Lisa Jackson's Bentz And Montoya Bundle Part 22

She dragged in one final breath. Tasted blood, stumbled forward, half-believing she could escape.

Then he wrenched the unholy noose again.

Chapter Twenty-one"That's a wrap," Melanie said as the strains of "Midnight Confession" faded and an advertis.e.m.e.nt for an e-company started rolling.Shoving her chair away from the desk, Sam let out her breath. She'd been nervous during the show. Edgy. Certain "John" would call again, that he'd only phoned her at the house to prove that he could. To scare her. But he hadn't called in.But he'd been listening. Waiting. Knowing he was stretching her nerves to the breaking point. After the phone call at her house, she'd decided to bait him. Her program tonight had been about communications, specifically love letters, Dear John letters and even threatening notes though she hadn't mentioned the card she'd received in her car.Listener response had been hot, but "John" hadn't phoned in...yet...There was still time. He'd proven that before when he'd called in after her program had aired.Though it was after midnight now. Technically Friday-the day after Annie Seger's birthday.She turned off her equipment, studied the unlit phone-line b.u.t.tons for a second, then met Melanie and Tiny in the hallway."No weirdos tonight," Tiny observed."So far," Sam agreed.Tiny shoved his gla.s.ses onto the bridge of his nose. "You're disappointed, aren't you? You kind of get off when he calls.""Get off?" Sam repeated, her temper sparking. "No...but we can't find him if he hides." She didn't add that she wanted to lure him out, hook him, reel him in and then see that he never terrorized anyone again. Yes, in a perverse way, she wanted to know what made him tick, but more than that, she wanted him off the streets, away from the phones and out of her life."Do you think he'd really call in again after hours?" Melanie asked as she searched in her purse and came up with a tiny box of Tic-Tacs. "Wouldn't that be pushing his luck? I mean, he's got to have figured that you've been to the police by now. He doesn't know that they aren't tracing the calls-or that we aren't." She plopped half a dozen tiny mints into her palm and tossed them into her mouth."Maybe the guy knows what a cheap-a.s.s George Hannah is," Tiny grumbled, then waved his hands in the air. "I didn't say that, okay? I don't want to hear about it in the next staff meeting.""It's what we were all thinking anyway," Melanie said, yawning, as she held up the near-empty plastic box of mints in offering. "Anyone?""I'm good," Tiny said, declining."If you say so."Sam shook her head. "No, thanks."Melanie yawned again. "G.o.d, I'm dead tonight. Anyone want to split a Diet c.o.ke?" She was already heading down the hallway toward the kitchen."I've still got some." Tiny turned back to the booth to set up Lights Out. Lights Out.Sam was right behind but had one ear open, listening for the phones. "No caffeine for me," she said to Melanie. It was one o'clock on Friday morning; Sam's shift was over for the week, and she couldn't imagine working on the weekends as well."Would you mind loaning me a buck for the machine?" Melanie asked as they rounded a corner and pa.s.sed by a wall lined with pictures of local celebrities who had been interviewed at WSLJ."After you took care of Charon and the house while I was gone? I think I can manage.""Good."Sam found her wallet and handed Melanie a bill as they neared the kitchen. The first strains of soft instrumental music wafted through the hallways. Lights Out Lights Out had begun and the phone hadn't rung. "Has Eleanor mentioned anything about running had begun and the phone hadn't rung. "Has Eleanor mentioned anything about running Midnight Confessions Midnight Confessions seven nights instead of five?" Sam asked, trailing after Melanie. seven nights instead of five?" Sam asked, trailing after Melanie."I heard it through the grapevine around her. Gator's not too happy..." Melanie's voice faded. "What in the world...Maybe you shouldn't come in here." Melanie stopped dead center in the doorway and was staring to her left, toward the French doors. The dollar bill that Sam had given her had fallen to the floor."Why not?" Sam craned her neck to look over Melanie's shoulder.Her blood ran cold at the sight of the cake-iced in white frosting and supporting about two dozen red candles. "Jesus.""This has something to do with that Annie girl," Melanie said, swallowing hard.Sam pushed past her and strode to the table. Her head was pounding, her heart pumping wildly. "Who did this?" she asked. "Who got in here and planted this thing?""I...I...don't know."HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ANNIE blazed across the white icing in red letters while the candles were burning, red wax dripping down the sides of the cake like rivulets of blood, smoke twisting upward from the tiny flames. blazed across the white icing in red letters while the candles were burning, red wax dripping down the sides of the cake like rivulets of blood, smoke twisting upward from the tiny flames."Is this someone's idea of a joke?" Sam asked, glaring down at the concoction. She counted. Twenty-five candles. One for every year of Annie Seger's life and death. "Did you do this, Melanie?""Me? Why? Are you nuts?" Melanie shook her head. "I-I've been in the booth all night. You know it. You were there..." Her face crumpled in on itself, and she blinked as if she might cry. "...How could you even think-"Sam wasn't listening. "Tiny!" Sam yelled, storming to the corridor, her blood pumping hard, anger, disgust and shame spurring her to the booth where Tiny was adjusting the volume and the pretaped program. He looked up, saw her and held up a finger to keep her quiet and at bay. Her fists clenched and it was all she could do not to burst into the gla.s.sed-in room and rip him up one side and down the other. By the time he lumbered into the hallway, her fingernails had dug into her palms and she was livid. "You look like you could spit nails.""I can," she bit out furiously. "I found the cake.""The cake," he repeated dully. "What cake?""Annie Seger's birthday cake.""Her what? The girl who called in the other night? What the h.e.l.l are you talking about?" He seemed genuinely perplexed."Don't you know?""For G.o.d's sake, Sam, you're talking like a lunatic." His face was red now. Anger? Shame? Regret?Melanie had followed Sam halfway down the hall. "I think you'd better see for yourself.""Jesus Christ, now what?" Lips compressed, beads of sweat appearing on his pockmarked skin, Tiny strode through the maze of hallways and into the kitchen. Sam was right on his heels, following him step for step. Around the corner, into the kitchen, to stop dead in his tracks. "What the-s.h.i.t.""My sentiments exactly," Sam said."But who would do this? How could they?" he asked, turning. His skin had paled, leaving the red blotches of his acne even more p.r.o.nounced."My guess is it's either you or Melanie. No one else is here.""Except the security guard," Melanie put in."He doesn't even know me." Sam wasn't buying it, though, for the life of her, she couldn't figure out why either Melanie or Tiny would want to sabotage her this way. Melanie was her a.s.sistant and friend, a person she'd trusted