the rain sliding down the window. “You told me it was over.”

“And you were willing to leave it at that?”

“I thought it was what you wanted, what would make you happiest.”

“I was angry.”

“And now?”

“I’m still angry. But…I’m not sure I can give up on us.”

Sebastian had no idea how he felt about their relationship anymore, how he felt about her. Was it fair to let her believe things would go back to the way they were before? He’d drifted so far from the man he used to be; he doubted she even knew him anymore. And what about last night? Once he told her he’d been intimate with another woman, they’d have more problems. Constance was nothing if not intensely jealous.

“Malcolm is within reach, Connie,” he said. “I can feel it.”

“I think you might be right.”

Her sudden reversal surprised him. “What?”

“Someone called late last night, Sebastian, at about 2:00 a.m.”

“Who?”

“A man. He wouldn’t give his name.”

He gazed out at the overcast sky. “What’d he say?”

“He asked for you.”

Below, puddles formed in any depression, mirroring the gloom overhead. “Did you get the number he was calling from?”

“I couldn’t. It was blocked.”

“What’d you tell him?”

“I said we broke up, that you were at your condo. But I don’t think he believed me.”

“Why not?”

“He said, ‘Then why the fuck doesn’t he answer?’ and hung up. He was…enraged. I could feel the hate coming through the phone. It was weird.”

Trying to absorb what that call, and the emotion of the caller, could mean, Sebastian looked over at the parking space where he’d found Jane crying. He wished he could have last night to do over again… “You think it was Malcolm?” he said.

When Constance replied her voice was softer than it had been in a long while. “Yes.”

Sebastian had immediately considered the possibility, but he had Malcolm on his mind 24/7. He’d never expected Constance to suspect a man she believed was dead.

Or maybe she simply wanted to believe he was dead-so Sebastian would come home and they could get on with their lives.

“It sounded just like him,” she went on with a degree of acceptance.

Lightning flashed in his peripheral vision before another crack of thunder rumbled overhead. “Are you sure? You only talked to Malcolm occasionally.”

“I talked to him enough to recognize his voice! I picked up Colton for you several times. Or have you forgotten?”

He hadn’t forgotten. He’d wanted her to get to know his son, to see how they’d interact. He’d been on the verge of asking her to marry him-they’d been that close-which was why he couldn’t believe he felt so indifferent to her now.

“He always made it a point to answer the door and harass me,” she was saying. “He’d clarify the time we’d be bringing Colton home, ask what we were planning to do with him-as if he had any right to approve or disapprove. He’d also inform me when Colton had homework so he wouldn’t be ‘saddled’ with it. Or he’d say we needed to get Colton a physical for sports or have his teeth checked or whatever. Don’t you remember? He passed off every chore he could, especially the ones that cost money, although you were already paying an exorbitant amount of child support.”

As long as it was for Colton, Sebastian hadn’t minded. His son had meant everything to him. Sometimes he’d even sent a little extra for Emily. He had no problem buying her a new dress or a meal out so she wouldn’t have to account to Malcolm for the expense. Why would he? She was the mother of his child. The happier she was, the happier his son would be.

What he wouldn’t give to have the option to overpay her again…

Clenching his teeth, he pressed his forehead to the cool glass. “He always had something to say.” It hadn’t been easy having another man tell him how to raise his son. That, more than anything, made Sebastian regret ever allowing his marriage to end. If only he hadn’t been so caught up in work during those early years. He’d been far too driven. With the hours he’d spent at the office, it was almost inevitable that Emily would get involved with someone else. She needed love, attention. He’d neglected her, yet he’d felt so angry, so betrayed, that he hadn’t been able to forgive her until it was too late.

“You hated it.”

“I did. All of it.” Because he’d been such a poor husband himself, his son had ended up living with a stepfather no one liked. And Emily had felt trapped. She didn’t want to “fail” again. But she’d been afraid of Malcolm…

Sebastian wished he’d given those fears more credence. But his father had needed constant care during the years she was first with Malcolm, and once his dad had died and he’d managed to forgive her, he was accustomed to the situation. He’d passed along a few bucks to ease the financial strain, hoping that would help, but he’d never expected it to end the way it did. The fact that Malcolm was a cop-that he loved being a cop-had convinced Sebastian that Emily’s husband was basically a good guy. Sebastian had thought he was just rigid and difficult to deal with on a personal level.

Even after so long, he was shocked by how wrong he’d been.

“So you finally agree that Malcolm is alive?” he asked.

“Now I do. It was him. Who else would be calling here in the middle of the night?”

Sebastian had no idea. But it was a relief to hear Constance acknowledge the possibility that Malcolm was still among the living. Until now, only his mother and, to a point, Mary-had believed him.

“Should I e-mail him? Let him know it was me?”

“You have his e-mail address?”

“It was on those transcripts you sent me.”

“No. I can’t afford to spook him. But why would he be looking for me?” he asked, but he could guess. Malcolm was tempted to see Mary this weekend, more tempted than he’d ever been to let someone from his former life know he was alive. But he was scared, too-scared enough to be searching for signs of trouble.

“Maybe he realizes you’re on to him. Maybe he feels you’re getting close.”

Lightning illuminated a few souls determined to brave the weather. At nearly eight o’clock in the morning, it was still dark enough that they had to use their headlights. One pair flipped on, then another.

“It’s possible,” he said. It wasn’t as if Sebastian had kept his search a secret. He’d flown all over the country tracking down everyone Malcolm had ever known, including Malcolm’s first wife. If Malcolm had been in touch with any of them, he’d probably been told that Sebastian was asking questions. Malcolm had contacted Mary, hadn’t he? Perhaps he’d contacted someone else, too-someone who’d heard what he’d done but didn’t quite trust the news. Or someone who was willing to accept any denials Malcolm had to offer.

“Do you think he checked with the bank?” she asked.

“That would be my guess.” Sebastian couldn’t believe that Malcolm would call Constance first, that he’d let her hear his voice when there were easier ways to get information. Lincoln Hawke Financial, the bank where he worked, was holding his position open, despite the topsy-turvy economy. Had Malcolm called there, he might’ve been told that Sebastian was still an employee. Or, depending on whom he’d spoken to, he might’ve been told that Sebastian hadn’t been in for more than a year.

What would Malcolm make of such a long absence?

“I’m nervous,” Constance said. “If he’s afraid you’re on to him, there’s no telling what he’ll do.”

Turning away from the window, Sebastian went back to his computer. “It’ll blow the meeting this weekend, that’s for sure.”

“I’m not worried about the meeting-I’m worried about your safety!” she cried. “He’s already killed two people and gotten away with it. If he thinks you’re on to him, he might decide to get rid of you!”

“I’m prepared for that.”

“How do you prepare for being shot?”

“By knowing how to shoot back. After all the time I’ve spent at the range, I’m not bad.”

“But he could use this meeting with Mary to set you up. You might go there thinking you’ve got him, and it could be exactly the opposite.”

Maybe, but he’d never been this close to catching the man who’d killed his son. This could be his only opportunity. “Then we’ll see who outsmarts whom.”

“You’ve got to be joking,” she snapped. “That’s your response? That cavalier attitude will get you killed!”

“You know I can’t turn back now.”

“Sebastian, you could stop this madness if you wanted to. How will it help Colton or Emily if you die, too? And what about me? Don’t I matter at all?”

He logged in to his e-mail program. “I can’t move on until I put this to rest,” he said. “This is the only way.”

“Sebastian?”

“What?”

“Do you love me?”

The question caught him off guard. He didn’t know what to say, but he couldn’t lie to her. That was one thing he’d promised himself he’d never do with any woman. Not after Emily had cheated on him, not after he’d learned how it felt to be on the receiving end of such lies. “I don’t know anymore.”

His admission met with a prolonged silence. “Then you won’t be coming back, anyway, not to me,” she said and hung up.

Exhaling, he tossed his phone aside and held his palms against his eyes. He’d just slipped even farther away from the woman he’d wanted to marry, away from everything he had left.

A knock sounded at the door. It was early for the maid, but Sebastian couldn’t imagine who else it would be. “No housekeeping,” he called.

“It’s me.”

Jane. He crossed to the door and opened it to find her standing in the hallway, shaking off an umbrella, which she propped against the wall. She was wearing a trench coat that fell open to reveal a fitted brown business suit with a narrow skirt and a turquoise blouse. Only her rock-star hair, that tattoo on her hand-the one on her breast was completely hidden today-and her large dangly earrings gave away the fact that she wasn’t like other women who might wear this kind of tailored clothing.

“I got hold of the owner of that rental house we visited yesterday,” she said.

Sebastian felt torn. He’d just broken up with Constance -and this time he was sure it was for good. That was probably a mistake. And yet he wanted to touch Jane. He wanted a second chance to make it a pleasant experience for her.

But her starchy bearing told him she had no intention of letting that happen. She wasn’t even going to acknowledge that they’d ever been intimate.

“And?” he prompted.

“Wesley Boss moved out three months ago.”

“Any forwarding address?”

“Just the P.O. box we already have, as you expected.”

He stepped back to let her in. She paused uncertainly, but when he cocked an eyebrow at her in challenge, she clutched her purse in front of her and marched past him in her sensible brown pumps.

“Did Malcolm put a phone number on the rental application?” he asked as the door swung shut.

“He did. It was the number of that cell phone my kidnap victim used. A phone that’s disappeared from the network and can’t be found, of course.”

She had the smell of rain on her, mingled with the perfume he’d noticed the night before. “So it’s a dead end.”

“Yes.”

He motioned to the desk chair. “Would you like to sit down?”

“No, I’m on my way to work. I just stopped by to see if you’d lend me that picture you have of Wesley Boss-or Malcolm Turner or whoever he is-so I can make a copy of it. It’ll be a lot easier to find him if I can at least show people what he looks like.”

“The one you saw yesterday is still in the car, but I’ve got another one.” He crouched next to his briefcase-he’d opened it on the floor on the far side of the bed-and riffled through the contents, eventually withdrawing a manila envelope containing an eight-by-ten of Malcolm. He’d taken it from a second photo that’d had Emily in it, too, until he’d cropped her out.

Jane avoided any incidental contact as she accepted it. “Thank you.”

“No need to make a copy. I have a whole stack.”

“Perfect.”

“What about references?” he asked.

“References?” She’d obviously lost the thread of the conversation.

Following her line of sight, he realized she was looking at the condoms on the nightstand. Maybe she wanted to pretend last night had never happened, but she was as preoccupied with it as he was.

“On the rental application,” he clarified.

She jerked her eyes back to his face. “Oh, right. They were all bogus.”

“The landlord never bothered to check?”

“No. He was going negative trying to carry the mortgage every month so he was just grateful he had someone to move in and pay rent.”

As Sebastian sat on the bed, images of their time together paraded across his mind in greater detail. The softness of her skin. The way her mouth had yielded beneath his. The sounds she’d made. He hadn’t gotten nearly enough of her. He wished she’d let him redeem himself.

But he knew better than to try. She’d taken a giant step backward.

“That means we’re down to the link we have through Mary,” he said.

With a shrug, she perched on the edge of the office chair he’d offered her a moment earlier. “At this stage, it’s our best hope.”

But what if Malcolm had figured out that Mary was betraying him? That call to Constance signified something. “I think Malcolm’s concerned about me.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“He called an old friend last night, asking for me.”

“He knows your friends?”

“This one he does.”

“How?”

“She picked Colton up for me on occasion.”

“She?” Genuine confusion showed on Jane’s face, but it cleared a second later. “Oh! You were with her.”

“Yes.”

Her voice dropped. “Is that still the case?”

“No.”

“You’re sure? Because I assumed…” She cleared her throat. “You’re not wearing a ring.”

“I’m not married, Jane. She’s my ex-girlfriend.” Did it matter that they’d broken up only a few minutes ago?

She spoke through a crash of thunder, but he could hear the relief in her voice. “What did he say to her?”

“He asked about me. He’s poking around to see what I’m doing.”

Jane held her purse primly in her lap. “If he connects you with Mary-”

“Best-case scenario, he takes off again and I’ll be starting from scratch.” Worst-case scenario, he killed Mary before disappearing. But Sebastian didn’t want to think about the worst-case scenario, let alone state it.

“You wouldn’t give up and go home?” she asked.

He shook his head. “Never.” Although he had no idea how he’d continue to finance such efforts.

“Is there any chance he could find out you’re in Sacramento?”

