Blood and Bone

The deeper they dig into the past, the closer they come to a killer. Crime writer Shayne Reynolds is looking for the next book that’ll get her out of her parents’ basement and on track to rebuilding her life. She’s found it in Robert Anderson, a confessed murderer who’s out on parole. Something’s never added up about that case. From the moment she sets foot in Dark Water, nothing goes as planned. Anderson’s family wants her to drop the story—especially surviving son Des. A man who ignites sizzling heat even as he stands firmly in her way. Laboring under his father’s crushing legacy and his grandmother’s iron resolve to get rid of the nosy writer at any cost, Des struggles to save the selfdestructive sister who once saved him. There’s something honest and forthright about Shayne, though, that tempts him to help her get to the truth. Even if it means double-crossing his powerful grandmother. Despite their resolve to keep it strictly business, sexual sparks quickly set fire to tangled emotions. And threads of a fragile bond that someone with a vendetta could use to weave their death shroud… Warning: This story contains a feisty writer, a sexy younger man and a mystery with enough twists and turns to cause vertigo.

eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work. This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. Samhain Publishing, Ltd. 11821 Mason Montgomery Road Suite 4B Cincinnati OH 45249 Blood and Bone Copyright © 2011 by Dawn Brown ISBN: 978-1-60928-539-5 Edited by Tera Kleinfelter Cover by Scott Carpenter All Rights Are Reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. First Samhain Publishing, Ltd. electronic publication: October 2011 www.samhainpublishing.com

Blood and Bone Dawn Brown

Dedication

For Max. Special thanks to Katherine, Teresa and Bella for all your support and friendship.

Chapter One

Familicide: A multivictim murder resulting in the deaths of the killer’s spouse and one or more children. “Are you married?” The man sitting across the booth fixed his silvery eyes on Shayne’s bare ring finger. “No.” She followed his gaze. Even after a year, she could still see a faint imprint in her flesh. Or maybe she simply imagined she could. After all, how many times had her thumb reached to fiddle with the smooth band only to find skin instead? “Not anymore.” “Divorced?” He grabbed his beer off the table and tilted the bottle to his lips. Careful. Don’t let him draw you in. You know better. “Mr. Anderson, we’re not talking about me.” He chuckled low in his throat. “No, I guess we’re not.” Shayne forced a smile and met the man’s gaze. Even after twenty-five years, Robert Anderson looked remarkably similar to the pictures from his police file. He’d been thirty-two when he’d gone to prison, making him nearly sixty now. His black, springy hair showed a considerable amount of gray, and deep lines grooved his face around the eyes and mouth. His shoulders remained broad and what she could see of his build was trim. Dressed in a faded pair of jeans and olive-green shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, he looked like any other man. Nothing about him gave away he’d once served time for murdering his wife and ten-year-old stepson.

Blood and Bone

“I must admit,” Shayne said, struggling to keep her voice light, “I was surprised when you asked to meet.” Especially, after his last voice mail, telling her rather forcefully he had no intention of participating in her book and not to call him again. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.” A smirk twisted his mouth, lifting one corner. “Don’t thank me yet.” The knots in her belly tightened. Shayne glanced around the dimly lit bar. A pub at dinner hour had seemed an ideal place to meet. Unfortunately, the crowd she’d envisioned at the Salty Dog actually consisted of three half-conscious barflies, a bartender who had yet to break eye contact with the television set, and a middle-aged waitress yakking on a pay phone near the door. She shouldn’t have let a two-time murderer choose the locale for their interview, but desperate times… “Can I ask you something?” Anderson’s unnerving stare locked on her face. Shayne fought the urge to shift back and put more space between them. “Of course.” “Why now?” He leaned forward. “Why write this story now?” “I may not.” No reason for him to know how important his story was to her book. “I’m considering at this stage.” Anderson rolled his eyes. “What made you consider this story now?” Let’s see, after the money I’ve spent on lawyers’ fees fighting my self-centered prick of an ex for my half of the life we built—not that there’s much left after the infertility treatments—I find myself low on funds. And because you’ve already been tried and convicted, I can write this book in about half the time it would normally take me. “Your recent release from prison caught my interest,” she replied instead. “You and everybody else,” he muttered, before taking a deep swig from his beer. “Excuse me?”