to look after her job, house and cat while she was away and Tiny was half in love with her from the minute she'd walked into WSLJ. He was too smart to be reduced to schoolboy antics to garner her attention.But then who? who?Melanie said, "The guard could've been put up to it."Tiny seemed genuinely disgusted. "Are you accusing me, Sam? You really think I'd do something like this to...to...you?" he asked, a wounded look crossing his eyes behind his thick gla.s.ses."I don't know." It did seem far-fetched. Irrational. If whoever was behind it had wanted to rattle her...mission accomplished."And Gator was here not an hour ago, and so was Ramblin' Rob. I saw him at the record case looking for some moldy-oldy to play tomorrow," Tiny said."The boss was here earlier, too. I saw George in his office, on the phone," Melanie added."Great." So half the staff could've done the job."Don't you trust me?" Tiny asked. His lips folded in on themselves, and he glared at Sam as if she was named Judas."Of course.""Then knock it off." He looked like a wounded bear."And don't don't look at me," Melanie said, backing up, palms outward. "I've been with both of you all night." look at me," Melanie said, backing up, palms outward. "I've been with both of you all night."Tiny shook his head and held up a finger. "You took a break.""To go to the bathroom, for G.o.d's sake!" she said. "For the first time in my life I wish George was perverted enough to have some surveillance cameras installed.""You and me both," Sam said, then felt the tickle of a breeze against the back of her neck and noticed the muted sounds of the city filtering into the room-traffic, a solitary trombone, the wind sighing through the palms in Jackson Square. Heart in her throat, she walked to the French doors that opened onto the unused balcony. They were unlocked, just slightly cracked. "Someone was in here," she whispered, goose b.u.mps rising on her skin. "They came through here." She pushed the doors open and the sound of traffic and voices drifted in with the warm breath of the wind. Laughter and the moan of the trombone."They? You think it was more than one guy?" Tiny asked, following her onto the balcony."I wish I knew," she whispered harshly, crooking her neck to see around the corner of the building and searching the night-dark streets of New Orleans. Who had broken into the office and how had he done it? Wrapping her fingers around the decorative railing, she stared across the square to the cathedral, splashed with light, the clock face glowing as bright as a full moon, the tall spires black and jutting toward the dark sky. In front of the cathedral was the park, where palm trees blocked her view of the statue of Andrew Jackson and his rearing horse. The park was supposed to be empty now, pedestrians were locked away from the circular sidewalks at night. Had her tormentor scaled the fence, and was he lurking there, hiding in the shadows, watching her now with hidden eyes?Despite the humidity, she felt cold from the inside out. "You b.a.s.t.a.r.d," she whispered, her eyes scouring the depths of Jackson Square before she swung her gaze south, past the stately old buildings, along the narrow streets to the levee and the dark river beyond. Was he skulking in a doorway, secreting himself on a small terrace such as this, taunting her silently with his presence."I'm calling the security guard," Melanie said from inside the building."Good." Sam's gaze swept the railing and floor of the never-used balcony. In the weak light she saw nothing other than pigeon droppings and dirt. "I'll phone Eleanor on another line. If I don't, she'll be ticked. You"-she turned and pointed a finger at Tiny's chest-"phone the police and make sure that Lights Out Lights Out is on track-and that no one else calls in." is on track-and that no one else calls in.""You really think 'John's' gonna call again, don't you?" he accused hotly. Was there just a hint of jealousy in his voice?She glanced at the table where the cake was still displayed. "No, Tiny," she admitted, walking inside and staring down at the rapidly burning candles. "I think he already did." Bending down, she blew out every one of the twenty-five d.a.m.ning flames just as the phone jangled.Sam jumped."I'll get it," Melanie said, but Sam was already halfway to the nearest phone available, at the front desk. Line one was blinking wildly.Bracing herself, Sam leaned over Melba's desk and grabbed the receiver. She punched the b.u.t.ton. "WSLJ.""Samantha?"She nearly wilted at the sound of Ty's voice. "Hi," she said, rounding the computer extension and falling into Melba's chair. It was so good to hear from him. "What's up?""I wanted to see that you were okay," he said. "I listened to the show and wondered if you'd like me to pick you up." At that moment the security guard, a beefy man of about thirty-five, with a shaved head and beginning of a pot belly, walked through the door. "I'll be fine," she said into the phone. "We did get a little surprise down here, and I was about to call the police." Quickly she told him about the birthday cake."I'll be there in twenty minutes.""I'm fine." She nodded toward the guard. "I'm sure Wes will walk me to my car.""Wes, my a.s.s. What good was he when someone broke in? Why didn't he hear it? Why the h.e.l.l didn't the alarms go off? You wait for me and yeah, call the cops. p.r.o.nto. I'm on my way.""You don't have to-"He clicked off, and the light for line one died. "You'd better check out the kitchen," she said to Wes as she hung up, and then it hit her. Ty had called on line one. Because that was the number listed in the book or available from Directory a.s.sistance. If line one was in use, the calls automatically switched to line two, then three and four depending upon how busy the lines were. Calls could stack up while waiting for a response.But John had phoned in on line two, even when none of the other lines were busy. Somehow he knew the number. Either he'd been in the building, worked for the phone company, had access to the phone records or he worked at WSLJ.A cold drip of fear slid through her blood. Was it possible? Was someone at the station responsible for the terror? How else would the cake be left in the kitchen? Either John or an accomplice knew the ins and outs of this old building, understood how WSLJ ran, and had a personal vendetta against her.Who?George Hannah?Tiny?Melanie?Eleanor?She trusted every one of them. And those she knew less well, Gator and Ramblin' Rob, some of the technicians and salespeople, even Melba. They were all part of her family here in New Orleans.But one of them hates you, Sam. Enough to scare the liver out of you. She stared at the phone, quiet now, no lights blinking in the semidarkness. The pictures of celebrities, the framed awards, the voodoo dolls and baby alligators all backlit in glowing neon seemed macabre tonight. She stared at the phone, quiet now, no lights blinking in the semidarkness. The pictures of celebrities, the framed awards, the voodoo dolls and baby alligators all backlit in glowing neon seemed macabre tonight.Whoever it was who meant to terrorize her had done a d.a.m.ned good job.Until she found out who was behind the bizarre events of her life in the last few weeks, she'd never feel safe here again.