“I’m sure there is. My family and friends know I’m here. But my being here doesn’t necessarily imply it was Mary who betrayed him.”

Lightning flickered, preceding another boom. “Someone had to tip you off to come here.”

“Or something. For all he knows, I traced him a different way.”

Her eyes ranged over him as if she was matching what she saw to what she’d touched last night, and the tension between them ratcheted up. It was ugly outside, ugly everywhere else. He wanted to hole up in this room with her, show her that she could forget the past if only she’d trust him enough…

She shifted uncomfortably. “I still think he’d question her loyalty. I’d wonder about her if it were me. She could be in trouble, Sebastian. At some point, she might have to take her kids and go to a motel booked under a friend’s name or something.”

“I agree. But we can’t uproot her too soon. It’ll be too hard on her and the kids to be away from their regular lives for very long.”

“What if we can get to him before this weekend?” she asked. “Before he has time to do much investigating of his own?”

While part of his brain was busy maintaining the conversation, the other part was remembering the feel of Jane’s breasts against his chest…

He sat up so his body’s reaction to that image would be less apparent. “How?”

“We could tell him that Mary’s sending him a package, ask for an address.”

“He’d provide the P.O. box we already have.”

“Curiosity is a powerful motivator.”

“You think he’d go there to pick it up?”

“I do. And we’d be waiting.” She smiled, but when his gaze fell to her mouth, the smile faded and her tongue darted out to wet her lips.

“I’m not sure it’ll work,” he said. But he was sure this was working. God, he wanted to touch her…

“Why not?”

“He knows the police have the number for his cell phone, which means they also have his P.O. box.”

“A lot of people come and go at any given post office. The idea of running in and picking up a package might be too tantalizing to resist.”

He needed to get her to leave before he pulled her into his arms. But he couldn’t bring himself to walk her to the door before she was ready to go. The torture of having her close but not close enough was bittersweet… “It’s worth a shot. I’ll try to set it up tonight.”

She nodded and got to her feet. “Let me know how it goes.”

“You’re not coming back?”

“I don’t think we should be alone together.”

“If you’re afraid we might fall into bed, we already did.”

“That doesn’t mean we should make it a repeat performance.”

When he stood, they were separated by only a few inches. “Why not? Maybe if you let your guard down next time, you might actually enjoy it.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said, but the scowl that accompanied those words was a mask. He saw the truth beneath it, knew he’d hit a nerve.

He ran a finger down her cheek. “You stopped me every time I did something you really liked. Why?”

Stepping back, she fastened her coat and tied the belt. “I was just trying to…trying to-”

“Sabotage your own pleasure?”

“No!” She headed for the door.

“I think that’s exactly what you were doing,” he called after her. “Then you could convince yourself that you’re not really missing anything.”

“Stop it! You…you’re wrong.” She reached for the door handle. He expected her to open it and leave, but she didn’t. She turned back to face him as if she was going to argue some more-and met him in the middle of the room instead. Then she was kissing him as hungrily as he’d ever been kissed.

This time Sebastian swore he wouldn’t treat her as though she might shatter. Pushing her against the wall, he claimed her mouth as he’d longed to claim it last night and knew it was okay when she clenched her hands in his hair, pulling him even closer, and moaned deep in her throat. At last she was letting go, allowing her body to do what came naturally.

“That’s it,” he murmured. “No need to hold back.” Then he slid her skirt up to her waist.

A torrent of sensation began to roll through Jane, as powerful as the thunder shaking the sky outside. Only this time she embraced it, refused to acknowledge the hesitation, fear and worry that had inhibited her before. She didn’t care what happened after this. With their bodies, she and Sebastian were fighting the memories and the pain-raging against the sorrows of the past.

Except for her panties, she had her clothes on, but she’d never felt more naked, more exposed, as she leaned against that wall. Sebastian was driving into her like the wind and rain beating at the window and touching her at the same time, touching her in a way that made her pleasure escalate until she could scarcely breathe. All her energy traveled into the very center of her body, and it encompassed every last nerve, every secret part of her, every unfulfilled desire, everything she’d lost…

“Jane…” There was a warning note in Sebastian’s voice, but she was too caught up to heed it. She wouldn’t let anything intrude, not this time.

“Don’t stop!” she gasped and arched into him.

He forgot about whatever he was about to say and complied. When she cried out, he answered with a growl of masculine satisfaction, and Jane opened her eyes to witness his expression. For a split second, he watched her with feral intensity, then his eyelids slid closed…

It wasn’t until he carried her to the bed and they both lay on it, exhausted, that it occurred to her-they hadn’t used any birth control.

“Oh, no,” she whispered as she stared at the boxes on the nightstand. Now she understood what he’d been trying to tell her during that brief hesitation.

“What’s wrong?” He sounded as satiated as she was.

When she didn’t answer, he rose up on his elbows. That was when his expression grew wary, alarmed. “Jane?”

She couldn’t react immediately. Visions of the life she’d so carefully reconstructed swam before her. Kate. Her job. Her self-respect. Her in-laws. Her touchy relationship with her sister-in-law. If she got pregnant, she’d just confirm Wendy’s belief that she hadn’t changed at all…

Cool resolve suddenly masked Sebastian’s panic. “Don’t worry about it. It was my fault. I convinced you to let go,” he said, but she knew he was only being a gentleman. He’d tried to stop before it was too late, and she’d said no. She’d been too carried away. She was finally enjoying herself, finally releasing her inhibitions, so he’d continued-because she’d asked him to.

Embarrassed by the frantic greed that’d taken hold of her, she covered her face. What if she got pregnant? At forty-six? Aside from all the other reasons a baby would be a catastrophe, at this age there were added risks involved with pregnancy, risks she didn’t want to take.

“What’s going through your mind?” he asked tentatively.

Sheer terror. But she told herself to relax. It was an isolated incident. Surely one irresponsible act in five years was nothing to worry about.

“Hello?” He snapped his fingers in front of her face. “You still with me?”

She dropped her hands to find him watching her closely. Even if she did get pregnant, she couldn’t hold him responsible. She’d initiated this. Then she’d pushed him beyond the point of no return. “Nothing. I’m just…relaxing.”

His gaze cut uncertainly between her and the condoms. “You don’t seem too relaxed. Is the lack of birth control a potential problem?”

She curled her fingernails into her palms. “Only because it’s not safe to…you know…be unprotected.”

He grew very serious. “I told you, I’m clean. I swear it.”

“Right.” She attempted a smile. “Me, too.”

“So…is there any chance?” he pressed.

Her hope that he’d had a vasectomy at some point in his life before meeting her was destroyed. “No. I had the doctors do something, uh, permanent after Kate was born.”

It was a lie but apparently he bought it. Releasing his breath, he sagged in relief. “You scared the shit out of me,” he said with a laugh.

She got off the bed to search for the panties he’d thrown aside, which was the perfect excuse to pretend she was focused on something else. “You hid it pretty believably.”

He didn’t respond to the comment. “God, that was great!” he said, his smile once again genuine.

“Yeah, it was fun.” Standing around the corner, where he couldn’t see her, she slipped her underwear back on. “But I’d better get to work.”

He fixed his own clothes while watching her smooth her skirt into place and tighten her belt. “I’ll call you,” he said.

Immediately switching to business, as if that was the only reason he’d have to call her, she nodded. “Let me know if you get anywhere with Wesley. I’ll be visiting the Indian casinos today, asking around. Maybe I’ll get lucky and come up with someone who’s seen him or knows when he usually comes in.”

“Be careful.”

“I will.”

He walked her to the door, but she hurried out before he could touch her again. Muttering a soft “Bye” over her shoulder, she headed down the walkway. She didn’t want to deal with that awkward moment-both of them wondering if they should embrace or kiss goodbye. It had been a furious coupling, nothing more. Now that she was emerging from her long hibernation, she was doing it with a vengeance, but she had to avoid confusing lust with love. Between Noah and Oliver, she’d already had more than her fair share of difficult relationships. No need to ask for another hard knock.

On the ground floor, she raised her umbrella and braced against the cold wind as she picked her way through the puddles in the parking lot. When she reached her car, she allowed herself a final glance at Sebastian’s window-and saw him standing there, staring down at her. What was he thinking?

Managing another casual wave, she got behind the wheel. At least he knew how to make love. That bone-melting moment when he’d brought her to the heights of pleasure had been unlike anything she’d ever experienced.

She thought of Jonathan’s advice to “get back on the horse” and almost laughed aloud. She’d done exactly that. And it’d been worth the ride.

As long as she wasn’t pregnant…

The pressure Jane felt to work fast made their day at the casinos seem interminable. She knew from what she’d witnessed at TLS that real investigations weren’t like what she saw in the movies. They could be tedious. But this was her first experience feeling such intense personal responsibility to see that the case moved faster.

“We’re getting nowhere,” she complained to Jonathan after they’d spent several hours asking dealers and waitresses at each casino about the picture Sebastian had given her. Some said they’d never seen the man, others said they couldn’t be positive-too many people passed through a casino to remember them all.

“You ready to give up?” he asked.

“I’m not sure what to do.” She stood amid the flashing lights and clattering slot machines of Thunder Valley, gazing down at the photograph. “Maybe Sebastian’s Wesley Boss isn’t my Wesley Boss. Maybe I’m using the wrong man’s photograph.”

“Or maybe we’re asking the wrong dealers.”

“You think we should wait until later?”

“We don’t know when he gambles. If it’s at night, it makes sense to ask the dealers who work that shift.”

She’d already thought of that, but waiting meant they’d lose even more time. Marcie had been alive when she called. Was she still alive? What about Latisha? “If I need to come back, Kate will have to stay at my in-laws’ again,” she mused.

“I’d offer to make the rounds for you but I promised Zoë I wouldn’t work tonight,” he said. “My hours have been crazy lately.”

“I can do it,” she told him. “Kate loves it at the Burkes’.”

A security guard gave them a funny look, as if he suspected them of trying to do something wrong. What, exactly, that might be, Jane couldn’t figure out. They weren’t even gambling. Maybe he’d seen her flashing that picture around and didn’t like it. She always felt so watched in a casino. It made her uncomfortable. But the fact that they’d caught this guy’s interest gave her an idea.

Stepping around Jonathan, she approached him. “Sir, could you help me?”

Bushy salt-and-pepper eyebrows like those of an old-time sea captain jerked together above murky gray eyes. “With what?”

After introducing herself and Jonathan, she explained their purpose. “Have you seen this man?” she asked once he understood.

He studied the photograph, but ultimately shook his head. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Is there any way we could view the security tapes to see if he’s been in?”

“I’m not the one who can give permission for that. I’m guessing you’d need to contact the police and have them get in touch with management.”

“There’s already a detective on the case. I could talk to him, see what he can do,” she said. But this was such a long shot. Would there be probable cause to get a court order, if one was necessary? And was it the best place to spend their time, anyway?

“Although…” Security considered the picture again. “I suppose I could check the tapes myself.”

Jane exchanged a glance with Jonathan. “Would you mind?”

“How far back do you want me to go?”

“Would six weeks be too long?” Jonathan asked.

“Nah.” He clicked his tongue. “But I’d have to do this on my own time, so it could take a while.”

More discouraging news. Maybe David could shorten that time frame by gaining access to the tapes, but he’d have to work it out with the tribal council. Jane assumed they had jurisdiction. “We’d appreciate whatever you can do.” At least it was a start.

“No problem.”

She handed him the picture, along with her business card. “You can reach me here if you find anything.”

“Will do.”

Jane’s cell phone rang as they walked out of the casino. “It’s Skye,” she told Jonathan in disbelief.

He seemed just as surprised as she was. “Calling from South America?”

“Must be.”

When she hesitated instead of answering, he stopped. “Aren’t you going to take it?”

Jane wasn’t sure she wanted to. So much had changed since her friend and boss had left. She was searching for two kidnap victims, had made love with someone she’d just met-and she might be pregnant. She didn’t want Skye to know about these things, did she? How much could she tell her?

“Jane?” Jonathan prompted.

“Of course.” She punched the talk button before the call could transfer to voice mail. “Hello?”

“How’s it going?” Skye asked.

Jane tried to put a smile in her voice. “Fine. What about you?”

“Could be better. We still haven’t found the child we’ve been looking for. It’s so difficult when you don’t speak much of the language.”

To escape the noise, Jane stepped away from the automatic doors but remained under the overhang to avoid the rain. The worst of the storm had passed, but it continued to drizzle. “How much longer do you think it will take?”