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“Who do you plan on talking to?” “I’ve spoken to the investigating officers, your lawyer, the prosecutor. Now I’m arranging interviews with friends and family. Do you mind if I record our conversation?” She pulled her notepad and audio recorder from her purse. Anderson shrugged, his expression inscrutable. “Thank you.” She set the recorder on the table between them, flipped to a blank page in her notebook and waited for Anderson to speak. When he didn’t, she asked, “What happened the night of May 10, 1984?” “You have a copy of my confession, right? Use it.” “I’d like to hear the story in your words.” He sighed. “Gwen was unhappy with me and wanted to leave. I came home from work early and found her in the process of doing just that. We fought. I shot her.” His voice was bland, flat, as if he recited from a script. “Why did you shoot your stepson, Christian?” Anderson shifted in his seat and glanced toward the bar. “He got in the way.” “Your stepdaughter was found at the side of the road, carrying your son and running away from the house. Had you planned to kill Julia and Desmond too?” He flinched. “No.” God, how terrifying that night must have been for two small children. What kind of person could kill a child? Kill his own child? Shayne looked at Anderson seated opposite her—so ordinary, even attractive. She tried to envision him hunting down his children in the woods and couldn’t quite manage it. “Did you go after Julia? Try to stop her?” “No.” He was lying. She’d read his confession. “How did Christian get in the way? According to the crime scene, you shot your wife at the front door. Your stepson

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Blood and Bone

was shot in the chest at the opposite end of the hallway. The story you’re telling now is quite different from what you claimed in your confession.” Anderson snorted. “It’s been a long time. I don’t remember exactly what I said.” Anger sparked inside her, a flickering flame. Christian’s image from the crime-scene photographs popped into her head. His lifeless form crumpled on the floor, a dark hole the size of her fist in his chest. “I’m not interested in what you said. I want to know what you remember.” He glared at her for a long moment. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” A chill blew through her, snuffing out the anger. Still, she ignored her pounding heart, kept her back straight and her voice strong. “I beg your pardon?” “You’ve opened one hell of a can of worms, prying into things that are none of your business.” She’d made a mistake. The man clearly had no intention of answering her questions. Maybe he’d planned to intimidate her into giving up the book. Good luck. She’d dealt with far more menacing men than Robert Anderson. Granted, most of them were safely locked behind bars. “Obviously, Mr. Anderson, you are not interested in participating in this book.” She dropped her notepad into her purse and stood. As she reached for the tape recorder, Anderson’s arm snaked out. His fingers closed around her wrist. “You can’t leave yet. Not until I give you what you came for.” “Let go of me.” Blood pounded in Shayne’s ears in time with her thundering heart. She tried to yank free, but Anderson’s grip tightened just shy of painful. “Relax,” he said, “I’m not going to hurt you.”

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“Let. Go.” She hauled back her free arm, ready to blacken his eye. The bartender glanced away from the television and the barfly nearest them roused long enough to frown in their direction, but neither of them made a move to help her. “Fine.” He released her arm and she stumbled back a step. Her heart thudded against her ribs and the muscles in her legs turned soft. Without looking away from him, she rubbed the tender flesh on her wrist. “Sit down,” he told her. “I’m about to give you exactly what you want.” She remained standing. “Oh yeah, what’s that?” “An exclusive.” From the bench beside him, he lifted a legal-sized envelope, the brown paper badly creased from extensive use, the material inside at least three inches thick. He dropped the package on the table between them with a thump. “What’s in the envelope?” she asked. “Proof I didn’t kill Gwen or Chris.” Shayne slowly lowered herself onto the seat and struggled not to roll her eyes. An innocent man wrongfully accused? The prisons were full of them. “You should be showing it to your lawyer or the police. I’m a writer, not an investigator.” “Read it. When you’re done, you can decide if you believe me or not.” She itched to tug the envelope closer and have a peek at what was inside. Get ahold of yourself. This guy’s clearly working an angle. She laced her fingers together and met his silver eyes. “Let me get this straight. You’re innocent. You have proof you’re innocent. Yet you’ve just finished serving twenty-five years in prison?” He stared, but didn’t say anything. Her fingers tightened. “Why did you confess? Even without your big envelope of proof, the evidence against you was