Chapter Twenty-twoThis is your fault.Ty ignored his conscience, but guilt settled deep in his gut as he opened the door to his wagon and whistled to his dog. He couldn't help think that somehow he trip-hammered someone's interest in Annie Seger. He'd done some research, knew the story inside and out, but he couldn't figure out how his writing a book about the case could ignite anyone's interest.No one knew about his project aside from his editor, agent and himself. He hadn't even been honest with Sam, and when she found out she was gonna be angry as h.e.l.l.Sasquatch barked loudly from inside the house, causing a ruckus."Be good," Ty warned as he slid behind the wheel and rammed his keys into the ignition. He hadn't intended to touch off a new crime spree, nor had he intended to get involved with Sam, though he'd planned on meeting her from the start.Throwing the car into drive, he gunned the engine and flipped on the headlights. The street was deserted, Sam's house dark, a light glowing on Mrs. Killingsworth's porch.His idea of getting to know Samatha Leeds and in the process learning what she knew about the case had backfired big-time. Before he'd even started, whoever the h.e.l.l John was had started calling into Midnight Confessions. Midnight Confessions. And then this latest bit-with the breathy-voiced girl claiming to be Annie. What the h.e.l.l was that all about? Who was she? And then this latest bit-with the breathy-voiced girl claiming to be Annie. What the h.e.l.l was that all about? Who was she?He slowed for a stop sign, then took the corner, heading through the outskirts of the tiny lakeside community of Cambrai and r.i.m.m.i.n.g the lake, heading toward the bright lights of the city, visible in the distance.The names of people connected with Annie Seger swirled through his head-her mother, Estelle, a cold, religious b.i.t.c.h if ever there was one and Wally, her natural father, a man who drifted from job to job. Then there was her brother, Kent, a year and a half older and not as popular as his sister. She'd been raised by Jason Faraday, her stepfather, an ambitious, driven, A-type doctor, and her boyfriend had been Ryan Zimmerman, a boy who'd fallen from being an A student and captain of the lacrosse team into partying and drugs. Annie's purported best friend had been Priscilla "Prissy" McQueen, a backstabbing self-indulgent teenager who'd had a crush on Annie's boyfriend.He wheeled around a corner and saw the city limits of New Orleans loom in front of him. He reached for his cell phone and punched out a number he knew from memory. It was time to call in the cavalry, much as he hated it.Otherwise, someone was going to get hurt.Brrring.No, Bentz thought, his eyes opening to his dark apartment. Bentz thought, his eyes opening to his dark apartment. Not now. Not now.The phone jangled sharply again.Rolling over, he glanced at the clock and groaned. Two-thirty in the d.a.m.ned morning. He'd been asleep less than two hours. No doubt it was bad news. No one called in the middle of the night just to chat. Snapping on the bedside lamp, he snagged the receiver before the d.a.m.ned telephone could ring again. "Bentz," he said, wiping a hand over his face, trying to wake up."Looks like we got ourselves another one." Montoya sounded much too alert for this gawd-awful time of day."h.e.l.l." Bentz swung his legs over the side of the bed. His mind instantly cleared, and he thought about the warning Samantha Leeds had received. "Where?""Near the Garden District," Montoya said, giving off the address. "Second floor.""Same MO?""Similar. But not identical. You'd better get over here." Montoya rattled off the address."Give me twenty minutes. Don't let anyone disturb anything.""Would I?" Montoya asked before clicking off, and Bentz wondered why he hadn't been called first. He hung up, grabbed a pair of jeans he'd thrown over the end of his bed and kicked his shoes from beside the dresser. He didn't bother with socks and yanked on a T-shirt. In one swoop he gathered his keys and ID, then grabbed his shoulder holster and Glock from the bedside table. Stuffing his arms through a jacket and shoving a Saints cap on his head, he took the stairs to the front door of the apartment building.Jesus, it was hot. At two-thirty in the morning. Not the dry heat of the desert but that moist, cloying warmth that brought a sweat to his skin at seventy degrees. He jogged to his car, unlocked it and had fired the engine before he strapped on his seat belt.Another woman dead.Silently he berated himself. He shouldn't have paid so much attention to Dr. Sam and the d.a.m.ned threatening notes. Not when there were murders being committed. Murders he needed to solve.But killings that just might be connected to the radio shrink.His tires squealed as he took a corner too fast and he clicked on the police band, only to hear that there had been trouble down in the French Quarter. He heard the address and recognized the building. Realized it housed WSLJ. Was certain the trouble involved the lady shrink. His gut tightened. John had warned her, then struck again.This was turning into one h.e.l.luva night.He drove like a madman, found the address Montoya had given him and parked between two cruisers. The night was sticky, not much wind. Sweat ran down his back as he wove through the crowd that had already gathered around the grand old house cut into individual apartments.On the second floor, he found the apartment and stepped inside.The place was already crawling with the crime-scene team. A police photographer was taking pictures of the dead woman as she lay facedown on the carpet. She was naked, and her head had been shaved, nicks visible beneath the dark stubble covering her skull. A thick braid of shiny black hair was twined in one of her hands and an odd, sweet smell accompanied the usual stench of death. Her skin was smooth, a soft mocha color.With one quick look, he knew they had another killer on their hands. "This is all wrong," he muttered to himself, his gut tight, his jaw clenched as he viewed the latest victim stretched out on the area rug."You're telling me." Montoya slid past the photographer and had heard Bentz's observation.Bentz squatted down, balanced on the b.a.l.l.s of his feet. He touched the skein of hair wound through her fingers. It was oily. Smelled faintly of patchouli. As in Kama Sutra. What the h.e.l.l was that all about?"Who's the victim?" Rocking back on his heels, Bentz glanced up at Montoya."Cathy Adams, according to her driver's license, but she was sometimes known as Ca.s.sie Alexa or Princess Alexandra.""Working girl?""Part-time prost.i.tute, part-time student at Tulane, parttime exotic dancer down at Playland."He knew the place. An all-nude "dance club" on Bourbon Street.Straightening, Bentz surveyed the room. Neat. Tidy. Furniture worn, but clean. A few pictures on the wall. Martin Luther King Junior was positioned above a tattered recliner and directly above her head, a colored portrait of Christ gazed down on her. "This her place?""Yeah. According to the landlord she had been sharing this place with a boyfriend, who the landlord thinks might have doubled as her pimp, but the guy-Marc Duvall-moved out about three weeks ago after they had one of their usual knock-down-drag-outs. Same old, same old, she calls 911 but by the time the officers show up, she's calmed down and even though she's got one h.e.l.luva shiner, won't press charges, claims it was all a mistake. He gets hauled in, but he makes bail. Anyway she gave Marc his walking papers, he skips out, and no one's seen him since. The landlord has had it and served Cathy an eviction notice. I've got an APB out for Marc, but my guess is he's not only out of town, but probably the country."Bentz was still surveying the crime scene. "Whoever did this isn't our boy," Bentz said, sensing he'd just stepped into an unfamiliar evil. Again he bent down for a better view of the victim. She'd been strangled, from the looks of the bruises on her neck, but the ligature was different from the other victims."I know. More upscale neighborhood. No mutilated C-note, no radio playing, garrotted by something different.""All the other victims were white," Bentz muttered. "But she was a prost.i.tute, and she was killed in her apartment, and she was posed," Montoya pointed out. That much was true. No one would have fallen on the floor completely facedown, arms outstretched over her head, legs together, toes pointed, a thick braid of her own hair twined in her fingers."Differently. She was posed differently." Bentz thought hard as he