“Who knows. We’ve got some good leads, some extended family members who are sympathetic and asking around on our behalf, but there’s no way to tell for sure. I’m hoping it won’t be more than a week. I really miss David and the kids.”

“They miss you, too.”

“I hope I never have to take another job like this.”

“You didn’t have to take this one,” Jane reminded her.

“Yes, I did. We need the money. Besides, someone’s got to help out in situations like this. It’s more of a problem than people realize.”

Someone spoke in the background.

“Was that Ava?” Jane asked.

“Yes, she said these are tough cases.”

There were plenty of tough cases at home. Jane was working on one-not that Ava would be happy to hear it. “No kidding.”

“What’s been happening at the office?”

Biting her lip, she turned away from Jonathan. She didn’t want to see his reaction when she lied. “Nothing much, why?”

“Just wanted to make sure you were managing okay without us. It must be weird being the only one there.”

“Jonathan’s been in and out. And there are the volunteers to keep me company.”

“So you’re okay.”

The smell of someone’s cigarette wafted toward Jane, making her crave a smoke. “Of course. I’m fine.”

“Good. Thanks for looking after TLS while we’re gone.”

She glanced around to find the person who was smoking, spotted the security guard and smiled enviously. She knew she’d never light up again, but that didn’t always stem the desire. “Anytime. Be safe, and I hope to see you soon,” she told Skye.

Jonathan frowned when she hung up. “Don’t you think you should’ve told her?”

“Why? It’s over already. I’m not going to sleep with him again.”

A crooked smile curved his lips. “I was talking about the case.”

The florist turned out to be a bust. Pretending to be Wesley Boss wanting to double-check the billing address he’d provided with his credit card, Sebastian had spoken with Love in Blooms. But the manager there merely confirmed the P.O. box.

As he ate some more of the Chinese takeout he’d picked up for dinner, he tried to come up with other ways to track Malcolm and, as usual, thought about the charred body. It’d been found in Malcolm’s car, which was discovered the day after Emily and Colton were murdered. Did Malcolm kill a drifter, whose corpse he used for that purpose? Did he “borrow” a freshly buried body from some remote cemetery? Or did he pay off a mortician? If Sebastian could turn up a lead on that body, he might be able to tie it to Malcolm. But he’d spent the first two months of his investigation working that angle and had found nothing.

The murders had been carefully choreographed. That was probably what bothered Sebastian the most. While eating and sleeping in the same house as Emily and Colton, while playing the part of caring husband and stepfather, he’d been taking steps to end their lives. He’d slept with Emily, knowing he was going to kill her.

Maybe Sebastian hadn’t liked Malcolm. But even after all this time it was hard to imagine the man he’d known, any man with a regular upbringing and a regular job, as that cold-blooded. Especially a cop.

How could Malcolm live with himself? Did he realize what he’d done? Or care about the people he’d hurt? Look at the humiliation he’d brought his own family…

The telephone jolted Sebastian out of his thoughts. Dumping what was left of his dinner in the trash, he got his cell phone from the desk. He’d already heard from Mary while he was at the restaurant, waiting for his food. She’d called to let him know she’d sent the e-mail from her work account notifying Malcolm of the package and requesting his address.

This was her again. “Hello?”

“How’s it going?”

“Not bad,” he said, but he was feeling restless. He suspected it was because of Jane. He’d been thinking about her all day, fixating on the fact that he’d made love to her twice and still hadn’t seen the tattoo on her breast. “Have you received a response?”

“Not yet. That’s what I’m calling to tell you. I just got home from taking the boys to their hockey lessons and checked my work account. Nothing.”

“It probably won’t come until later this evening.”

“I won’t be around. I’m heading out. Some of the girls at work are getting together for dinner and a movie.”

This was unusual. Mary was such a dedicated mother she didn’t allow herself to leave the boys very often. “I’m sure you could use the break. Do you have someone to watch Brandon and Curtis?”

“I’ve got a sitter lined up.”

“Sounds like you’re all set.”

“I am, but…I’ll check in with you when I get back, okay?”

They’d developed such a routine it was difficult for her to pull away. She acted as if she felt almost as responsible to him as she did to her kids. But now that he could communicate with Malcolm directly, he didn’t need her to be in contact as much as before. “Don’t worry about it. Go have fun. You can e-mail me when you get home, and if I’m awake, we’ll talk. Otherwise, we’ll catch up tomorrow.”

“What are you planning to say to him tonight?”

“The usual.”

“Should I expect more flowers?”

“Who knows what to expect from Malcolm? That’s the problem.” He said goodbye and disconnected, but before he could put down his phone, his mother called. She’d found Malcolm’s hateful note in his home office and would overnight it to the handwriting expert in the morning.

Sebastian wasn’t sure this would have a big payoff, but some proof was better than none. He’d collect whatever he could. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Sebastian?”

He brought the phone back to his ear. “Yes?”

“What would Malcolm want with two teenage girls?”

The rain had stopped but the chilly air and early darkness made it seem later than it was. Sebastian had kept his coat on while he ate, but was finally warm enough to take it off. “I’m afraid to guess.”

“If he’s raped them or…or tortured them, he can’t let them go. He’d know the value of a witness.”

Sebastian regretted telling her about Gloria Rickman’s sisters. He talked with Christa often, shared most things with her, but the kidnapping had upset her so much he should’ve left that out. Knowing Malcolm had already killed two people made the possibility of more murders all too plausible.

Fortunately, he hadn’t told Mary, or he doubted she’d want to go out tonight. “I’ll find him,” he said.

“Now you don’t have any choice,” she responded. Then she was gone.

Releasing a deep sigh, Sebastian threw his phone on the bed and signed on to the Internet as Mary. It was time to strike up another conversation with Malcolm, see if he could get him to talk a little more about his new “roommates.” But Malcolm wasn’t on and Jane called a few minutes later.

“I’m going back to the casinos to talk to the dealers who work the night shift, so I need another picture. I gave the one I had to an employee who promised to go over the security tapes for us.”

“You don’t have to stay home with your daughter tonight?” he asked in surprise.

“She went back to my in-laws’. I felt it was best. I’ve already spoken to the dealers who work the day shift. I figured I should check with the night-shift staff, and the sooner the better.”

“Of course. You want to stop by to get another picture on your way?”

“Unless you’d like to come along,” she said.

“Where are you planning to start?”

“ Thunder Valley. I want to hit Cache Creek later, once the nightlife really gets rolling, since it’s our best bet.”

He didn’t need the promise of her tattoo to tempt him. Wanting to find Malcolm was enough. But Sebastian knew he’d be lying to himself if he pretended, even for a moment, that he didn’t think of that tattoo whenever he thought of Jane. “I’m in,” he said. “Where do you live? I’ll pick you up.”

“Do you think that security guard you just paid will really call us if Malcolm comes in?” Jane asked.

Sebastian signaled before taking the Howe Avenue exit off Highway 50. “I do.”

“He’s already got your money. How do you know he won’t forget?”

“Because I promised him more money if he remembers.”

“How much more?”

The money he’d offered might make him appear far wealthier than he was at the moment. But he didn’t want to make a bigger issue of it by refusing to answer. “Five thousand.”

“Dollars?”

“I tried pesos, but…no go.”

She wouldn’t be diverted by his flip remark. “Five thousand dollars just for making a call.”

“No. Malcolm has to be there when we arrive. I have to get a glimpse of him.”

She adjusted her seat belt so she could turn toward him. “You don’t mind throwing away that kind of money?”

His bank account couldn’t hold out much longer. He figured he might as well use what he had left to full advantage. “If this works, it’ll be the best money I’ve ever spent, don’t you think?”

“Saving Marcie and Latisha is worth any amount. It just seems like a lot to pay someone who’s already on the clock,” she said. “I bet he would’ve done it for less.”

Maybe that was true, but Sebastian wasn’t taking any chances. “We want to give him enough incentive.”

“At that price he’ll study every face.”

“That’s the point. Now we can go to bed with some confidence that he’ll do his job.”

“True,” she murmured. “And I’m tired again.”

He pulled into her condominium complex and parked. “I’ll walk you to the door.” He didn’t ask. He stated it as if she didn’t have a choice. Because there was no way he’d let her walk up there without knowing she got in safely.

Fortunately, she didn’t argue. She actually surprised him by asking him to check inside, too. He thought it was her background that had her spooked until she explained that she’d been getting some harassing phone calls from Latisha’s father, someone she called both Luther and Lucifer.

Jane had left the kitchen light on, but the rest of the apartment was dark. They flipped switches as they walked from room to room. Sebastian had expected to see a fairly standard condo, furnished in a fairly standard fashion, but there was art everywhere-sculptures, paintings, handmade pottery, blown glass, metal objects. One painting, in particular, caught his eye. It was hanging on the wall in her bedroom and showed the outline of a man and a woman in a naked embrace. There were no details-no eyes or ears or specific body parts-just shape and color, but it brought the image vividly to mind.

“You like art,” he said.

She’d followed him into the room to watch him look in the closet, the bathroom and under the bed. “Yes. But it’s actually a fairly new passion for me. I never really thought about it or noticed it much before, but since Oliver…I don’t know. It helps me cope with the ugliness of the past.”

“This is nice,” he said, gesturing at the painting. “What is it, watercolor?”

“Yes.”

“You have excellent taste.”

“I’m no expert,” she said with a self-deprecating laugh. “I just buy what I like.”

“I don’t recognize any of the artists.”

“Because it’s all new talent. I can’t afford the more established painters and I don’t want replicas.”

“Only the real thing.”

“For me, it has to be original.”

“Then I’m especially impressed you were able to spot such gems.”

“I like helping new artists get started,” she mused. “As far as I’m concerned, they make the world a better place. Art is another way to fight back, to fill the world with beauty and inspiration instead of hatred and anger. Don’t you think?”

“I’ve never thought of it in that way, but I guess you’re right.” He turned to face her. “Where do you find new pieces?”

“I visit galleries wherever I go. I check eBay. Lots of places, really. I love the discovery process. You could say it’s become my hobby-my only hobby now that I’m working so much.”

He indicated a blown-glass piece on her dresser. “That looks expensive.”

“It was about three hundred dollars. Not bad, considering how much it’ll be worth someday.” She smiled. “If the artist makes it big, of course.”

He jerked his head toward the watercolor. “This painting had to cost more.”

“It did. I used my tax refund to buy it. I should’ve been more conservative and put the money into savings, but…I just had to have it.”

He could see why it appealed to her. The painting depicted two halves coming together to make a perfect whole.

“The blues suggest peace and tranquility,” she said.

The painting suggested a lot of things. But, at this moment, it was the sensuality of those figures that struck Sebastian most deeply. He wanted to make love to Jane in her own bed. “Is Kate at your in-laws’?” he asked, instead of commenting on the colors.

“Yes.” She was no longer at the door; she was standing right beside him. Within reach.

He turned to watch her expression while she gazed at the painting and found her watching him instead. Caught up in the artist’s vision and the energy that crackled between them, they stared at each other for several seconds without speaking.

Demanding honesty of himself, Sebastian refused to mask what he was feeling. He wanted her again, but this time he planned to make love to her tenderly-to take all night, if necessary. He wanted her to relax and to trust him.

But just as he was leaning forward to kiss her, she stepped back and shoved a self-conscious hand through her short hair. “Thanks for checking the place. I-I know I shouldn’t let Lucifer rattle me, but it’s a bit unnerving.”

It took so much effort to put those barriers up again. He didn’t understand why she bothered. What was she fighting?

Instead of filling the silence, he waited, hoping she’d change her mind. When she gave no indication that she might reconsider, he was disappointed, but he didn’t push. It wouldn’t be what he wanted if he had to pressure her into it. “Will you do me one favor?” he asked.

She seemed hesitant to commit herself. “What’s that?”

“Will you tell me what the tattoo is on your breast so I can sleep tonight?” He grinned by way of enticement.

“My tattoo? It was dark when…in your motel room. How’d you see it?”

“I didn’t see it then. I saw the edge of it above the neck of your sweater when we were in the car yesterday.”

Her chest rose as if she’d just taken a deep breath. “I-it’s nothing. Hard to explain.”

His eyes riveted to hers. “Then why don’t you show me?”

He expected her to refuse, but she didn’t. She gave him the kind of smile that said she’d take that dare and unfastened her blouse, parting it so he could see the portion of the tattoo that extended above her bra.