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circumstantial at best. The only two people to witness the crime were your eightyear-old stepdaughter and your two-year-old son. Julia was too traumatized by the experience to identify you, Desmond too young. You stood a very good chance of an acquittal.” “You know how to reach me.” He pushed the envelope toward her and slid from the booth. He was leaving? He dragged her all the way out here and he was leaving without answering her questions? Oh no, he wasn’t. Envelope or not, she wasn’t done. Shayne scrambled after him. “Wait.” To her surprise, he did. He faced her, folding his arms over his chest. “If you didn’t kill them, who did?” He held her gaze for a long moment, then, without another word, started for the door. She moved to follow, but her purse strap caught on the corner of the table, jerking her back. Cursing under her breath, Shayne unhooked the strap. As she turned to go after him, the waitress from the pay phone blocked her path. “Eight seventy-five,” she said, her mouth a bare slit between round cheeks. “What?” “For the beer,” the woman snapped. The jerk stuck her with his tab? “Nine bucks for a beer?” “It’s an import.” A taste he’d developed serving time in prison, no doubt. Shayne reached into her purse, dug out nine dollars and slapped the money down on the table. “No tip?” the waitress complained. Yeah, right. She’d been on the phone the entire time Shayne had been in the bar. “Don’t worry, I think there’s enough left for another call.”

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Shayne burst out of the bar and squinted against the brilliance of the lateafternoon sun. Where did he go? She glanced up and down the busy sidewalk, searching the faces for Anderson’s, but he was gone. Absorbed into the steady stream of people. She blew out a long sigh. “Shit.” Now what? She glanced at her watch. Nearly five. Great, after a waste-oftime interview, she had a long drive in rush hour traffic to look forward to. She started for her car parked at the curb. The sun’s rays beat down on her bare shoulders. Sweat beaded beneath her light blouse. The thick, stifling air stank of exhaust from the cars creeping past in an endless parade. Damn it. Nothing with this book was going her way. Anderson was the first break she’d had in weeks. With Gwendolyn’s mother and youngest son threatening legal action if she tried contacting them again, and the daughter dropping off the face of the planet entirely, Shayne needed that interview. Maybe she should give the book up, start something new. No, she was too far in. Her legal bills had eaten through her advance, and her deadline loomed. Once she reached her car, she slid into the driver’s seat. The late-August heat had converted the car’s interior into a small sauna. She dropped her bag onto the passenger’s seat and turned the envelope over in her hands. Innocent man, huh? Sure he was. Still, she was curious. What was in here that Robert Anderson believed would clear his name? Wide packing tape held the flap closed. She picked at the edge with her fingernail, peeled back the strip and tipped the envelope until the pages inside slid into her palm. Frowning, she thumbed through the stack of photocopied articles. Each item appeared to be about men who’d murdered their wives and children. Some were

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articles detailing the events, others psychological studies listing common traits in the perpetrators. What was all this? Did Anderson not trust her to do her own research? Maybe he’d hoped to intrigue her with another case so she’d drop his. “Proof my ass,” she muttered. While the articles made for interesting reading, there was nothing within the pages to exonerate him as far as she could tell. What exactly was he trying to tell her? At the top of the first page, Anderson had written his phone number, and under that, Call me when you’re ready to talk. R. Shayne gritted her teeth. The man had to be lying. Why would he confess to a crime he hadn’t committed? But she’d call him. If for no other reason than to get a better handle on the angle he was trying to work. The electronic pulse of her cell phone cut through the quiet. She tossed Anderson’s package onto the passenger’s seat and she reached for her bag. The hot, leather seat burned her bare shoulder. She jerked away with a curse, then dug through the mess of ATM statements and receipts for her phone. As her grasping fingers found the cell wrapped in the tattered remnants of an old tissue, the ringing stopped. She pulled the Kleenex away and a message symbol flashed on the screen. After flicking off an ancient cherry Life Savers stuck to the back, she listened to the message. “Ms. Reynolds, this is Carla from the Pinecone Lodge calling. I’m afraid I have some bad news. It seems the clerk who made your reservation overbooked. We don’t have a room available for you. I apologize for the inconvenience.” “Apologize for the inconvenience?” Shayne muttered. She was supposed to arrive in Dark Water tomorrow. God help her if she had to spend one more day living in her parents’ basement, she’d be the one behind bars for murder.