stared at the smooth mocha-colored skin of Cathy Adams. He wondered about the woman-did she have children? A husband tucked away somewhere? Parents still alive? His jaw hardened. "Check on the next of kin, friends, family, boyfriends other than Marc. Find out what else she was into. Talk to the other girls and the owner of the club." Montoya nodded, frowned down at the victim. "Maybe our boy's escalating or mutating. Maybe that's why the signature's changed.""It's too different, Reuben." Bentz didn't like the turn of his thoughts. "I'll bet we've got ourselves another bad guy. If nothing else, a copycat.""Two?" Montoya reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a pack of Marlboros. Shook one out. Didn't bother to light it. "No way. They're not that common-what? Maybe 10 percent of the serial-killer population.""Somethin' like that.""What are the odds of that happening?""Not good, thank G.o.d." And yet...Bentz's gut told him differently as he walked through the rest of the small apartment, away from the cloying smell of patchouli.The bedroom was as tidy as the living room, the bedclothes not even mussed. The bathroom filled with women things- hose hanging from the showerhead behind a clear curtain, shampoo and conditioner on the edge of the tub. Using a handkerchief he opened the medicine cabinet behind the mirror and found tubs and jars of makeup, some over-the-counter meds, Band-Aids and tampons. The only nod to her profession was an open box of condoms next to the Alka-Seltzer. No prescription medications. No evidence of illegal drugs.Clean towels were in a small cupboard, and her cleaning supplies were under the sink.Bentz, satisfied that he'd seen enough, walked to the front door, where a small crowd had gathered around the uniformed cops keeping the curious at bay. "I want this place swept clean," Bentz said to the woman in charge of the crime-scene team.She shot him a put-upon look. "Like we usually leave evidence for the cleaning people. Give me a break." Bentz held up a hand. "Sorry.""Just give us some room here, okay? The sooner we're done here, the sooner you'll have your report.""You got it." He and Montoya eased out of the room and through the small crowd that had collected in the hallway. "Have everyone here questioned.""I'm already working on it." Montoya was nothing if not efficient. "So far no one claims to have seen anything out of the ordinary.""I want to see the statements ASAP. And call the lab. Have them put a rush on this. Double-check that they look for hairs from a wig, and cross-check any s.e.m.e.n, blood or hair samples with what we have on file on the pending cases, and even the solved ones-not just murder but any rapes or a.s.saults in the past five years.""A pretty tall order," Montoya griped as they eased through the small group that had gathered in the hallway. One cop was questioning the residents, the other keeping them outside of the crime scene."Not so tall. We've got computers and the FBI." He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced back toward Cathy Adams's apartment. "Where are the Feds?"Montoya's grin was wicked. "Guess I neglected to call them.""There'll be h.e.l.l to pay.""As you said, this isn't our boy." He clenched the cigarette between his teeth and searched his pockets for his lighter."Yeah, but they'll want to know about it.""I'll give "em a personal report in the morning.""You do that," Bentz grumbled, as they walked down the stairs. He didn't like dealing with the Feds any more than Montoya, but he wasn't going to buck the system. And there were some good agents, guys he could work with. Like Norm Stowell when Stowell had been with the bureau. "How come you were called first?" Bentz asked. "I wasn't." Montoya found his lighter and clicked it to the end of his cigarette as they reached the first floor. "I was at the station writing up a report for you on the a.s.sociates of Annie Seger." He sucked hard on his filter tip then exhaled a cloud. "I left a hard copy of the report on your desk and was about to go home when the call came in. I took it, drove over here, then phoned you." That explained it.Montoya added, "When you get a chance, you might want to take a look at the report. Annie Seger wasn't your typical prom queen.""I don't imagine.""And there's a couple of other things. Samantha Leeds's old man-the guy she was married to?""Doctor Leeds.""Yeah. He's still around; still teaches over at Tulane. On wife number three, and that seems to be falling apart.""I've already had the honor of meeting him," Bentz muttered, remembering the jerk. "h.e.l.luva guy.""I figured. But there was a couple of things I hadn't counted on. Check out the good doctor's patient list-it's only a partial, of course because of the doctor-patient confidentiality code, but the Houston PD were able to piece together some info.""I'll look at it.""I'm sure you will." Montoya took a drag and then shot a plume of smoke from the side of his mouth. "Then check out to see who was first officer on the scene the night Annie Seger died.""Someone we know?"Montoya's eyes glinted as they always did when he'd uncovered a particularly unusual piece of information. "You could say that." He shouldered open the door.Outside, a crowd had gathered-the night people who wandered the streets, interested neighbors, people who listened to the police band and got their kicks out of being a part of the action. And maybe one of them is the murderer. And maybe one of them is the murderer.Serial killers were known to watch the results of their havoc. It gave them a rush to watch the police try to find clues they'd endeavored not to leave behind. Some even had the b.a.l.l.s or were nuts enough to try and keep up with the investigation, to come forward and offer "help." Wackos.A news van was parked on the other side of the yellow crime-scene tape, and a sharply dressed woman reporter was talking with her cameraman. She looked up as Bentz ducked under the barrier. Without missing a beat, she kept her conversation running and made a beeline for Bentz. The guy holding the shoulder camera was right on her tail."Here comes trouble," Montoya stage-whispered, "all gussied up in designer labels.""Detective," the newswoman called, not bothering to smile. "I'm Barbara Linwood with WBOK. What's going on here? Another murder?" He didn't respond."I mean, I've heard some of the people here talking. The victim is rumored to be a prost.i.tute and there's been several women killed lately-all prost.i.tutes. I'm starting to think we have a serial killer running rampant in New Orleans." Her expression was expectant, eager. She wanted wanted a serial killer to be stalking the streets of the Crescent City. She a serial killer to be stalking the streets of the Crescent City. She wanted wanted the story. Again he held his tongue and his pager went off. "Come on, Detective. Give me a break here. Was another woman killed? A prost.i.tute?" A breath of wind teased at her hair, but she didn't notice as she stared at Bentz intently. the story. Again he held his tongue and his pager went off. "Come on, Detective. Give me a break here. Was another woman killed? A prost.i.tute?" A breath of wind teased at her hair, but she didn't notice as she stared at Bentz intently."We have a woman dead," he said, "and we're in the first stages of the investigation. I have no statement to make at this time.""Enough with the company line." She was a quick woman, about five-three, with sharp features, heavy makeup, and a persistent streak. She wasn't just zeroing in on Bentz but included Montoya in the conversation. "If there's a serial murderer in our midst, lurking in the streets of New Orleans, the public has the right to know. For safety's sake. Can't you give me a quick interview?"Bentz glanced at the camera hoisted on the cameraman's shoulder. He hadn't said a word, but the red indicator light was glowing brightly. "I think I just did.""Who was the victim?""I'm sure the department will issue a statement in the morning.""But-""There are rules to follow, Ms. Linwood. Next of kin need to be notified, that sort of thing. That's all I can say right now." He turned his back on her, but silently admitted she had a point. A monster was stalking the streets of the city, maybe more than one, and the public needed to be aware."What about you?" she asked Montoya, but got nowhere. Reuben might want to talk to the TV people and grab a little glory, h.e.l.l the guy loved that part of the job. But he wouldn't risk that kind of trouble from Melinda Jaskiel or the DA. Montoya was too savvy and ambitious to blow