Suddenly he understood why she hadn’t been able to explain. It wasn’t a rose or a character or a butterfly. It was a beautiful, artistic decoration-so ornate that he almost didn’t see the letter R scrolled among the curving loops and lines.

When he did, he lifted his hand and, encouraged when she didn’t step away, ran a finger over it. “A lover’s name?”

“No.” She wouldn’t meet his eye.

Taking it one step further, he lowered the lace of her bra far enough to see the rest. The R wasn’t the only letter. There was an I and a P. “Rest in peace,” he said. “This is for Oliver?”

Her breathing had gone shallow. He wanted to kiss her-but she chose that moment to move out of reach. “No. Someone else. Someone who wouldn’t be dead if I hadn’t been stupid and lonely and weak.” She’d said it with finality, as if she wouldn’t elaborate, but her words triggered a memory, a snatch of something she’d told him before. He left me for dead, lying beside his murdered brother.

“Another member of the family?” he asked.

She started to button her blouse. Her fingers worked quickly as if she’d exposed too much-of her body and her pain.

He took her hands, which were ice cold. The fact that she was trembling suggested there was more to the story. “What happened, Jane?”

She shook her head. “Like I said, I was stupid.”

“Oliver thought you were having an affair with his brother?” Was that why he’d tried to kill her?

Tears swam in her eyes.

“Jane?”

“Yes.”

Yes, he thought it? Or, yes, it was true? “Was he right?”

“I was so lonely,” she whispered miserably.

That was another yes. Sebastian wasn’t sure how he felt about this revelation. It certainly wasn’t what he wanted to hear, wasn’t what anybody would want to hear. “How?”

She pulled away to finish buttoning her blouse. She had to feel for the buttons with her fingers because she kept her head high, almost challenging him to see the monster she believed herself to be. “Oliver came from a wonderful family. He had a brother, Noah, who was everything Oliver seemed to be but wasn’t.”

Her eyes glazed over. He could tell she was remembering and hating herself for what those memories brought to life. Seeing her emotions made Sebastian regret asking. The subject was too close, too private. He didn’t even plan on staying in Sacramento. He had no right to pry into her pain. “Jane, I’m sorry. This is none of my business-”

She held up a hand. “No, now that you’ve asked, now that you know this much, you might as well see how terrible I am.”

He could barely hear the last two words. “Jane-”

“Let me finish,” she said.

Realizing it was too late, he deferred with a slight nod.

“None of us really knew Oliver wasn’t what he appeared to be. He could make you believe he was Santa Claus, if he wanted.” She wiped a tear that rolled down her cheek and blinked away the rest. At that point he could almost hear her backbone snap into place. She was approaching this as one might approach a firing squad-determined to face her executioners with some dignity. “After he attacked Skye the first time, he was convicted of attempted rape.”

“Did he go to prison?”

She buttoned her top button, the one she usually kept open. “For over three years.”

There was a photograph on her dresser next to that glass sculpture-a young girl who had to be her daughter, Kate. “That left you and Kate where?”

“Adrift, mostly. I’d let myself depend on him and on our lifestyle so much that it felt as if I’d lost everything. I’d been out of the workforce for several years-and I’d never made much money when I was working. I had a cosmetology license but not a college degree, and I was rusty even at cutting hair. I guess you could say I’d grown spoiled. Lazy.”

“So it was a financial shock, in addition to everything else?”

She sat on the bed, which was covered with a large blue-and-green comforter and lots of pillows. “It wasn’t a smooth transition. I had no choice but to go back to cutting hair. But it’d been so long since I’d worked I didn’t have a clientele. None of the nicer shops would have me-my skills were out-of-date. I was also an emotional wreck. So angry and bitter, so sure Oliver had been wrongly accused and Skye had deprived me of my husband, my child’s father, our breadwinner, my fancy house, my high-class friends. Even my membership to the country club,” she added with a disgusted laugh. “And I thought she’d done it all out of spite.”

Sebastian shoved his hands in his pockets. “Was there much proof that he was guilty?”

“He admitted being in her house. He had to admit that. They had his DNA, his blood on her bed. But he claimed she invited him over for consensual sex, then freaked out because she was on drugs. He said she tried to stab him.”

“So, as far as you knew, he cheated on you first.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“I’m not excusing you. I’m trying to figure out how it all happened. Did you know Skye at the time?”

“I’d never heard of her before in my life. It was all so confusing. I couldn’t understand why she’d point a finger at my husband. There was no way he could be what she claimed. I would know, wouldn’t I? That’s what I kept telling myself. I lived with him, loved him, went to church with him…”

He whistled under his breath. “Those accusations couldn’t have been easy to hear.”

“Believing adultery to be the worst of his sins was easier than accepting the truth,” she said. “I was determined to forgive him and reclaim what we’d had together.”

She would’ve been better off divorcing him while he was in prison. Then maybe she could’ve gotten away before he attacked her and left that scar on her neck. “So you believed your husband.”

“He said he loved me.” She was no longer looking at him-or seeing him, at any rate. Her voice had fallen to a whisper, as if she was talking to herself.

“Maybe he did, in his own way.”

She shook her head. “No, Oliver never loved anyone. He was incapable of it. But his brother was different.”

A twinge of jealousy surprised Sebastian. “How’d you get involved with Noah?”

“He started coming over to help out, to make sure Kate and I had everything we needed-fix up the place, hang drapes, get us moved, whatever.”

Sebastian could easily imagine the situation. At least Noah had been trying to do right by his sister-in-law. Or maybe it was just hard for Sebastian to blame Noah because he felt the same attraction to Jane. “And it turned out to be a little too much time alone?”

“I was so needy…” He saw shame, even anguish, in her body language. She was shouldering all the guilt, but this Noah deserved some of it, too, didn’t he?

“It takes two,” he reminded her.

She managed a wobbly smile. “He didn’t mean for it to happen.”

“Did you?” Sebastian countered.

“Of course not, but-”

“People make mistakes, Jane.” Sebastian suspected there were some who’d hold this against her. But he’d been through a similar situation with Emily and he knew that even good people sometimes got involved in relationships they shouldn’t. Besides, how could anyone say what he or she would’ve done in the same circumstances? Although he’d never cheated, he had his own regrets. Some bad decisions were easier to correct than others.

“This was more than a mistake,” she said. “Noah is dead because of me. He left a wife and three children.”

In light of what she’d told him, the painting on her wall took on greater significance. Did the colors represent the peace she longed for but couldn’t quite achieve? Her emotional burden was so heavy, he was astonished that she’d been able to carry it for the past five years.

Knowing what he knew now, Sebastian could understand why she hadn’t been able to heal. She wouldn’t let herself. She was still berating herself, still paying penance. That explained why she hadn’t met someone else and moved on, why she hadn’t made love since the attack. It even explained why she wouldn’t allow herself to enjoy making love with him last night. This morning, human need had won out-briefly-but she was already back to self-denial.

He sat on the bed next to her. “How did Oliver find out about the two of you?”

“Once he got out of prison, and he and I were trying to make another go of it, Noah’s conscience got the better of him. It was never as if I was trying to steal Noah from his wife and kids, I swear. I knew all along that our…relationship couldn’t continue. I cared about the entire family. I didn’t want to see them hurt.”

“How’d his wife take the news?”

“To this day, she won’t really speak to me. She thinks I’m the worst kind of…Well, you can imagine the names she reserves for me. And I can’t blame her.”

Although she’d long since closed her blouse, Sebastian glanced toward the tattoo he’d seen on her breast. “You had that tattoo placed right over your heart.”

She seemed confused by the statement. “So?”

“I think that’s significant.”

“How?”

“What are you mourning, Jane? Noah’s death or your own?”

She stood. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Sure you do. You’ve cut yourself off from any chance at love. You say you’ve gone through counseling, but you won’t forgive yourself. What good is the counseling you’ve had if you’re going to continue punishing yourself?”

She watched him in the mirror but said nothing.

“Maybe Skye saved you from Oliver, but who’s going to save you from yourself?”

Rubbing her chest as if the tattoo suddenly burned, she faced him. “I don’t deserve any more than I have. As long as I have Kate, that’s all I need, all I ask for.”

“You’re settling.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are. You stock your house with inanimate objects that portray the love and completeness you won’t allow yourself.” He motioned toward the painting as a case in point. “But life doesn’t have to be so lonely!”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow at him. “Are you saying you’re the man I should trust?”

She had him and she knew it. He wasn’t any more whole than she was. “No,” he admitted. “I’m not.”

Although he could tell she’d been expecting his admission, the tightening of her mouth told him she was disappointed. “Then I guess we should say good-night,” she said and walked him to the door.

Sebastian was so tired he almost fell into bed without checking to see if Malcolm was online. For once, he didn’t want to get involved in a conversation. His time with Jane had left him even more unsettled than after she’d lowered her skirt and walked out this morning. Why? What was it about her? His feelings were so confused-a mix of commiseration, identification, admiration, lust. Even disgust for what she’d done with Oliver’s brother. He knew it would be easier not to think about her if he could sink into unconsciousness for a few hours. After all the late nights, he needed a break.

But force of habit had him booting up his computer while he brushed his teeth.

He opened his own e-mail first. Mary had IMed him from her account around midnight. Hey, you there? You up?

He checked to see if she was still on and got no response, so he read his e-mails. His mother had sent him a message, letting him know she’d couriered the handwriting sample. His boss from Lincoln Hawke had also sent him a message.

Wearing only his jeans, Sebastian held his coffee cup loosely. He was sitting at the breakfast table with Jane, trying to figure out why she made him feel better when Constance always made him feel worse. It made no sense. There’d been times over the past few months when his former girlfriend had wanted to make love and he’d had no interest, times she’d begged him to open up and talk and he’d been unable to do so.

But it was different with Jane. Was it because she understood what he felt without his having to explain? That was part of it, but he liked too much about her to pin his feelings exclusively on her understanding. Mary had kids. She understood, too. But he hadn’t been attracted to her.

“So what are we going to do about Malcolm?” Jane asked.

He’d just told her about the e-mail Malcolm had sent Mary, Mary’s response and the intruder she’d subsequently had at her house. “I don’t know.”

“I mean, Mary can’t go back home.”

Setting down his coffee cup, he leaned back and stretched out his legs. “No, not until we’re sure Malcolm has moved on.”

“What makes you think he’ll move on?”

“Escape is his best option in terms of risk management.”

“But killers don’t necessarily think logically. You’ve chased him all over kingdom come. Maybe he’s planning to put a stop to it here.”

The fact that Malcolm had broken into Mary’s house suggested he wasn’t willing to let her betrayal go unpunished. But Malcolm was basically a coward. Sebastian had always believed it, and he believed it more than ever now. “You think he might try to get rid of me and Mary?”

She added some cream to her coffee. “That’s what Oliver would do. He’d stay until he tied up the loose ends, then he’d move on.”

Malcolm wasn’t the same kind of killer. But he was definitely the kind of man who’d hold a grudge. And this was growing more personal by the day. “As long as he comes after me and not Mary, I wouldn’t mind. I’d rather put an end to it, too.”

“One way or another.”

“It’s not a death wish. I’m just tired of living like this.”

The phone rang before she could comment. While she answered, Sebastian started clearing away the dishes.

“Don’t make Grandma drive all the way over here,” she said into the phone. “I’ll bring it to school.” She listened for a bit. “You want to what?”

Sebastian glanced over his shoulder and found her watching him. When their eyes met, she turned away.

“No, I’ll bring it to you…Because you don’t need to come home right now…I’ll feed your hamster. I do that when you’re gone on the weekends, don’t I?…Kate, it’ll make you late for school…I said I’ll bring it, okay?…I love you…Bye.”

“Kate forget something?” he asked as she hung up.

“Yeah, but it’s not a problem. I can drop it off at the school.”

He leaned against the counter. “You seem a little rattled.”

She set the phone on the counter. “I’m just wondering what I would’ve done if they’d shown up here without calling first,” she said with a nervous laugh. “Can you imagine? I haven’t even gone on a date since her father was killed.”

“Does she know Skye’s the one who killed her father?”

“Yes.”

“And she knows why?”

“Yes.”

“If she can handle that, she can handle anything,” he said. He was about to add, “There’s nothing wrong with having a male friend,” but didn’t. He doubted it would be smart to categorize their relationship. At this stage, neither one of them really knew what they were to each other.

“But it’s eight o’clock in the morning,” she muttered.

“Maybe I stopped by because we’re working together.”

She arched her eyebrows at his state of half-dress. “Like that? It’s not as if she would’ve waited for you to put on your shirt before barging in. She has a key. This is her home.”