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She scrolled through the Missed Calls log until she came to Carla’s number and hit Talk. A busy signal hummed in her ear. She grabbed her battered planner from the glove compartment and rifled through the loose scraps of paper stuffed into the book. On her third time through, she found a yellow Post-it with a phone number scribbled across it. She hadn’t included anything besides the number, but the area code looked right. She dialed and hoped for the best. “The Pinecone Lodge.” Shayne recognized Carla’s nasal voice. “This is Shayne Reynolds. I received a call that my reservation has been canceled.” “That’s correct, Ms. Reynolds. I’m sorry for any trouble this has caused.” “Do you have anything available?” Even a broom closet would work. “I’m sorry, no. We’re booked solid for the festival.” Fabulous. “Could you give me the number for another hotel?” “We’re the only hotel in Dark Water.” Of course you are. “Is there anything available in town for a short-term rental?” “I wouldn’t know.” Carla’s voice turned huffy. “You would need to contact the realty office.” “Do you have the number?” The clerk sighed. “Just a moment.” After a few seconds, she read off a phone number . “Thank you for your—” a click then a dial tone hummed in her ear, “— help.” So much for small-town warmth. Shaking her head, she dialed the number Carla had given her. A perky receptionist answered. “Grey Family Realty, how can I help you?”

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Grey family? Any connection to Gwendolyn Grey? Had to be a coincidence. She wasn’t that lucky. “Yes, I’m looking for a place to rent or lease for a shortterm period.” “One moment while I transfer you.” A strangely disturbing Muzak version of “Yellow Submarine” filled her ear then cut off abruptly. “Yeah.” The impatient male voice caught her off guard. “Um, hello, I’m looking for a rental property. Something short-term. I was hoping you could help me.” “Can you hold on a sec?” he asked, sounding distracted. “Sure.” She rolled her eyes. The receiver clunked as he set it down. Instead of more “Yellow Submarine”, the faint sounds of his cursing followed by loud, hollow banging drifted from the phone. “Hi,” he said, “sorry about that. You’re looking for a rental? Anything specific?” “Cheap,” Shayne told him, her dwindling bank account a constant presence in her mind. “And furnished. And available tomorrow.” “Huh. How long were you looking to stay?” “Two weeks.” It shouldn’t take her longer than that to get what she needed for her book. And by then, she should have the money from the condo and could pay off her legal bills and look at starting over. “A month,” she amended, buying herself more time. He grunted and she heard the rhythmless clacks of typing. “Maybe two.” That way she could write the book there—no distractions, no “I told you so’s” from her father and no pitying stares from her mother. And when she was done, she could find a place to live.

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“As long as you’re sure.” “Sorry.” She rubbed her forehead. “I hadn’t considered this. I was supposed to be staying at the Pinecone, but they overbooked.” “Overbooked?” A combination of disbelief and amusement filled his voice. “Because of the festival.” “If you say so. I have something for you. It’s a little rustic, but I think it might work.” “As long as there’s running water and electricity, I think I’ll be okay.” He chuckled softly. “Great. You’re arriving tomorrow? What time?” “Early, between eight and nine.” “God, it’s Saturday,” he groaned, like a kid who’d been told to do his homework. “Fine, I’ll meet you at the office, nine o’clock. Do you know where it is?” He gave some quick directions that she scratched out on one of the scraps of paper in her Day-Timer. “What’s your name?” she asked, realizing she wouldn’t know who to ask for when she got there. “Des Anderson.” Des? As in Desmond? Maybe she was that lucky, after all. “Thanks for your help, Mr. Anderson.” Hopefully, she didn’t sound as shellshocked as she felt. “My pleasure, Ms.—” “Reynolds,” she supplied, and waited to be hung up on again. Silence stretched between them and she was certain he had. “Hello?” “Yeah, sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow, Ms. Reynolds.” “See you then.”

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She blew out a slow breath and hit End. Apparently, he hadn’t realized the woman he’d rented a house to was the same woman he’d threatened to sue if she tried to contact him one more time. At last, her luck seemed to be changing. The electronic pulse of her cell phone dragged Shayne up through layers of sleep. Blinking in the darkness, her eyes focused on the glowing green numbers of the alarm clock next to her bed. Three forty-five. Who in the hell? She rolled off the sofa bed and shuffled toward the sound, stumbling over the coffee table. With a muttered curse and an aching toe, she snatched up her cell phone from the top of an ancient television set. “Hello.” Sleep made her voice gravelly. “Forget Gwendolyn Grey,” a man whispered. “What? Who is this?” Her sleep-muddled brain tried to make sense of the call. “Give up that book before I make you give it up.” Oh please, was that the best he could do? A threatening call in the middle of the night? Not terribly original. “Get bent.” She started to pull the phone from her ear, but the harsh voice stopped her. “If you want to stay alive, keep yourself in suburbia. You come to Dark Water, you won’t leave.” The line clicked and a dial tone filled her ear, but she barely heard it over the pounding of her heart. A chill settled over her as she scrolled the menu for the number. Blocked. Figures. How had he known she lived in the suburbs? He didn’t, it was a lucky guess. Why not, “Stay in the city”? Or, “Stay away”? No, mentioning the suburbs was specific. Had someone followed her? Were they watching her now?