it.From the corner of his eye, Bentz saw Montoya disentangle himself from the newswoman and jettison his cigarette onto the street.Bentz walked past a couple of cruisers with their lights flashing to his own car, where he checked his pager and called in to the station. The message was simple. There had been more trouble over at WSLJ. Dr. Sam had received another threatening message-this time in the form of a birthday cake for Annie Seger planted in the kitchen at WSLJ. Someone was really trying to rattle the radio shrink's cage."h.e.l.l." Bentz threw his car into drive and tore off. He rolled the windows down, let the warm Louisiana breeze flow through the interior as he headed toward the business district, leaving the stately old homes behind. Whoever the h.e.l.l this John was who was hara.s.sing Samantha Leeds, he had one perverted sense of humor. All in all, it was a d.a.m.ned nightmare. Was it a coincidence that the prost.i.tute was killed on Annie Seger's birthday? Was there a connection between the murders and the threats being aimed at Samantha Leeds? Or was he grasping at straws?He blew through a yellow light near Ca.n.a.l Street and slowed down. Just because a murder was committed the same night Dr. Sam received an ugly prank didn't mean squat. And there was no hundred-dollar bill with the eyes blackened, which seemed a very frail link to the mutilated publicity shot Samantha had received. All the references to sin and forgiveness didn't have anything to do with the murders...there was no radio tuned into the Lights Out Lights Out program...no, he was just tired... program...no, he was just tired...And yet his mind wouldn't let go of the possible link. He was missing something, he was sure of it. Something obvious. He wheeled around a corner when it hit him like a fist in the gut.Not Lights Out. Lights Out. The program before it. His hands gripped the wheel. That was it. The time of deaths were earlier, before the bodies were discovered and he'd bet a month's salary that the program that had been on when the women were killed was The program before it. His hands gripped the wheel. That was it. The time of deaths were earlier, before the bodies were discovered and he'd bet a month's salary that the program that had been on when the women were killed was Midnight Confessions. Midnight Confessions.Why hadn't he seen it before?The perp offed the women while listening to Dr. Sam."Son of a b.i.t.c.h," he growled, but felt that surge of adrenaline that always sped through his bloodstream when he was close to cracking a case. This was it. The link. And the red wig. Because Dr. Sam was a redhead. Holy s.h.i.t, how had he missed that. He drove to the station, nosed his car into a parking spot and headed upstairs. He wasn't officially on duty until later this afternoon, but he knew he wouldn't be able to sleep. The questions and half-baked theories spinning through his brain would keep him awake for hours.There was just enough sludge in the bottom of the coffeepot for one cup, so he poured himself a mug and carried it to his desk. He didn't bother with the harsh fluorescent tubes overhead, but switched on his desk lamp, then settled into his old chair and flipped on his computer screen. With a few clicks of the mouse, the crime-scene photos of Rosa Gillette and Cherie Bellechamps were displayed side by side.They had to have been killed by the same guy. Both women had been strangled with a strange noose, the cuts on their necks, identical. Both corpses had been left with the radio playing, the bodies posed as if they were praying, both s.e.xually violated, both left with a mutilated hundreddollar bill.None of which had occurred tonight with Cathy Adams.And Cathy had been killed on Annie Seger's birthday. Big deal. Lots of people were born on July 22. It meant nothing. Nothing. There was no link.And yet...He'd wait for the report on the latest victim. In the meantime, he flipped through his in-box. Lying on top were several neatly typed pages compliments of Reuben Montoya. Bentz scanned the notes on Annie Seger quickly, then read it over a second time. Montoya was right. Annie Seger wasn't what he'd expected. Her parents Estelle and Oswald Seger had divorced when Annie was four and her older brother, Kent, was six. Estelle had remarried practically before the ink on the divorce papers had dried. Her new husband and Annie's stepdaddy was Jason Faraday, a prominent Houston physician. Oswald, "Wally," had all but disappeared from his children's lives when he'd moved to the Northwest, somewhere outside of Seattle. According to the court records, Wally had forever been delinquent in his child-support payments, only coughing up when Estelle had sicced her lawyers after him.So much for the Ozzie and Harriet Ozzie and Harriet type of family. Bentz took a swallow of his coffee and scowled at the burnt, bitter flavor. type of family. Bentz took a swallow of his coffee and scowled at the burnt, bitter flavor.Leaning back in his chair he propped his heel on a corner of the desk and flipped over the pages. Montoya had been thorough, piecing together info from the high school Annie had attended. If her report cards and the school yearbook were to be believed, Annie Seger had been an excellent student, a popular girl, a cheerleader and member of the debate team. According to a file the Houston police had composed from interviews of family and friends, Annie had gone through several boyfriends before linking up with Ryan Zimmerman, who had been captain of the lacrosse team before he'd run into trouble with drugs and the law and had dropped out of school.A stellar choice for the father of her child. Bentz frowned as he read on.Suddenly the popular teen was alone and pregnant. In apparent desperation she'd called Dr. Sam a few times and soon thereafter had ended her life in her plush bedroom over nine years ago. There were pictures of Annie-one in her cheerleading uniform in mid-jump, pom-poms clenched in her hands, another of her vacationing with her family, her, her mother, stepfather, and brother in hiking shorts and T-shirts, posed along the ridge of a forested hill, and of course, the crime scene, where she was slumped over her computer, wrists slashed, blood running down her bare arms and onto her keyboard, a tragic mess that was in stark contrast to what he saw of the rest of the room-the neatly made bed covered with stuffed animals, the plush white carpet, the bookcase where a stereo system was stacked between the paperbacks and CDs.Bentz glanced up at his desk and stared at the bifold frame of the pictures of his own daughter. He couldn't imagine losing Kristi. She was the single most important thing in his life; his reason for staying off the bottle and making something of himself.Frowning, he turned the page and found a partial list of Dr. Sam's patients. Only five were listed. The one that jumped out at him was Jason Faraday, the physician who just happened to be Annie Seger's stepfather."Son of a b.i.t.c.h," Bentz muttered, his mind racing. Samantha Leeds had never mentioned that Faraday had been her patient, but then she wouldn't. Couldn't. There were laws about that sort of thing. He swilled the end of the coffee and flipped to the final page.Montoya's notes said that Estelle and Jason Faraday had divorced sixteen months after Annie's death. Estelle still resided in Houston, in the very house where her only daughter had taken her life. Jason, however, had left Texas and moved to Cleveland, where he'd remarried and had two young children. Phone numbers and addresses were listed.Montoya had done a h.e.l.luva job. True to his word Montoya had listed all of the officers of the Houston PD who'd been involved in the case. The first officer to arrive at the scene had been Detective Tyler Wheeler."Well, I'll be G.o.dd.a.m.ned."Bentz read Montoya's final note.Detective Wheeler's involvement in the Annie Seger suicide hadn't lasted long. He'd been removed from the case immediately as he'd admitted that he was related to the victim. Annie Seger had been Tyler Wheeler's third cousin on her father's side.Bentz's gut tightened.Detective Wheeler had resigned his post.His current address was Cambrai, Louisiana.Just down the road from Dr. Samantha Leeds.The neighbor who was always hanging around.Coincidence?No way in h.e.l.l.How did a cop with over ten years' experience under his belt give it all up and end up here with a pansy-a.s.sed job of being a writer? And why the h.e.l.l had he ended up down here, in Louisiana, cozying up to Samantha Leeds?Bentz figured it was time for a stakeout.