It would’ve been awkward. But he was too stubborn to concede. He didn’t want to feel he had to be hidden or segregated from her regular life. “Having a romantic interest isn’t exactly unnatural, Jane.”

“It’s more complicated than that and you know it.”

She started to slip away, probably so she could shower and dress, but he caught her elbow. “I’d like to meet Kate.” If he could back up a little and include her daughter, maybe Jane would be able to relax, maybe she wouldn’t view him as merely a guilty pleasure.

“Sure. Someday,” she said.

“Today. Why don’t I take you both to dinner?”

She pretended to consider the invitation, but he knew she wouldn’t accept it. “I don’t think so. There’s no need to confuse her. You’ll be going back to New York when this is all over, and then…”

He let go of her. He understood why she might be extraprotective, especially of Kate. But she had to get beyond that sometime. “And then she’ll have a friend in a different state. So will you. How can that hurt?”

“There’s just no point.”

“Because…”

“Because this is a temporary fling.”

That was how she justified getting involved in such a high-risk situation? “What if you’re pregnant?”

Twin spots of color appeared high on her cheeks. “We’ll deal with that if it happens.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier to explain if she’d at least met me? Maybe she’s only twelve, but surely she knows it takes two to make a baby.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I can’t handle even the possibility. Not now. I mean…I’m forty-six. I’m too old to be having another child.”

Sebastian shrugged. “People are waiting longer these days.”

“And if they wait this long, they face some serious risks.”

“I realize that. But even when the mother’s forty-six, most babies are healthy.”

“So what are you saying?”

“I’m just not going to panic, that’s all.” He had no idea how they’d work out the details but, as crazy as he knew it was, a baby sort of made sense to him. Why he’d want to have that baby with a woman he’d only known for a few days, he couldn’t say. Maybe it was because Constance had been so definite about not wanting children. It hadn’t been a problem between them. When he’d made a commitment to her, he’d been satisfied with the one kid he had. Since the issue was already decided, he’d never reconsidered. But now…

He wouldn’t be unhappy if it happened, he decided. Maybe another child would help fill the terrible void in his heart since Colton’s murder. Maybe he’d have a little girl this time. Although no one could take the place of his son, it’d be nice to have a child he could love as much.

But having a baby with Jane would be a nightmare if she wasn’t as pleased as he was. “Would you be too upset?” he asked.

She folded her arms in a protective manner. “I don’t know if upset is the right word.”

What would she do? A man had so little control. “Would you consider an abortion?”

“I can’t even think about that. Not right now.”

“Just so you know, if you are pregnant and you don’t want the baby, I’ll take it,” he said. “You could tell everyone you agreed to be a surrogate. It’ll be an easy out.”

Pressing a hand to her stomach, she said, “Don’t you dare offer me money!”

He chuckled. She wouldn’t worry about that if she knew his financial situation. “I wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Okay, then. Let’s make sure there is a baby before we discuss it further. Deal?”

“Deal.”

“I’m having a shower.”

He reclaimed the dish towel. “I won’t be here when you get out. I’m going over to check on Mary.”

“I’ll call you as soon as I get hold of David. I’m hoping one of Mary’s neighbors jotted down Malcolm’s license-plate number.”

“Or at least noticed the make and model of his car.”

“That would help.”

They were finished with the conversation and had, essentially, said goodbye. But she didn’t leave the kitchen. She stood there studying him.

“What is it?” he asked.

Her expression grew wistful. “Do you really want a baby?”

The thought triggered another smile. “What do you think?”

She shook her head. “It seems like it’s never the man who wants a child.”

“This time it is,” he said.

“It’d be a change.” With that understatement, she headed down the hall. But a frantic knock at the front door stopped her from getting in the shower.

Jane perched on the couch beside Gloria. With only one bedroom, one bathroom and a tiny kitchen and living room, the apartment was cramped. Bookshelves made of planks and cinder block, spray-painted light blue, took up one whole wall. Each piece of tattered furniture bumped up against another, and cheap knickknacks cluttered most horizontal surfaces. But overall it was more of an organized mess than a disorganized one.

The smell of grilled onions permeated the apartment. After the blood she’d seen in Sebastian’s backseat, the thought of food made Jane nauseous. But it was easier to focus on the sights and scents surrounding her than on Gloria, who was crying in her embrace. It had been hard enough to tell her that Marcie was dead, but it was even worse to say that her body had been found in Sebastian’s car and her own parking lot. Fortunately, that didn’t seem to make her blame Jane, but she was still brokenhearted.

“I was afraid of this,” she cried. “I been livin’ in fear for weeks. But I never really believed it… Why Marcie? Why my sister?”

Jane continued to pat and rub her broad back. She had no answers. She only knew that Gloria’s sisters had been in the wrong place at the wrong time and, despite her best efforts and those of the police, Marcie was dead.

She prayed that Latisha wouldn’t meet the same fate but couldn’t help wondering if she already had.

Regardless of what happened in the future, she’d see Malcolm Turner behind bars if she had to dedicate the rest of her life to it. For Marcie. For Latisha. For Gloria. For Sebastian, too. But also for herself. Finding Malcolm had become a way to banish Oliver’s ghost. She finally had the chance to defeat a man who was just as bad as the one who’d nearly killed her. She’d strike back.

“I’m so sorry.” Even as she said it, she realized that phrase was inadequate, but she had nothing better to offer. David was still processing the crime scene. He’d be arriving shortly, but they’d talked and decided it might be easier on Gloria if Jane visited ahead of him-to break the news. Sebastian was giving the police a statement. Since Marcie’s body had been found in his rental car, they had some questions for him.

“I can’t live without her,” Gloria wailed. “I can’t do it.”

Using her free hand, Jane wiped the tears sliding down her own cheeks. “You can, and you will,” she said. “I’ll help you.”

“And what about Latisha? She probably dead, too.”

Jane couldn’t promise otherwise. While she was searching for words that might comfort Gloria without giving false hope, the door swung open so hard it banged against the inside wall. Even Gloria jumped. She calmed the minute she realized it was Luther, but Jane grew that much more uneasy.

“What do ya know.” A gust of wind whipped into the apartment along with him. “It’s the charity worker who’s too good to return my calls.”

Jane had meant to call him. She’d told Jonathan she would. But, reluctant to deal with the force of his personality, she’d put it off. “The messages you left for me didn’t deserve a response,” she said. She couldn’t let him know he frightened her. That would only encourage him to continue behaving the way he was.

“Because I’m not some white dude in a suit? Because I don’t have the money to make a donation to the cause?”

Letting her arm slide away from Gloria, Jane stood. “Because your messages were antagonistic and abusive.”

“My messages were abusive?” he scoffed with a laugh. “Bitch, you don’t know what the word means until you’ve lived in my world.”

“Luther, stop.” If Gloria was intimidated by Latisha’s father, she didn’t show it. But, at the moment, she probably didn’t care a whole lot about her own welfare. She sounded fatalistic and just plain exhausted. “She ain’t the problem. Marcie’s dead. You hear what I’m sayin’? Dead. And you come in here cussin’ at the one person tryin’ to help us. What’s the matter with you?”

Luther’s bloodshot eyes had widened at the word dead. Jane was pretty sure his brain hadn’t registered much beyond that. “What’d you say?”

“Marcie’s dead,” she repeated numbly. “They found her body this mornin’.”

His nostrils flared. “What about Latisha?”

“She probably dead, too.” Gloria began to rock back and forth. “They both gone. Oh, God! How could this happen?”

The news seemed to sap his strength as well as his anger. Slumping onto a kitchen chair that looked too small to hold him, he bowed his head. “It’s a bad cop,” he said to the floor. “I know it is. That’s what I been tryin’ to tell ya. It’s a bad cop who done it.”

Because of Luther’s arrival, Jane had been hoping to make a quick exit. She’d been planning to grab her purse and her briefcase and go, but this gave her pause. She’d heard about Malcolm Turner’s background, guessed that he might’ve used a cop light or something similar to pull the girls over, but she hadn’t shared that information with Gloria, so Gloria couldn’t have passed it along to Luther. “How do you know?” she asked.

“Word on the street.”

“Which comes from where exactly?”

“Some of the hos on Stockton Boulevard.”

“Prostitutes?”

He didn’t answer.

“They’re familiar with Wesley Boss?” she persisted. “They’ve seen him?”

“A man’s been comin’ ’round the past few months, flashin’ a badge. Won’t give a full name but says they can call him Officer Boss. Likes to rough ’em up a bit, make a few threats, but if they do him for free, he leaves ’ em alone. Makes sense, doesn’t it? Marcie and Latisha stopped because they thought they were gettin’ pulled over.”

She should’ve provided Luther with a photograph. But she’d avoided him rather than including him. “Has anyone described to you what this man looks like?”

“Short, stocky and white,” he said pointedly.

Ignoring his emphasis on race, Jane pulled Malcolm’s photograph from her briefcase and handed it to him.

Gloria studied it while he did, but it was his rapt attention that held Jane’s focus. She could sense his desire to make Malcolm Turner pay for what he’d done to Marcie. “This him?”

“That’s him,” she said. “Do you know when it was that the cop named Officer Boss was last seen?”

He didn’t bother asking Gloria if she was finished looking before he folded the photograph and put it in his coat pocket. Jane had planned to give it to him but even if she hadn’t, she wouldn’t be getting it back. “Been a while, far as I can tell-more’n three weeks.”

“He’s been busy since he took Marcie and Latisha.”

“Strange thing is, the girls on the street, they say he only like white women. He won’t touch nothin’ else.” He pinned her with his angry eyes. “So what’s he want with Latisha and Marcie?”

“Maybe it’s not about sex.”

“It’s always about sex,” he said. “What else a man want with a woman? You think he wants to put up with all that bitchin’ and whinin’ for nothin’?”

Jane was so offended by what he said that she almost told him to go to hell. But Gloria kept the conversation on track. “Then why would he take ’em?” she asked.

“For companionship, to feel powerful, because they were easy marks,” Jane said. “Or maybe he has it in for minorities and is on some sort of power trip, trying to ‘cleanse’ the world of certain races. I can’t say. Some people hate just for the sake of hating.” She shifted her focus to Luther. He was one of those people, but she knew he didn’t see himself that way. To him, it was everyone else who was at fault. “If he comes around again, you have to let me know.”

His large hands dangled between his knees. “What makes you think he’ll be back?”

“There’s always a chance. I’m guessing it’s what he does for entertainment.” When he wasn’t gambling, anyway. “He’ll return when he gets lonely or bored.”

“He come around again, I gonna kill ’em, and that’s a promise.” Luther got up and started for the door, but she grabbed his arm. When he jerked out of her grasp, she realized she should’ve kept her hands to herself, but she refused to cower at the threat he posed.

“If you kill him, we might never find Latisha,” she said. “You have to call me so I can bring the police, or call the police directly, if you prefer.”

“He is the police,” he said and stalked out.

With long dark hair and clear brown eyes, Kate was almost as pretty as her mother. Sebastian couldn’t help smiling as she looked up at him, her expression tinged with surprise when she realized he wasn’t just a friendly stranger.

Jane seemed less pleased to see him. Sebastian noted the way she stiffened, and understood that she preferred not to allow home and work to mix.

“Go on in, honey,” she said to Kate as soon as he reached them. “I’ll be right there.”

Too curious to do what she’d been told, Kate hovered at her mother’s side. “Can’t I wait for you?”

“I have some business to take care of,” Jane insisted. “Give us a minute.”

Kate’s narrow shoulders slumped in disappointment. “O-kay,” she said and, with an exaggerated sigh, started past him, but Sebastian stuck out his hand.

“You must be Kate.”

Her face brightened. “Yes.”

“I’m Sebastian Costas, a friend of your mother’s.”

“A work associate,” Jane clarified.

Kate placed her small hand in his. “Are you part of The Last Stand?”

“More or less. For the time being,” he hedged.

“It’s nice to meet you.”

Impressed by the sweetness she put into a saying that’d become so trite, he winked at her. “It’s nice to meet you, too.” He’d been curious about this part of Jane’s life, the part that meant more to her than anything else. “I can already tell you’re going to be a beauty, like your mother.”

Ducking her head, Kate blushed and mumbled a shy “Thank you.”

“Go on now,” Jane prompted.

Her feet dragging, Kate headed to the condo but threw one last glance over her shoulder.

The caution that lurked in Jane’s eyes eased once her daughter was out of earshot.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” he asked.