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Don’t be paranoid. She’d had whack jobs call her before. Vaguely threatening letters sent to her via her publisher, but none had ever hinted at knowing where she lived. She snapped on the lamp next to the sofa. Soft light filled the room but did little to chase away the unease coiling around her like an icy fist. Shayne glanced around the small space she’d called home since she and Travis had separated almost a year ago. Orange, gold and chocolate brown with chunky wood furniture—her parents’ rec room was like going back in time to 1975. Her parents were asleep upstairs. If something happened to them, because of her… For crying out loud, the jerk said the suburbs. He hadn’t rattled off her address. She was overreacting. At least she hoped so.

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Chapter Two

“Statistics show that while a large number of men who kill their biological children take their own lives, men who murder their stepchildren rarely commit suicide.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Shayne squinted in an effort to make out her barely legible handwriting on the crinkled sheet of paper. Her gaze bounced from the directions pinned between her thumb and steering wheel to the road. The turn to Dark Water should be coming up. She might have been able to read the instructions easier—be better organized overall—if she’d stopped using her car as an office. These days, however, she didn’t seem to have much choice. Her parents’ dingy basement wasn’t exactly conducive for work, and her mother snooped. Her parents meant well, and they’d helped her out by letting her stay with them while she and Travis fought it out in the courts. But since her divorce had become final, her father, always critical, had become far more provoking. Her mother insisted it was because he worried about Shayne now that she didn’t have a man to take care of her. The fact that she didn’t need a man to take care of her eluded him. Whatever rustic dwelling Anderson had found for her, having her own space again would be a huge relief. Almost worth every penny this trip to Dark Water was costing her. If you come to Dark Water, you won’t leave. A chill danced along her spine.

Dawn Brown

She was making something out of nothing. More than likely, the creep on the other end of the phone was some pissed-off relative of Gwendolyn’s trying to scare her. Nothing to get bent out of shape about. Still, she couldn’t shake the unease knotting her insides. Following Anderson’s directions, she steered on to Main Street. The early morning sun cast a soft, orange glow on the red brick storefronts. Pretty baskets of purple and pink petunias hung from old-fashioned lampposts lining the street. The sidewalks were empty, except for an old man peering into store windows with a mangy, black poodle at his feet. A sign with the words “Grey Family Realty, since 1952” in burgundy script caught her eye. She pulled up to the curb in front of an old house converted into a business, parking behind a rusted-out station wagon that might have been brown at one time. As she climbed from the car, she spotted a man in his mid to late twenties, wearing a god-awful Hawaiian shirt, slouched on a park bench. With his arms draped casually along the back, he turned his head to watch her. Dark sunglasses shaded his eyes, but Shayne was certain he was checking her out from behind the tinted lenses. “Nice car,” he said. “Thanks.” Shayne barely gave the sleek convertible a second glance, but as she dropped her keys into her purse, she hit the remote lock and automatically set the alarm. At the high-pitched double beep, the man smirked. Odds were her car wouldn’t be stolen in broad daylight in a town with a population of less than ten thousand, but why test fate? Especially with a seedy character loitering next to it.