Chapter Twenty-three"I'm taking you to my place," Ty said, as they drove out of the city, leaving WSLJ, the police, the d.a.m.ned cake and all the craziness behind. It was late, and Sam was bone-weary. She hadn't gotten much sleep the night before as she'd been with Ty on the boat and after the shock of the birthday cake and the interrogations by the police, her nerves were strung tight as bowstrings."I'll be fine," she said, too tired to really get into an argument. "I've got an alarm system and a watch cat.""Seriously, Sam. Just for tonight, since it's Annie Seger's birthday.""Yesterday was," she corrected, rolling down the window and letting in the night air. They were driving around the black expanse of Lake Pontchartrain, and the breeze was gratefully cool, the night finally calm."Humor me. For one night. Stay with me." He touched the back of her hand and her stupid skin tingled."Fine, fine," she agreed, rubbing her neck where the hornet had left his mark. It was beginning to itch like crazy. "I don't suppose you've got anything for a headache?""At the house." He glanced in her direction. "I'll take care of you," he promised, and she was too d.a.m.ned sleepy to remind him she could take care of herself. What was the point? Besides, she was certain whoever was terrorizing her was connected to the station. Someone had unlocked the door to the kitchen to leave the cake and whoever was calling in, trying to freak her out, knew the number for line two. A number not listed in any phone book nor available through directory a.s.sistance.No, it had to be an inside job, and that thought chilled her to the marrow of her bones.Shivering inwardly she wondered which one of her coworkers would go to such lengths and for what purpose? Certainly not Gator; he was worried enough about losing some airtime if her show was expanded. Though he might want to scare her out of a job, he wouldn't want her program to become too popular. Nor would any of the other DJs, though Ramblin' Rob was devious enough to do this just for the h.e.l.l of it. For a few laughs at everyone's expense. The crusty DJ could have learned about Annie Seger easily enough, the story was common-enough knowledge because George and Eleanor had been in Houston. Maybe that was what had triggered it, someone like Rob finding out about the problems in Houston and exploiting them.To what end? To drive you crazy? To get you to quit? To make you look like a lunatic? Or to lure in a bigger audience.Then why the mutilated picture and calls to her house? Why the note left in her car? Or John's calls after the program was over. How would those actions promote more listeners?They wouldn't, Sam. You're running down a blind alley. There's something more, a link you're missing. So what was it? What? What?Her headache growing worse by the second, Sam closed her eyes and leaned back against the headrest. She couldn't think about John, the calls or Annie Seger any longer. Not tonight. But tomorrow, when her head was clear and she'd caught up on her sleep...then she'd figure it out. She had to.Ty flipped on the radio and they listened to the end of the prerecorded Lights Out Lights Out program, instrumental renditions of familiar songs, guaranteed to put you to sleep, all engineered by Tiny, the nerd who knew the station inside and out. He'd worked at WSLJ longer than anyone else, parttime from the time he was in high school. While Tiny attended Tulane, Eleanor had offered him a full-time position. program, instrumental renditions of familiar songs, guaranteed to put you to sleep, all engineered by Tiny, the nerd who knew the station inside and out. He'd worked at WSLJ longer than anyone else, parttime from the time he was in high school. While Tiny attended Tulane, Eleanor had offered him a full-time position.So what about him, she wondered as the Volvo's tires sang against the pavement and the engine hummed. Maybe Tiny wasn't as innocent as he appeared. Or what about Melanie? Lord knew she was ambitious enough and sometimes she seemed secretive, then there was Melba, over-educated and underpaid...or someone in league with Trish LaBelle over at WNAB? It was no secret that Trish wanted Sam's job...Stop it, Sam, you're not getting anywhere, she thought, she thought, turn off the noise. turn off the noise. As an instrumental version of "Bridge Over Trouble Water," played, Sam was vaguely aware that they were entering the Cambrai city limits. It was good to be with Ty, to relax, to be able to trust someone. She opened her eyes just a crack, enough to see his strong profile, bladed cheekbones, dark expression as they pa.s.sed beneath streetlamps or the headlights of a few oncoming cars illuminated the Volvo's interior. As an instrumental version of "Bridge Over Trouble Water," played, Sam was vaguely aware that they were entering the Cambrai city limits. It was good to be with Ty, to relax, to be able to trust someone. She opened her eyes just a crack, enough to see his strong profile, bladed cheekbones, dark expression as they pa.s.sed beneath streetlamps or the headlights of a few oncoming cars illuminated the Volvo's interior.It was odd to think that she'd known him only a few weeks and smiled to herself to think how pleased Mrs. Killingsworth would be that her matchmaking had come to fruition. He slowed and cranked the wheel as they turned down the street r.i.m.m.i.n.g the lake.They pa.s.sed her house, the windows dark, no sign of life within. She nearly changed her mind, and invited him to stay with her and Charon and the hornets, then smiled to herself. Soon enough it would be dawn, but tonight she'd stay with Ty and exhausted as she was, she felt a little tingle of antic.i.p.ation at being alone with him. She'd thought about their lovemaking often during the day, too often. It seemed so natural to be with Ty. So right. And yet she warned herself that she had made bad decisions in the past, poor choices when it came to men. And he was a virtual stranger to her-what did she really know about him except that he'd shown up at about the same time someone had started terrifying her? And her emotions for him were way out of line.She couldn't, wouldn't wouldn't fall in love again. Not with Ty. Not with any man. She'd learned her lesson. Or so she told herself as he parked the car and walked her into his cottage-a little house with few furnishings other than a desk, sectional and television. Sasquatch stretched and sauntered up, tail wagging and Ty let the shepherd out through the back door. fall in love again. Not with Ty. Not with any man. She'd learned her lesson. Or so she told herself as he parked the car and walked her into his cottage-a little house with few furnishings other than a desk, sectional and television. Sasquatch stretched and sauntered up, tail wagging and Ty let the shepherd out through the back door."Hungry?" Ty asked Sam."Dead would be a better description."He whistled to the dog, then helped Sam up a short flight of stairs to the loft, where a king-size bed was pushed beneath windows overlooking the back of the house. Moonlight glinted on the lake and the smell of water drifted in on a warm, Louisiana breeze."You know, I don't really think my being here is a great idea," she said."Why not?" He'd already kicked off his shoes."I might do something I shouldn't."His grin was wicked as he lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. "A guy can only hope.""You're impossible.""I try," he admitted, drawing her into his arms and kissing her until she couldn't think of anything but making love to him.Don't do this again, Sam! Think. Use your head. How do you know you can trust him?She couldn't. She knew that much, but she couldn't fight the need to lose herself, to close out all the fear and pain, to trust someone-if only for a night. What could it hurt? She closed her eyes and they tumbled onto his bed, into his world, not knowing what that world was made of. Truth? Lies? Deceit?What does he want from you?She didn't know, didn't want to question anything as she closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around his neck. His lips were hot, his tongue insistent and she eagerly parted her lips and kissed him open mouthed as his arms lifted her up, pulling her so close that her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were crushed. One hand pulled, pressing her rump ever closer, so that beneath her skirt her mound was pushed against the hard length of his erection.She ached deep inside and had trouble