“I never said it would be bad. It was just…pointless.”

He folded his arms. “I’ll try not to be offended by that.”

“I don’t want her to know we…we’re anything but what I told her.”

“Work associates.”

“That’s right.”

“Why?” he demanded.

“I told you, I haven’t even been on a date since her father was killed. She might find it-I don’t know-threatening. Frightening.”

The man who’d found Marcie’s body was out walking his dog. Hoping the sight of Jane wouldn’t draw him over, he lowered his voice. “Unless you plan to spend the rest of your life alone, you’ve got to start somewhere.”

“Yeah, well, jumping into bed with someone I barely know isn’t the way to do it,” she said. “I think we’re both conscious of that.”

It was true. Under the circumstances, they had no business getting so intimately involved. So why had he wanted to see her again this soon? “Every relationship begins in a different place,” he said.

“It doesn’t matter where we began. We both know where this will end.”

He scowled. “We don’t know anything. Life isn’t something you can script, Jane. It’s full of surprises, and those surprises can change everything.” Look at what had happened to him. Never in a million years would he have guessed he’d walk away from his lucrative and rewarding career to chase down Emily’s husband for killing her and Colton. Never had he thought he’d crave another child, especially with a woman he hardly knew. “Speaking of surprises that can change everything…would you like me to pick up one of those pregnancy tests?”

“No. I-I’ll deal with it when I’m ready.”

“It might be better to know.”

“And it might not. If I miss my period, then we’ll worry.”

He nodded. “Okay, but I didn’t actually come to talk about pregnancy tests. And, much as I liked getting to see Kate, I didn’t come to meet her, either. I came because the two of you can’t stay here, not by yourselves.”

She shifted her briefcase to her other hand. “What are you talking about? I live here.”

“Malcolm associates this place with me. He’ll come back. And if he thinks I care about you, he’ll…” He didn’t finish. There was no need to spell it out. She knew what Malcolm was capable of. She’d witnessed it this morning.

“He’d be crazy to come back,” she said.

“Why?”

“Because he could get caught!”

“You don’t understand. He’ll take those risks. This thing between him and me-” he shoved a hand through his hair “-it’s become very personal. He’ll do whatever he can to get back at me.”

“And that includes killing me.”

“I’m not positive he even knows about you. You weren’t in the car with me when I came here. But he’ll watch this place, search for whatever he can find that might lead him to me.”

“Why isn’t he scared? Why doesn’t he run, get out of here before he’s arrested?”

She didn’t know Malcolm the way he did. “He beat the system once. I’m sure he believes he can do it again.”

“And you’re relieved instead of worried.”

“Like I said, I want to end this.”

She glanced around the parking lot as if their surroundings had somehow changed, but she’d felt safe here and didn’t want to let go of that. “How can you be so positive that’s what he wants?”

With a sigh, Sebastian pulled out the e-mail message he’d printed an hour ago and handed it to her.

Jane set her briefcase on the pavement and unfolded the paper. “It’s from M.T.”

He nodded. “Malcolm Turner.”

“‘It’s you or me, prick,’” she read, then glanced up at him. “He’s calling you out?”

“He’s telling me this won’t be over until one of us is dead.”

“Where did this come from? Can we have David trace it?”

“It would be a waste of time. I’ve already had the ones he sent to Mary traced. He’s using a remote server.”

She gave the paper back to him. “How is Mary?”

“Pretty shaken up, but I was able to convince her to take the boys and go to Phoenix for a week or two. They’re staying with her aunt.”

“He won’t try to follow her there…”

“Not if I draw his fire, make myself an easier target.”

“Target?” The blood drained from her face. “You don’t have to do that, Sebastian. The police will handle this.”

“Like they handled it before?” he asked.

“We’re talking about David this time. He’ll listen to us. As a matter of fact, I just talked to him. Someone else is going to finish the case that’s been taking up so much of his time. This is now his only priority. Forensic technicians are already processing your car. And Marcie’s body is scheduled to be autopsied tomorrow. Maybe they’ll find some sort of evidence.”

“They won’t find anything. He was a cop, Jane. He knows what they’ll be looking for.” He scratched his face. “Besides, this will come to a head long before any of that can help.”

She hugged herself against the cold. “So what do we do?”

“Tonight? Get some sleep. I think we might need it.”

“Where?” she asked.

“At my motel. Unless you want me to stay here. I’m not leaving you alone.”

Bowing her head, she nodded. “What do I tell her?”

“That I’m a coworker who’s down on his luck and needs a place to stay.”

“Just for tonight?”

“Until I feel comfortable that you’re safe on your own.”

“That could be a week or more!”

He grinned at her. “What’s the matter? Afraid you won’t be able to resist me for that long?” He was teasing, trying to cheer her up, but when she answered, he could tell she was absolutely serious.

“Yes.”

She was addicted to him. That was all there was to it. She couldn’t continue to lie in bed, aching with need. She had to have him. And somehow the resistance she’d tried to summon but couldn’t made the experience all the more intoxicating. Giving in had never felt so sweet.

The scrape of the shower curtain against the rod told Jane that Sebastian had heard her come in. In some deep recess of her brain, she hoped he’d send her back to her bed. This had to end somewhere, didn’t it? If she wanted to get out of this affair unscathed, the sooner it ended the better. But he didn’t rebuff her. She could sense his anticipation, feel him waiting for her approach.

Biting her lip, she wondered what she’d do on the off chance that Kate woke up and discovered them both missing from their beds. She’d tell her daughter that Sebastian had left and let Kate think she was in the bathroom alone, she decided. If Kate was older, she might doubt that, but not at twelve. Not when Jane had never had another man over.

They had to be quiet, though. Very quiet…

Assured that she had a way to protect her daughter from knowing too much, she slipped off her nightgown and dropped it on the floor. Steam billowed through the open curtain, so thick it felt like a thousand hands reaching out to curl around her.

Sebastian found her as soon as she stepped toward him and drew her against his slick, hard body. “There you are,” he breathed in her ear. “I’ve been waiting for this since you brought me those damn blankets. What took you so long?”

The memory of Wendy’s scorn. The hope that it wasn’t too late to atone for her mistakes. The determination to do what was best for her daughter.

Clearly, she wasn’t up to those challenges. But she’d already made love with Sebastian several times over the past two days. What would one more night matter?

“I wanted to do the right thing,” she told him.

“I can’t think of anything that feels more right than this,” he said. Then his lips met hers in a breathless, frenzied kiss spurred on by the urgency rising in them both.

“You’ve got the Shield?”

“I’m ready.” Her thoughts were somewhere in the stratosphere, but she’d hung on to that much of her sanity.

He licked away the water dripping from her left breast. “Smart girl,” he whispered.

Minutes later, he lifted her onto him and she could think of nothing except the rasp of his labored breathing, the contraction of his muscles as he held her against the tile wall and that moment of ultimate ecstasy when he covered her mouth with his to capture her moan.

She didn’t hold back with him anymore. She couldn’t. She gave him everything she had, physically and emotionally. She knew that was why making love with him was so much better, so different, than before.

But she also knew that what made it different could swing back the other way-and hurt her more deeply than ever.

There it was.

Malcolm drove past The Last Stand twice before turning in. It was only six o’clock in the evening, but dark came early in January, and he wasn’t really worried that he’d be recognized-at least, not at first glance. He’d stopped by a secondhand store on the way and bought a wig, a pair of glasses and some women’s clothing. Although he’d never used a disguise before, the image staring back at him whenever he looked in the rearview mirror seemed pretty damn convincing, certainly convincing enough to let him move around unnoticed, especially after dark. If he’d been a bigger man, it might not have worked so well, but this was one time when being only five foot nine was an advantage.

The reception area appeared to be closed for the night, but there was a light in one of the back offices. Did that mean someone was working late? Jane Burke, perhaps?

The possibility sent a tremor of excitement through him.

A single car sat in the lot, parked behind the building, by the rear exit.

The Chinese restaurant and the liquor store at the far end of the adjacent strip mall had moderate traffic. Malcolm drove around to the front and parked his van there so it wouldn’t stand out. Then he waited for a man who’d just exited the liquor store to drive off-he saw no reason to invite scrutiny of his costume up close-and climbed out.

An obscure-sounding church and a few thousand square feet of empty retail space were sandwiched between the liquor store and The Last Stand. Wearing size ten high heels, which clicked confidently against the pavement as he walked, Malcolm passed them, along with a dry cleaner, as if he had a legitimate reason to be there. Then he ducked into the narrow alley between the end of the mall and the building that housed the charity and took off his shoes. How women maneuvered in such uncomfortable footwear, he had no idea.

Shoving a heel in each pocket of the heavy wool coat he’d bought to go over his dress, he hugged the cinder block wall as he slipped on his tennis shoes and moved around to the back. Once there, he stood in the shadow of the building, waiting to see if he could catch a glimpse of the occupant.

Movement in the hallway outside the office with the light on caught his attention. Someone was standing there, using a copier. Malcolm could see the distinctive glow each time the machine lid was lifted. But it wasn’t a woman. This person was far too tall.

Disappointed, Malcolm cursed under his breath. He’d been entertaining visions of leaving Jane Burke bleeding on her desk. If he couldn’t get to Mary, he’d take someone who meant even more to Sebastian. He liked the ruthlessness of giving the bastard an immediate and vicious response to his e-mail.

But he hadn’t really expected it to be that easy. He had to do his homework, make plans. This was more of a reconnaissance mission than anything else. He’d known that from the beginning.

Carrying a stack of copies, the man went back into an office, and Malcolm took out his gun before creeping closer. The door was unlocked. He could tell without even touching it. The guy inside probably saw no reason for heightened security, not this early at night and not if he was only stopping by to make a few copies.

Would he come back into the hall right away?

No, Malcolm didn’t think so. From the muted sounds drifting toward him, he could tell that the man was now on the phone.

With one gloved hand, Malcolm pulled the swinging door open far enough to squeeze inside. Maybe he wouldn’t meet Jane in the next few minutes. But he’d meet her soon. Especially if he could learn a little more about her. Starting with her address…

“So he looks like his picture?” The voice of the man in the office came to him more clearly, since they were both in the building.

“He’s put on some weight, but you can definitely tell it’s him.”

The second voice surprised Malcolm. Maybe this person wasn’t alone, after all.

Leaning slightly to the right so he could see into the room, he found the guy he’d watched in the hall standing behind a desk, collating copies. The second voice was coming from a speakerphone.

“When was he last there?” The punch of a stapler punctuated this question.

“Just after Christmas.”

He plopped the document on a stack of others and stapled the next one. “Did he win anything that night?”

“No. From what I can tell he generally loses.”

Afraid of giving his presence away, Malcolm stepped into the room closest to the office and pressed his back against the wall.

“Stands to reason,” the man said. “A good gambler wouldn’t have to kill his wife.”

Were they talking about him? Was that Jane on the phone-or someone else?

“Sebastian says he isn’t good at anything. That’s why being a cop meant so much to him. He used the uniform to create some self-respect and to cover up his shortcomings.”

Malcolm’s hand tightened on his gun. Sebastian would say that. He’d always felt so damn superior.

“Sebastian told you that, huh?” the man said. “So he’s still staying with you?”

“Jonathan, cut it out. I don’t want to get into that.”

He chuckled. “It’s a simple question, Jane.”

“He doesn’t want to leave me here alone. He’s afraid Malcolm will come back and somehow find out which condo is mine.”

“Then I’m glad he’s staying. Don’t take any chances.” The stapler sounds had stopped. “I’m finished here. I’ll check in with you later.”

“Thanks again for picking up that DVD from Cache Creek. It helps us get a feel for the kind of monster we’re dealing with.”

Monster? She had no idea. But she’d soon learn, Malcolm thought.

“It was nice of that security guard to provide it,” the man said.

“I just hope they call us if he comes back.”

“Did they say they would?”

“Sebastian hired another guy, one who’s working security at night, to keep a lookout.”

“Then let’s hope that particular guard’s there when Malcolm or Wesley or whoever the hell he is shows up.”

“It’s Malcolm Turner. Sebastian’s right. He didn’t die in that burning car.”

“I’ll take your word for it. Talk to you tomorrow,” he said and that was the end of the call.

Anger simmered in Malcolm’s chest as he stood in the empty office next door. He wasn’t good at anything? He’d known Sebastian felt that way all along. Sebastian had always considered himself better than everyone else, had always done what he could to make Malcolm look bad, especially to Emily and Colton.