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She’d traded in the minivan Travis had insisted they buy for the Solara shortly before they’d split up. For her, the car represented her first acceptance she wouldn’t have children and she was okay with the realization. The car wasn’t super sporty, but it didn’t scream soccer mom either. “Ms. Reynolds?” Her name, spoken by the man on the bench, jerked her from her reverie. She stopped and faced him, frowning. “I’m Des.” He stood, almost reluctantly, jammed his hands into his jeans pockets and sauntered toward her. Oops. Okay, not loitering, and probably not interested in stealing her car. Crap. “Thanks for meeting me.” “I’m thrilled, naturally.” He smirked and stared at her for a long moment. At least she thought he did. She wished he’d take off those glasses. “Did you want to follow me to the house?” “Sure.” Actually, she wanted to ask him about a million questions, but had no idea how to get around to mentioning she was the person he’d threatened with legal action. How could he not have made the connection? Certainly he’d heard what was left of Anderson’s family, as well as some of his parents’ acquaintances had agreed to speak to her. Wouldn’t he suspect she and the writer attempting to contact him were one and the same? He walked over to the ancient station wagon and tugged open the driver’sside door. She half expected the handle to fall off in his hand. As Shayne slid behind the wheel of her car, the station wagon rumbled to life and pulled away from the curb. She followed Des past century-old homes with meticulous green lawns and brilliant gardens, then past tiny wartime houses skirting the edge of town. The

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neighborhoods fell behind them and thick forest rose up on either side of the narrow road. “Where are you taking me?” she muttered. A flutter of apprehension tickled her belly. Maybe he did know who she was after all. Could he be the creep who’d called last night? Perhaps he’d inherited a little of his father’s psychotic nature. A twinge of guilt pulled at her conscience. Not fair. He’d probably spent most of his life facing down that particular legacy. Especially living in the town where it had happened. So why stay in Dark Water? She’d never lived in a small town, but while writing about them, she’d learned they had exceedingly long memories. The road dipped slightly and, through the trees on her right, the dark, sluggish water of the river from which the town took its name caught her eye. But there were no houses to be seen. Where in the hell was she? Stop the car, he’ll stop too and you can make him explain where he’s taking you. Brake lights shone red beneath the dirt-encrusted plastic and his turn signal flashed. Yet where, exactly, in the wall of trees next to the road he could be turning escaped her. She followed him anyway. Up two narrow, dirt ruts enclosed by tree branches, forming a sort of tree tunnel. The long grass growing between the ruts whispered against the underside of her low car. “Oh, this is promising.” Maybe his reward for killing her and disposing of her body would be her car. The stone cottage seemed to appear from nowhere, and she took back every mean thought she’d had about Des Anderson. The house was cute and private and perfect. Des stopped the station wagon and slid out. She pulled up beside him and did likewise.

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“This is great.” “It’s a little small,” he told her, climbing the wood steps of a newly added deck, “but the price was right and it was available.” He unlocked the door and she followed him into the dark cottage. The air smelled musty and stale. Des went to the window and pulled back the heavy gold drapes, allowing dappled sunshine to spill into the sitting room. White sheets covered the furniture, protecting against dust. A short set of five steps led to a tiny galley kitchen overlooking the sitting room. Shayne climbed the stairs, opened the 1950s fridge and peered inside. It wasn’t running, but it was clean. “Does this work?” she asked. Des nodded. “Power’s off. The fuse box is in the bedroom. I’ll flip the switch before I go.” Shayne closed the fridge and noticed the back door next to it. She pulled back the filmy scrap of material used as a curtain and peeked out the window. Overgrown lawn stretched out to the river. “It was a fishing cabin,” Des said, suddenly standing next to her. She jumped and took a step back. He’d removed his sunglasses and in the dim light his eyes were dark pewter. Like his father’s. They stood out from the defined angles of his face as his gaze moved over her, measuring her. She tucked her hair behind her ear and swallowed hard. “When’s the last time anyone stayed here?” “Had a couple of fishermen rent the place last spring. The owner’s been trying to sell it since her husband died last year. She rents it out when she can in the meantime.” “Not a big market for fishing cabins?” Standing so close to her, his scent, clean and indefinably male, teased her senses.

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“She has it priced too high and won’t budge.” Shayne smiled and tilted her head slightly. “Should you be telling me?” He shrugged. “Were you interested in buying the place?” “Not even a little a bit.” “Doesn’t matter then. The bedroom and bathroom are this way.” He started down the stairs. She followed, letting her gaze travel the length of him. He wasn’t at all what she’d expected. From the ridiculous shirt, to the worn blue jeans—which, after a lingering look at his butt, she had to admit he wore well—to the beat-up leather flip-flops on his bare feet, he wasn’t like any real estate agent she’d known. She hadn’t necessarily expected him to wear a suit in eighty-five-degree heat, first thing on a Saturday morning. Maybe casual pants and a golf shirt, though. She’d also expected Desmond Anderson to be clean cut and well-groomed. A sort of male version of a Barbie doll. He’d been raised with the Grey family fortune at his disposal, after all. “You don’t look much like a real estate agent.” He glanced back over his shoulder. “I do, however, look like a car thief.” Shayne fought uselessly against the heat creeping into her face. “I’m from the city. Everybody looks like a car thief.” He chuckled, dimples grooving the flesh on either side of his mouth, then turned away. She’d never liked dimples on men before. She’d always found them too boyish, but on Des they looked pretty damn good. He led her to the first of two rooms off the living area. A sagging double bed with a ratty mattress cover and a chipped wood dresser was all that made up the suite. As she stepped inside, she caught sight of herself in the tarnished mirror. The warped glass turned her reflection wide and skinny like a fun-house mirror.