catching her breath. Her heart pounded and her blood raced as his fingers bunched the fabric, strong fingertips molding around a b.u.t.tock and probing in her cleft, forcing her closer still, creating a heat and electricity that sparked through her.She wanted him; G.o.d knew she wanted him and the moan that escaped her was just the beginning. One of her legs curled around his and he lifted his head to stare deep into her eyes."As I said before, you want me," he said as the breeze, sifting through an open window tickled the back of her neck. "And I want you.""Do you?" she breathed, perspiration dotting her skin, heat building deep within. The fingers over her b.u.t.tocks clamped tight."What do you think?""I-I think I'm in trouble.""We both are," he whispered against the sh.e.l.l of her ear and her skin rippled with goose b.u.mps. "Oh, darlin' we both are."He tumbled backward onto the bed and his lips claimed hers again. Fierce, hungry, hard, he kissed while his hands worked at the fastenings of her skirt and blouse. Knowing she was giving in to a pa.s.sion she should deny, she pulled his shirt over his head and skimmed the ropey muscles of his arms. In the half light she saw his face, intense, wicked, downright s.e.xy as he removed her blouse then kissed the tops of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s as they spilled over the lacy cups of her bra.Beneath the flimsy fabric her nipples hardened and the need within her throbbed. "I knew it would be like this with you," he said as he shoved the strap of her bra off her shoulder and warm air brushed against her suddenly bare nipple."Like-like what?" she whispered as he bent his head. She felt the gentle sc.r.a.pe of his teeth on her tender flesh, the tickle of the tip of his tongue."Like this," he said, breathing hard and suckling as his other hand delved beneath the waistband of her skirt, grazing her navel in its quest.Her legs parted as if of their own accord and she writhed anxiously, wanting, needing, consumed by an ache that seemed to pulse.He unhooked the clasp at the waistband and the zipper hissed downward as, with both hands, he sc.r.a.ped her skirt and panties over her hips and down her thighs and off her feet. Then she was lying beneath him, her blouse crumpled beneath her, her bra half off, her skin bare.He lowered himself further, lips touching and tasting, tongue exploring the contours of her skin, his breath moving the curls at the apex of her legs. She closed her eyes, lost herself in pure sensation. He parted her legs, touched her, played with her, tasted her and she writhed, fingers curling in the bedspread, hot images flashing through her mind, desire running rampant.Don't let him do this to you...don't let him make you vulnerable, but she couldn't stop. The wanting was too intense, the fire in her blood too hot. She felt the pressure building, the ache, and all thoughts converged on that one spot, the center of the world seemed to pulse where his skin touched hers, hotter, higher, faster...her mind spinning until the universe cracked. She bucked, cried out and he held her fast, two strong hands on her legs until she fell back against the bed, panting, her body enveloped in sweat. but she couldn't stop. The wanting was too intense, the fire in her blood too hot. She felt the pressure building, the ache, and all thoughts converged on that one spot, the center of the world seemed to pulse where his skin touched hers, hotter, higher, faster...her mind spinning until the universe cracked. She bucked, cried out and he held her fast, two strong hands on her legs until she fell back against the bed, panting, her body enveloped in sweat."Ooohh," she sighed, breathing hard as the warm glow of satisfaction wound over her. "Ty...What about...you?"Lifting his head, he winked at her. "We'll get to that.""Now?" she asked, her voice soft. "Oh, yeah, now." He stood on his knees. "Trust me, I'm not letting you off the hook. I'm not that n.o.ble.""n.o.ble?" she repeated, then laughed as the wind sighed through the open window. "I didn't think so.""What did you think?" He swung a leg over her and straddled her. "Tell me."Sam stared up at him, this man she'd taken so readily for her lover, this stranger who could make her ignore all her doubts, make her cast aside her worries about him. And yet what did she know of this man? His smile was pure sin, his beard-shadow dark, his hair mussed as he held her gaze. Bare-chested, muscles gleaming with sweat, his jeans slung low on his waist, he placed his hands upon her b.r.e.a.s.t.s and squeezed. "What?""Oh, that you were..." He was kneading her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, sc.r.a.ping his thumb over her nipples, turning her on again, so soon. She had trouble collecting her thoughts. "That you were...dark and dangerous.""I like that.""That maybe I shouldn't trust you.""You shouldn't.""But that...that I found you...""Irresistible?""d.a.m.ningly so.""Then I guess we're even," he said and reached for the top b.u.t.ton of his jeans. He slowly slid the top b.u.t.ton out of its hole. Samantha stared, her throat tightening as he flipped his wrists and a series of seductive pops echoed through the loft. She bit her lower lip as he slid his jeans downward and kicked them off."See...not n.o.ble at all," he insisted, lowering himself onto her and kissing her on her belly before inching up to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.Again the heat. The d.a.m.ned, moist, all-consuming heat between her legs. Again his tongue tasting and exploring, sliding ever upward, leaving a moist, hot trail upon her skin. "No woman has the right to look as good as you do, you know?""Is that right?" She had to force the words out. "Oh, yeah.""Maybe I should say the same about you that no man should be allowed to do the things you do to me."His laugh was a throaty growl. "Flattery will only get you into trouble.""As if I'm not in enough already.""A little more won't hurt," he said as his lips found hers and his tongue plunged into her mouth. He pushed her knees apart and, as he kissed her, thrust hard into her. Deep. Deeper, pushing against her, then slowly easing back.Her arms wrapped around his head and she lifted her hips, wanting more of him, aching to be with him, closing her eyes to the night and the threats surrounding her. Tonight, oh, G.o.d, tonight she would just let go."That's a girl," he said and plunged deep again, and again and again, breathing hard, sweating, his heart pounding as rapidly as her own. She moved with him, forced her anxious lips to his, arched her back and heard his breathing accelerate, felt each of his sinewy muscles tense as he thrust into her and she let go, her body convulsing, her mind splintering. Ty let out a primal roar as he fell against her, clinging to her, holding her close, his body damp, the moonlight streaming through the open window. Sam sighed, her breath ruffling his hair and knew that she was losing herself in this man, this dark, interesting, stranger, a man she wasn't sure she could trust.Sam was asleep. Dead to the world. In his bed.Moonlight streamed through the open window, playing upon her face, and Ty was struck by the unlikely thought that he cared about her far more than he should, maybe was even falling in love with her.You poor, sick, s...o...b.. He'd used her. And in so doing, he'd put her in jeopardy. Plain and simple. There was no reason to sugarcoat it. He'd considered her a means to an end, and now he felt like a heel. Carefully he extracted himself from her arms. She moaned in her sleep and rolled over, never once opening an eye. The bed was rumpled, the pillows mussed, the room smelling faintly of her perfume and s.e.x. He hadn't intended to make love to her, but hadn't been able to stop himself. That was the problem-he, who'd always been careful when it came to women, a man who protected his own best interests as well as his heart, lost it when he was around her. Just plain lost it. He studied the lines of her face, the sweep of her eyelashes, the way her lips were open just enough for shallow breaths. He'd used her. And in so doing, he'd put her in jeopardy. Plain and simple. There was no reason to sugarcoat it. He'd considered her a means to an end, and now he felt like a heel. Carefully he extracted himself from her arms. She moaned in her sleep and rolled over, never once opening an eye. The bed was rumpled, the pillows mussed, the room smelling faintly of her perfume and s.e.x. He hadn't