But Sebastian wasn’t as smart as he thought. Maybe he’d paid the security personnel at Cache Creek to rat him out. But Sebastian would be dead long before Malcolm ever went back to that casino.

All Malcolm had to do was find out which condo belonged to Jane Burke, and she’d be dead, too.

The man Jane had called Jonathan turned off the light and passed right by on his way out. Malcolm heard him lock the door behind him, but he didn’t mind getting shut in. He could throw the bolt from the inside whenever he was ready to leave.

Meanwhile, he had work to do.

Waiting until Jonathan had driven off, he turned the light back on and poked through the offices until he came across a name placard that read Jane Burke. Surely, somewhere, there’d be a Rolodex card, an envelope or a piece of paper with her home address on it.

But he didn’t find the information he needed in her office. It was in the storage room. Apparently, she’d brought in several empty boxes from shipments she’d received before Christmas.

Thank God for recycling.

According to the labels, she lived in unit 53.

It wasn’t as easy to get inside a condo as it was a house. He needed to be cautious. Make a plan.

Malcolm sat at the bus stop across the street from where he’d dumped Marcie’s body, wearing his female disguise. To cover his face, he’d wrapped a large scarf around his head the way some Russian immigrants did, and no one had looked at him twice. It was starting to rain, which helped; most people either stayed inside or sheltered beneath an umbrella. Only an old lady with no teeth, who kept her eyes closed and mumbled to herself, and two teenagers listening to iPods and purposely ignoring everything else around them, waited at the bus stop. When the bus arrived, the three of them got on, but no one seemed to notice that he didn’t.

Getting to Jane was going to be tricky. Although her unit was on the ground floor, her complex faced a busy street. Late at night, traffic thinned considerably-he knew because that was when he’d dumped Marcie-but because of it he didn’t feel comfortable entering from the front.

If he went around back, there was less chance of being spotted, but more chance of standing out if someone did happen to see him. He’d already circled the complex in his van to get a sense of the layout. Each unit had a back door, with a porch and a small patch of fenced yard.

That would be his point of entry. He could easily scale the fence and go in when he was sure Sebastian wasn’t there. According to The Last Stand Web site, some of the women who worked for the charity were experts in self-defense. They even offered courses. Jane could be one of them. There was no need to get in over his head. He’d take her on alone, kill her and wait for Sebastian to return. Then he’d get to witness Sebastian’s reaction…

Malcolm studied the units on either side of number 53. With such close neighbors, a gun would be too loud. Only a quiet killing would give him the time he’d need to wait for Sebastian, which meant he’d have to use his knife again. Fortunately, such an intimate murder wasn’t as hard as he’d thought it would be. All it took was enough hate.

“Excuse me. Do you know how much longer it’ll be before the bus comes?”

He glanced up to see one of those freaky “green” types who biked to work in a suit. Tall and skinny, the guy wore biking gloves and had his bicycle with him. The gloves looked sporty-but his glasses were fogged up and he had a rubber band around one pant leg. Apparently, the guy was tired of getting wet or had left the office later than usual.

Malcolm had no clue about the bus schedule. Neither did he care. He couldn’t talk, anyway. Maybe he was small enough to pull off dressing as a woman, but there was nothing feminine about his voice.

Shaking his head, he waved as if he didn’t speak the language and shuffled off.

Once he’d turned the corner and was out of sight, he strode more briskly toward the van, which he’d parked on a nearby street. It was almost nine. He had to get back before Latisha woke up. She wasn’t anything like her sister-thank God-but he couldn’t leave her alone too long.

Imagining her sleeping in his bed, awaiting his return, he smiled. There was something to be said for hooking up with someone so young and naive. She didn’t fight him the way his previous wives had; she gave him complete control.

Maybe kidnapping her had been the best move he’d ever made, he thought, and took off his costume while he was still in the van so he could stop at the grocery store and buy her some flowers.

Malcolm used his sleeve to wipe the rain from his eyes. He could feel the beat of his heart all the way to his fingertips, but it was okay. He could still salvage this situation. All he had to do was shoot the old lady, hide her car in the barn and drag Latisha home. Maybe he’d keep her around for another night. Maybe he’d kill her slowly. He’d have the luxury of deciding once he got rid of the driver. He’d bury both bodies tomorrow, after he’d had a chance to sleep. There’d be no real hurry, not out here where there was no one to see what he was doing.

Turning his pistol on the old woman, he squeezed off another shot, but the car stood between them and acted as a barricade. She was too damned short. He adjusted, tried to fire again-but she was quicker than he expected and jumped back in the car.

The thought crossed his mind to shoot her through the windshield. He couldn’t let her escape. But she didn’t give him the chance. Gunning the engine, she yanked the transmission into drive and steered right for him.

She was trying to kill him!

Diving to avoid being hit, he landed hard. A rock bruised his hip and his knee, some thorny bush scratched his face and he lost his gun. As he patted the ground, searching frantically for it, he heard a thin voice yell, “Get in!”

A door slammed shut the same second he found the warm metal of his pistol. With his chest rising and falling as if he was in the middle of a marathon, he grabbed it and turned to fire. He was a good shot. He could still solve this.

But he was too late. The old lady’s taillights glowed through the rain, but she was already half a mile down the road and racing away faster by the second.

Undeterred, he fired several shots. This couldn’t be happening, he told himself. No way had he just allowed Latisha and a witness to escape!

But that was exactly what he’d done. Far as he could tell, he hadn’t even hit the damn car.

After emptying his gun in the direction they’d gone, he sank to his knees. “Son of a bitch! I’m going to kill you for this. I’m going to kill you both!” he screamed. But when the rage receded, he knew there wasn’t a thing he could do to either of them. They were gone. He had to go to the house, pack his belongings and get the hell out. Maybe Latisha wouldn’t be able to lead the police to this place. But he was fairly certain the old lady could pinpoint exactly where she’d been accosted.

Malcolm tossed his bags on the spare bed in the cheap motel room he’d rented under a previous alias, put a privacy sign on the door, and used the security lock to bolt himself in. He had a lot to do, a lot to think about, but first he needed to regroup. He’d be more capable if he could sleep first.

Now that he’d gotten safely away from the house, however, the memory of that old lady driving off with Latisha was keeping him so agitated he had to turn on the television to distract himself.

He’d liked his little slave, damn it. He didn’t want to lose her. But if she was going to be a bitch after all he’d done-the diamond ring and the proposal and the chocolate-to hell with her. He hadn’t met a woman yet that he couldn’t live without. Not Mary, not his first wife, who’d remarried before he’d met Emily, definitely not Emily and not his sexy little Latisha. What really bothered him was that Sebastian would consider Latisha’s escape a victory.

So what, he told himself. Sebastian wouldn’t be celebrating for long.

One eye on the television, Malcolm booted up his laptop. He wasn’t sure why he wanted to use his computer. He had no plans to e-mail anyone, no plans to use it for anything specific. He just had to keep his hands busy while he tried to figure out how to lure Sebastian away from where Jane Burke lived. An offer to meet wouldn’t do it; Sebastian would expect a trap. So what would motivate him to go to a location of Malcolm’s choosing? A location where Malcolm would have the privacy and control he needed to finally destroy the man he detested above all others-and do so without alerting the police?

Then it hit him. Sebastian had gone to Mary’s house to save her. He’d also given Emily money or covered for her if he thought it might get her out of trouble or make her life easier. He was a fucking knight in shining armor, always trying to rescue the women around him.

Excitement coiled inside Malcolm. If Sebastian cared about Jane, and it appeared that he did, he’d do the same for her as he had for the other females in his life. That meant it would be stupid to kill her too soon. All he had to do was kidnap her and use her for bait.

But how would he get to her with Sebastian staying at her condo?

Simple-he’d take her from the office.

“There might be other people at the office,” he said, thinking aloud, “like that man I saw there before.”

But she’d be the only one getting into her car. Thanks to the early darkness of winter, he could wait in her backseat. She wouldn’t even see him. Not until it was too late.

And once he had Jane, Sebastian would do anything he was told.

“I’m a damn genius,” Malcolm said and shut down his computer. Now he could sleep.

Malcolm spent most of Saturday and all morning Sunday studying The Last Stand’s Web site. They had a feature that allowed someone interested in getting help to petition-anonymously-for information. The charity catered to abused women and children, for the most part, so he imagined this was a way to make a woman who didn’t know how to escape her situation feel safe enough to ask about her options.

It was a really nice idea.

It might also be the perfect means to ensure that Jane would be at the office tomorrow afternoon. At least it was worth writing in to see who responded…

Clicking on the I Have a Question link, he waited for the form to come up, then began to type.

On Monday, Jane made herself go to the office after driving Kate to school. So many things had piled up while she’d been focused on finding Latisha. There was mail that needed to be sorted, calls waiting to be returned, projects she was overseeing that the volunteers still had to finish, banking to do. Normally, she stayed on top of the clerical stuff, but last week she’d been too busy.

With Skye and Ava coming in this afternoon, she wanted to get caught up. They’d be more likely to let her take on her own cases if she was able to maintain her usual workflow until they could hire a part-timer to replace her.

She managed to get a few things done, but she was having trouble concentrating, moving at only half-speed. Every now and then, she’d find herself staring off into space, thinking about Sebastian and the way they’d made love last night. Had she ever been this happy? She couldn’t have been. This relationship was so different from any of her others, so unexpected and yet…fulfilling. It could go bad; it could always go bad. But for now, it was perfect.

Thoughts of Wendy occasionally crept in. Jane wondered if Sebastian’s words had made any difference-besides escalating her sister-in-law’s hatred.

By the time the staff meeting came around, Jane was eager to see Skye, Ava and Sheridan but even more eager to see Sebastian. The day already seemed long. She preferred to be out looking for Malcolm, as David was doing, watching the casinos or calling his ex-wife and former friends to see if anyone had heard from him. She wanted to tell his family that he was alive, to enlist their support in the search. Although the DNA at the ranch house had yet to be analyzed, which would take a while, there was proof that he was still living, in the form of that handwriting expert’s report-at least, enough proof that the authorities should listen.

Sebastian had sent her text messages throughout the day. He’d spent the morning calling every hotel and motel in town, asking for a Wesley Boss as well as a Malcolm Turner-but had found nothing. This afternoon, with David’s permission, he was out interviewing people who lived in the general vicinity of the ranch house where Malcolm had kept the girls. Sebastian thought he might find someone who’d spoken to Malcolm or befriended him in some way, someone who might have let him move in. But for all they knew, Malcolm was sleeping in his van. Once again, he seemed to have disappeared from the face of the earth.

She heard someone unlock the back door. “Jane?”

It was Skye. She’d arrived before Ava and Sheridan.

Excited to see the person who’d saved her life and then helped her through the darkest period of it, Jane went to the reception area to greet her. Most of the volunteers had already left for the day, but there were two in Sheridan’s office, finishing up a big fundraising mailer. They poked their heads out to say hi, but when they went back to work, Jane and Skye stepped into the conference room for a few minutes alone.

“It’s about time you came back,” Jane said. “It’s so great to see you.”

“It’s good to be here.” After a tight hug, Skye held Jane at arm’s length. “You look fabulous.”

“Stop it,” Jane said, laughing. “It’s only been a couple of weeks since you saw me. I look the same.”

“No, you look better.” She lowered her voice. “You must have your groove back.”

“Hi, everyone.” Ava peered into the conference room before Jane could respond. “Where’s Sheridan?”

“She’s not here yet,” Jane told her.

“Darn. I can’t wait to see the baby.” She turned to speak to the volunteers who’d once again come out to the reception area to say hello, then did a double-take when she focused on Jane again. “Wow, you look great!”

Exasperated, Jane rolled her eyes. “That’s crazy. I don’t know what you guys are talking about.”

Skye leaned close to Ava so the volunteers, who were already returning to work, wouldn’t hear. “Don’t let her fool you. She’s got her groove back.”

“That has to be it,” Ava agreed as she took the chair next to Skye. “I heard about your new man.”

They peppered her with questions until Sheridan arrived, and after that, the baby drew all the attention. Relieved to be out of the spotlight, Jane sat through the meeting, listening but adding little. She didn’t tell them about her case, didn’t mention wanting to take on more. She was reluctant to do anything that would make the meeting last longer. They’d be in tomorrow, and the day after that and the day after that-there’d be plenty of time to discuss everything that had gone on during their absences.