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“You’ll need bedding,” Des said. “If you didn’t think to bring any, there’s a store in town.” And she’d probably end up paying an arm and a leg. She wished he’d mentioned that yesterday and she would have brought her own. “Is there a TV?” Des nodded and turned back to the sitting room. He yanked off one of the sheets like a magician performing a particularly complicated trick. “Ta-da. Did you want to see the bathroom?” “Sure,” she said, hardly listening as she mentally recalculated her budget. He opened the door next to the bedroom to a small bathroom, equipped with pedestal sink, toilet and claw-foot bathtub. “Great tub.” She pushed past him into the room and ran her fingers over the cool enamel. “I may buy this place after all.” “In that case, I think you’ll find the price extremely fair.” That smoky gaze stayed on her face, boring into her as though he was trying to read her mind. What was he looking for? A warm tingle spread over her skin, and she looked away, feigning interest in the chrome faucets. What the hell was wrong with her? Had it been so long since she’d dealt with a man outside of a divorce or a murder trial that some hick real estate agent could make her feel like a teenaged wallflower? Pull it together. She knew from her research he was only twenty-eight. She had seven years on him, for Christ’s sake. “There’s some paperwork I need you to fill out,” he told her. When she lifted her gaze, his smirk had been replaced with a smug grin. Fantastic. “Where do I sign?”

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Des went out to his car to collect the rental contract while Shayne waited for him in the sitting room, fighting the urge to pace. She’d have to give him her first name. How would he react? Maybe he wouldn’t make the connection at all. “It’s pretty straightforward,” Des said as he strolled inside. She faced him, her heart beating double-time, her mouth dry. She had to clear her throat before she could speak. “Is it a lease?” He shook his head. “A weekly rental. You can stay as long as you need to, provided you pay the rent, but you’ll have to give a week’s notice before you leave. I need the first two-weeks’ rent today and a damage deposit. You have to fill in the top portion of the contract and initial here.” She reached into her purse for her checkbook. “Is there somewhere we can sit?” Des pulled a sheet off a round colonial dining table, its scarred surface in need of refinishing. She set her checkbook face down on the table and accepted the contract from him. As she filled out her personal information, he wandered to the window. Thank God. After she’d completed the paperwork, she wrote out the checks. Des turned from the window and moved back to the table. Cool sweat dotted her skin when he lifted the contract. As he read, he shook his head slowly. She returned her attention to the check, pretending not to notice. “I can’t believe you actually went through with it,” he said, a mix of incredulity and disgust lacing his voice. Frowning, she scribbled her signature on the last check. “I’m sorry?” “I can’t believe you actually rented a house to get to me.” Her knotted stomach dropped to her shoes. He knew who she was, probably had all along. She slid the checks across the table and met his hard stare.

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“It’s not like that.” She tried not to cringe under his furious glare. “I needed a place to stay, and I didn’t know you worked there.” “It didn’t occur to you, when you called Grey Family Realty, you might end up speaking to a member of the Grey family?” His grip on the contract tightened as if he was about to tear it up. Instead, he tossed it back on the table, badly creased but still in one piece. “I didn’t know it was your family’s business until the receptionist answered the phone. The woman at the Pinecone gave me the number for a realtor, but didn’t tell me the name of the company.” “What a load of crap.” He snatched up the contract and the checks. “I knew that line about the festival was bullshit.” “No, really—” “Well, I hope you did need the house, because if you thought using it as an excuse to get to me would work, it didn’t.” He strode toward the door, but Shayne ducked in front of him, blocking his path. “Look, whatever misconceptions there were, couldn’t we start again?” “You can do whatever you want.” He stepped around her and continued to the door. “Stay away from me. Stay away from my family.” He stormed out, the screen door banging shut behind him. A moment later the station wagon coughed to life. “Well, that could have gone better.” She moved to the front window in time to catch a glimpse of red taillights before they disappeared into the trees. The clanging of his car rattled in her ears long after he had driven out of sight. Des yanked open the door to the realty office, Shayne Reynolds’s rental file still gripped in his free hand. He would have loved nothing more than to tear the contract into pieces and tell her to go to hell, but financial debt didn’t leave a