intended to make love to her, but hadn't been able to stop himself. That was the problem-he, who'd always been careful when it came to women, a man who protected his own best interests as well as his heart, lost it when he was around her. Just plain lost it. He studied the lines of her face, the sweep of her eyelashes, the way her lips were open just enough for shallow breaths.Tearing his eyes away, he reminded himself that he had things to do, things she was better off not knowing about. His conscience nagged him a bit as he stepped into a pair of shorts and didn't bother with a shirt.The digital readout on the clock showed it was four-thirty in glowing red letters. With the ready excuse of taking Sasquatch outside should she waken, he hurried stealthily down the stairs, the dog at his heels.Without making a sound he opened the door to the street and saw no one in the bluish illumination from the street-lamp. The night was still, that time of day before dawn when the entire world was asleep. The morning newspaper hadn't been tossed onto his driveway, nor were there any patches of light glowing from the houses lining the street. No A-types were out jogging for their morning exercise, no cars cruising along the narrow road. In this section of Cambrai, it was still late night.Sasquatch nosed around the front yard and Ty walked to the end of the drive, stopping near the magnolia tree that guarded his mailbox. Heavy leaves blocked the shimmering light from the streetlamp, creating an even darker shadow around the bole of the tree. Ty waited, his eyes straining in the darkness, his ears tuned for even the softest of sounds.He heard nothing, but a few seconds later a figure emerged from the dense shrubbery. Dressed in black, shoulders hunched, expression hidden in the night, Andre Navarrone seemed to blend into the shadows. "h.e.l.luva time to be out," he whispered."Couldn't be avoided." Ty glanced back at the house, then to the man he'd known over half his life, another cop turned private investigator. Navarrone's tenure with the Houston PD had been short and infamous. He'd never quite learned that the tactics he'd learned in the Gulf War as a special agent couldn't be implemented in the city. So he'd gone independent. Which was perfect.Ty stared straight into his friend's eyes. "I need your help.""I figured that much. Otherwise, you wouldn't have called." Navarrone's smile was a wicked slash of white. He didn't ask what Ty wanted, but then he never did.And he'd never failed.Yet.Sam rolled over and sensed that something was different. Wrong. She wasn't in her own bed...no, now she remembered. A contented sigh escaped her lips, and she smiled. She was with Ty, though she'd argued against it. Images of their lovemaking flashed behind her eyes. The feel of his warm skin, the taste of him, the way he knew just how to touch her.... She reached behind her and felt cool sheets against her fingertips, just sheets. No skin or muscle or bone.Rolling over she blinked and pushed up on an elbow. Sure enough she was alone. There was an impression where his body had so recently been, but it was cool to the touch. Maybe he'd gotten up to use the bathroom, or get a drink or...the dog. That was it. He'd taken the dog outside.In the darkness, she found her slip and wiggled into it. She heard his m.u.f.fled voice through the open window, a hushed whisper and she imagined Ty was encouraging Sasquatch to hurry and do his business. But as she peered out the window, she saw no sign of dog or man on the stretch of lawn between the house and lake. Curious, she walked downstairs where a banker's lamp, left on as a night-light, gave off a soft green glow over a wide desk and allowed her to move through the rooms without switching on any other lights.In the kitchen she splashed water from the tap over her face and finger-combed her hair, then looked out the window toward the street. Nothing. But he had to be near. She didn't believe that he would leave her alone now, not after he'd driven into town like the cavalry and made a big point of her not staying in her house alone. On top of all that she'd heard his voice-was certain she had. She scoured the darkness and, from the corner of her eye saw movement. Sasquatch rounded the corner of the house and was trotting to the end of the driveway only to sit at the base of the tree and look up expectantly. Another movement and the shadows came to life. She caught a glimpse of a man beneath the tree...no, there were two of them. Two. One of the men had to be Ty-otherwise the dog would react differently.Samantha bit her lip. Ty and who? A man he'd slipped out of bed to meet. A man he hadn't told her about. Squinting hard, she leaned over the sink and stared into the night where moonlight dappled the ground and two men huddled.She gripped the edge of the counter. One of the men was Ty. So who was he talking to so quietly at this hour of the morning? What was so important as to prod him from bed and out into the night? Dark suspicions nagged at her brain. Hadn't the police insinuated that no one was to be trusted, especially men she hardly knew.But Ty had only seemed to have her best interests in mind. He'd shown up at the station, not once but twice, when he suspected she might need him. He'd insisted upon driving her home, on checking out her house, on seeing that she was safe. That was why she was here tonight. Right?Or had it all been an act?She considered walking out the door and demanding answers, then told herself to hold tight and have faith. That whatever he was doing, it was on the up-and-up. She shouldn't second-guess him, should wait for him here in the house, and when he deigned to return she could ask him what was going on.No way. She was too wound up, too on edge. Her mind was racing with all kinds of reasons for him to have left her alone in his bed-none of them good. Suddenly keyed up, she couldn't imagine trying to fall back to sleep; nor was it her nature to docilely wait and let some man determine her fate. She was too wound up, too on edge. Her mind was racing with all kinds of reasons for him to have left her alone in his bed-none of them good. Suddenly keyed up, she couldn't imagine trying to fall back to sleep; nor was it her nature to docilely wait and let some man determine her fate.She walked into the living area, intent on flying up the stairs to the loft, throwing on her clothes and storming back to her house where she belonged, but on the way to the stairs she pa.s.sed his desk and laptop computer with its screen saver of brightly colored pipes. She paused, tempted to sneak a peek at his files. Edging toward the desk, she told herself she was breaking a trust, but decided she had to know the truth. There was a reason he'd slipped out of the bedroom, and she'd bet she wouldn't like it.She leaned over the keyboard. In a matter of seconds, she'd opened his word processing program. There flickering on the screen were file numbers that corresponded to chapters and research information.What had he said about it? What was his joke to Melanie? That it was kind of like The Horse Whisperer The Horse Whisperer meets meets Silence of the Lambs? Silence of the Lambs?She clicked onto the first chapter.Her heart dropped.The t.i.tle of the book loomed at her:Death of a Cheerleader: The Murder of Annie Seger."Oh, G.o.d," Sam whispered, her gaze raking down the page.Murder? But Annie Seger committed suicide. But Annie Seger committed suicide.Sam's blood turned to ice. How did Ty know anything about it? Where did he get his information? She skimmed the first few pages, her fingers shaking as she scrolled down.Her heart twisted when she realized how deeply he'd deceived her.How was he involved in all of this? Oh, G.o.d, could he be behind the person calling in-was he John...no, she couldn't, wouldn't believe that. But there had to be a connection. "You miserable son of a b.i.t.c.h," she muttered, thinking about their lovemaking. The heat. The intensity. The pa.s.sion.The lies.Why didn't he confide in you?Why did he have to lie?You slept with the man, Sam. Made love to him.Her stomach clenched. Bile crawled up her throat.What the h.e.l.l was his game?If he'd wanted to do her harm, he'd had dozens of opportunities.G.o.d in heaven, was it possible? Had she nearly given her heart to a man who had been tormenting her from a distance?She didn't have time to print out the chapters, she had to leave. Now. Before he realized that she was on to him. She had to grab her purse