Although she loved seeing them all, she was glad when they left. One volunteer remained behind, a high-school boy named Rick who was trying to finish up the mailer, but he wasn’t planning on staying much longer. Neither was she. She had just one more meeting; her domestic-abuse victim would be in shortly.

Then she could go home to Kate and Sebastian.

The woman wasn’t going to show. Had something happened to her? Or had she simply chickened out? Jane knew that the people who most needed help were the last ones to follow through. There were a lot of reasons for that, many of which Jane understood. But she’d thought this woman had seemed ready to change her situation.

Frustrated that she’d wasted so much time waiting around for nothing, at 6:45 p.m. she grabbed her briefcase and turned off the light in her office. She’d just called Sebastian and Kate to tell them she was on her way. They’d saved her some pizza and wanted her to hurry so they could see a movie. She was still a little nervous about letting them spend a lot of time together. She was afraid the stability Sebastian offered would prove to be an illusion, as it had with Oliver. But he and Kate seemed to be getting along. Kate had sounded happy on the phone.

“You have to take some chances,” she reminded herself. Sebastian wouldn’t disappoint her. She’d never met anyone like him.

Her cell rang as she locked the building. She dug it out of her purse, saw that it was her mother-in-law and hit the talk button as she crossed the lot to her car. “Hello?”

“Jane?”

They hadn’t spoken since Sebastian’s uncomfortable confrontation with Wendy. Jane wasn’t sure she wanted to have a conversation with her just yet. She had no idea how Betty might react to what had happened Sunday night and didn’t want to deal with a negative response. “Yes?”

“How are you?”

Using the button on her key ring to unlock the car, she tossed her briefcase onto the passenger seat, but she was too nervous and preoccupied to climb in. She stood next to the car, her head bowed as she kicked a pebble from foot to foot. “I’m fine. You?”

“I’m good. I just…I wanted to talk to you. Do you have a minute?”

Not really. But Betty had never used this tone of voice with her. At least, not since Oliver was killed. “Of course. What is it?”

“I’m worried about you.”

“Mom, don’t be-”

“I can’t help it,” she interrupted. “I know I’ve been at you to start dating again. But that man you brought here last night…Are you sure he’s the type you want to get involved with?”

Jane hadn’t been sure about anything, but she immediately felt defensive of Sebastian. Maybe he’d interfered with something he should’ve left alone, but he’d done it to protect her. She believed that much. She also believed it was more than Oliver would’ve done. “I know he might not have given you the best impression. But he’s a very nice person.”

“You’re sure? You haven’t known him long. That’s what surprised me-that he’d attack Wendy when he’s not really part of your life.”

He was part of her life. He just wasn’t part of their family. That was the real difficulty for Betty, and Jane knew it. As much as she wanted Jane to be happy, she also didn’t want Jane to be with someone who threatened the existing relationships. “He’s…different from us,” she explained. “If he has a problem with you, he makes it clear. He doesn’t pretend.”

“But…is that polite?”

Jane nearly chuckled. Oliver had been a serial killer, but he’d always been polite. “Maybe not. It’s honest, though. I think I need honest more than I need polite at this stage of my life.” Jane checked the time on her phone. If she didn’t get moving, they’d miss the movie.

“So you like him.”

There was some disappointment in that statement, but Jane took it at face value. She thought of Sebastian’s confidence and no-nonsense approach to life and smiled as she got behind the wheel. “Yeah, I like him.”

“A lot?”

Jane was fairly certain that what she felt was much stronger than “like,” but it was premature to admit it. “Enough that I’d like you to give him a chance.”

Betty hesitated but ultimately acquiesced. “If that’s what you want, that’s what we’ll do.”

Jane smiled. “Thanks, Mom.”

“Be careful,” she said, and Jane didn’t ask her to explain. They both knew what was at stake.

“I will. I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

When they hung up, Jane was still preoccupied by the conversation and by the cautious hope she was feeling. She made a move to set her phone on the console so she could start the car, but it was wrenched from her grasp-and a pair of strong hands cut off her breath before she could scream.

Malcolm stood to the side of the living room window. He’d seen the car slow, then turn down the driveway, watched as the headlights drew closer. He’d been tempted to shoot at that vehicle. Maybe he could hit the driver before this went any further. But he knew he might just shatter the window and scare Sebastian off before he could get him in the house.

He had to bide his time, wait for the right moment… But his nerves were stretching taut. The forensics team that had been processing the house was gone, as he’d expected. They wouldn’t be coming back tonight because there was no reason to think he’d return, but there was plenty of proof that they’d been here. Fingerprint dust and Luminol covered everything. What it revealed made Malcolm anxious to be on his way. The bloodstains on the carpet going down the hall and into his bedroom were the perfect shape of his footprints. He could see them fluoresce in the darkness and hated Latisha for forcing him to allow so much evidence to fall into the hands of the authorities.

“So what?” He told himself to keep a cool head. He couldn’t get back at everyone. He’d take care of Sebastian and Jane, the two people who really mattered. Then he’d get the hell out of town and disappear for good.

Jane groaned. Apparently, she realized that lover boy was here. Whether she truly believed it or not, Sebastian was about to meet his maker, and there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it. Malcolm had tied her to a chair-gagged her, too. When Sebastian didn’t immediately show himself, he put a gun to her head. “You’d better hope he doesn’t try anything funny.”

As they waited, Malcolm could feel sweat matting Jane’s hair. Maybe she acted tough, but she was scared. She had reason to be. If he could, Malcolm planned to blow her away right in front of Sebastian. Maybe he’d even rape her first, take from Sebastian what Sebastian had taken from him. There wasn’t enough he could do to torture the man he hated above all others.

He imagined wounding Sebastian, then tying him up so he could have all kinds of fun with them both. Maybe he’d slit Jane’s wrists and rape her while she bled out at Sebastian’s feet.

Malcolm smiled at the thought of making her moan and writhe in pain while Sebastian looked on, helpless to stop him. “Relax, sweetheart.” He smoothed her hair when she began to tremble. “This will all be over in a minute.”

Where the hell was Sebastian? Leaving Jane a few feet away, Malcolm leaned against the cold window, trying to discern the shadows over by the cars. Before his breath fogged up the glass, he could see fairly well. But he couldn’t make out the shape of a man. There was no sound, either. No movement.

“You’re pissing me off, asshole,” he sang out, and Jane whimpered. “You get it,” he told her. “You know he’s pushing my buttons, don’t you? I’m going to punish you both for that.”

Then he heard a bang loud enough to wake the dead. He jumped at the sudden noise, relaxing only when he figured out what had caused it. Sebastian had just kicked in the back door. He was in the house.

Taking a calming breath, he turned Jane’s chair in the other direction and stood behind it, his gun to her temple. The show was about to begin.

The Valentine’s Day party Jane had suggested was a great idea. With Malcolm in custody, Sebastian felt like celebrating.

He stood at the periphery of the crowd that milled around the conference room and reception areas at The Last Stand. There were a lot of people he didn’t know-people who volunteered for the charity, legal associates and so on-but there were a few he did. Jane’s former in-laws. Kate. Jonathan, a private investigator he’d met at the office a few days ago, and his fiancée, Zoë. Sheridan and her husband, Cain. Mary, too, had come at his invitation. She’d bought herself a new dress and was smiling and chatting with everyone. Gloria and Latisha were in the corner talking to Skye. Even Luther had shown up. He didn’t mingle. He folded his arms and leaned against the far wall, watching everyone, but he seemed pleased.

“Jane tells me you plan on staying in Sacramento.”

Sebastian turned to see that Mary had made her way over to him. “That’s right.”

“For good?”

“I think so.” Unless he could convince Jane and Kate to go back to New York with him. But he understood why they were reluctant to do so. He didn’t want to take Kate from a school she liked, either. Maybe when she graduated in six years, they’d be ready for a change.

“What will you do about work?”

“I’m hoping to stay in the same field. I have some interviews this week.” He actually wasn’t too worried about finding employment. Lincoln Hawke Financial hadn’t been happy to receive his resignation, but he’d been their top performer and they’d promised him a glowing recommendation. He was eager to get back to regular life, to try his hand in this new tougher market and to start earning money again so he could buy the house he wanted for Jane and Kate. If he found a buyer for his condo in New York, he’d be able to do that even sooner.

“Wow,” Mary said, but it had nothing to do with his response.

He pulled his eyes away from Jane, who’d just smiled at him from where she was admiring Sheridan’s baby. “What’s wow?” he asked Mary.

Her grin was crooked. “I don’t know if I’ve ever seen a man so in love with a woman.”

“It’s that obvious?” he said with a laugh.

“You can’t take your eyes off her.”

“No,” he admitted. But part of that was simply his astonishment that he could feel whole again when he’d thought he never would.

“I hope to fall that hard some day,” she said wistfully and turned to thank someone who’d complimented her on her dress.

Sebastian was about to walk over to the makeshift bar, but he saw Jane approaching with one of the TLS partners he had yet to meet. “Sebastian, I’d like to introduce you to Ava and her husband, Luke.”

He offered his hand to Ava and then to her husband, a tall man with a military haircut and blue-green eyes. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“It’s nice to meet you, too,” he said with a firm shake.

“You must be very proud of Jane,” Ava added.

“I am. She’s an excellent investigator.”

“I’ve come to that realization myself,” she said. “What a story.”

“I wasn’t the one who saved Latisha,” Jane said.

Ava waved her words away. “No, but you did your best and handled it all so well. Gloria tells everyone who’ll listen how amazing you were.”

Sebastian lowered his voice. “You heard what went down at the ranch house.”

“I did.” Glancing over at Luther, she raised her glass to him in acknowledgment, and Jane offered him a conspiratorial smile.

“Another unlikely hero,” she said.

Sebastian remembered her saying that about the old lady who’d saved Latisha’s life, but the sentiment certainly held true. Malcolm would’ve killed them both if Luther hadn’t arrived when he had. “As unlikely as they get.” Repeating David’s line from that earlier conversation, he put his arm around her.

“What’ll happen to the woman who gave Jane’s information to Malcolm?” Ava asked.

“Constance? I don’t know, but she’s going to be prosecuted. The police have a copy of her e-mail on Malcolm’s computer.”

“It’s hard to believe she’d do that. Could she really have meant to cause so much harm?”

He thought of the woman he once planned to marry-and was glad he hadn’t. “She let jealousy make her do something stupid and now she’ll pay the price. And she’s not the only one. Apparently, Malcolm paid some lab tech to help him establish the DNA match. The police are going after her, too.”

“Did she help him come by the body he burned?” Ava asked.

“No, she claims he was going to steal a body from a cemetery. But he was afraid that would make it too obvious.”

“So he killed a homeless man,” Jane inserted.

“How do you know?” Luke asked.

“He confessed,” Sebastian said. “He’s hoping to avoid the death penalty, so he’s doing everything he can to cooperate.”

David joined them. “Hey, someone’s asking for you,” he told Jane.

“Who?”

David motioned toward the door.

When Jane turned, her eyes widened, and Sebastian felt his own surprise. It was Wendy. She stood just inside the entrance, dressed for the party.

“Why do you think she’s here?” Jane asked Sebastian.

He’d dropped his arm when she turned but squeezed her hand. “I invited her. I called and apologized for upsetting her when we had dinner. Then I said it was time to let bygones be bygones and get on with the business of living and asked her if she was up to the challenge.”

“And she said…”

“She hung up on me.” He grinned. “But judging by her attire, I’d say she’s changed her mind.”

He could tell Jane was nervous. She crossed over to her sister-in-law, looking hesitant, unsure, but that seemed to melt away when Wendy gave her a hug.

Sebastian wanted to approach but didn’t. They needed time to work everything out. He watched them step into a corner. He knew from their expressions that they were in earnest conversation and smiled to himself. This was a turning point. He was sure of it the minute tears began to streak down their faces and they embraced a second time.

Shoving his hands in his pockets, Sebastian took a deep breath. What he’d been through, what Jane and many others had been through, wasn’t easy. But with forgiveness and hope and the sheer determination to persevere, there could be a rebirth.

Smiling again, he went to get a drink.

Brenda and her husband, Ted, live in Sacramento and are the proud parents of five children-three girls and two boys. She juggles her writing career with her children's softball and soccer games, field trips, carpool runs and homework sessions. Brenda sold her first book, and the rest is history. Many of her novels have won or placed in contests such as the National Reader's Choice, the Bookseller's Best, the Write Touch, the Award of Excellence and the Beacon Award for Published Authors.

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