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whole lot of room for pride. The commission on this deal wouldn’t be much, but every little bit helped. Heather, the receptionist, turned a beaming smile on him as he approached her desk. Her expression dissolved the moment her eyes met his. She dropped her gaze to her open appointment book and pretended he wasn’t there. Good. He just wanted to process the paperwork and go home. Shove all thoughts of Shayne Reynolds out of his head. She hadn’t been what he was expecting. She was younger and a hell of a lot better looking, for one, and he liked her dry humor in spite of himself. For a second there, while he’d been showing her the house, he could have almost forgotten who she was, and why she was there. When she’d blushed in the bathroom, he could’ve almost believed she was interested in him. Maybe even enough to provide him with a pleasant diversion while he was stuck in this crap town. Oh, she was interested in him, all right. Interested in digging into his past and profiting from his mother’s and brother’s murders. He shoved open his office door and stopped in his tracks. “What are you doing here?” “God, Des, you look pissed.” Kate leaned back in the chair behind his desk. Just when he didn’t think things could get any worse. He glanced at his watch. Not quite eleven. Still plenty of hours left in the day for it to continue its lightning-fast descent downhill. “I am,” he growled. “So get out.” His cousin smoothed her blonde hair pulled into a tight knot at the back of her head, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you still mad at me about Julia?” The mere mention of his sister’s name gave his insides a good twist. “Yes, but right now I have other things to be mad about. Get out of my chair.”

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“Fine.” She pushed against the edge of his desk and the chair rolled back on chrome casters. “What else has you so angry?” She stood and left his chair. He sat, dropping Shayne’s file on top of the pile of new listings in his in-box. He considered flipping through them, but what was the hurry? Ian always kept the best ones for himself. “Why do you want to know? So you can run back to Heddi? Is she expecting a report?” His grandmother was ill and no longer had the strength to torment her family in person. Now, she sent Kate to do her bidding instead. “Maybe.” Kate settled into the chair opposite his desk. “Could your mood have anything to do with your renting to that writer?” For a moment, he could only gape. “How could you possibly know about that?” “You should know by now, nothing gets past Heddi.” He snorted. “Especially when she has so many people who can’t wait to keep her informed.” Kate’s green eyes narrowed. “I take it that’s a dig at me. Julia stole more than a quarter million dollars. Did you honestly expect me to cover that up?” “No, but while she was working for you, I expected you to keep an eye on her. Make sure she stayed out of trouble. You know what she’s like.” “Yes, I do. And as long as she has you to clean up her messes, she’s going to keep making them.” “What should I have done?” Des snapped. “Let Heddi charge her? Send her to jail? She has problems.” That was putting it mildly. Julia was a wreck, but when an eight-year-old child watches her mother’s murder, then spends the rest of her life being raised by a woman like Heddi, what could anyone expect?

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“And she knows how to use them. She’s partying with her accomplice somewhere in the Caribbean, and you’re stuck here, working two jobs to pay the money back.” He gritted his teeth. “If this is what you wanted to talk about…” “It’s not.” Kate’s features softened and she asked almost hesitantly, “Have you heard from Julia? Is she okay?” “I haven’t talked to her since the night she took off.” She’d been giddy and apologetic, rambling and evasive, all at once. He’d known something was up. When Kate arrived at his door the next day, he hadn’t even been surprised. “But where Julia’s concerned, no news is good news.” Kate nodded, then leaned forward. “What were you doing with this Reynolds woman?” Des shrugged. “She needed a place to rent, I found her one.” “How could you have done business with her?” “A commission’s a commission. What do I care where it comes from?” Besides, it served her right. Now, she was stuck with that dump, while her rent went to paying his way free. He liked the irony. “Did you tell her anything?” He rolled his eyes. “I was two when they died, what could I tell her?” “You must have said something to her.” The sharp impatience in Kate’s tone scraped his last nerve raw. “Only enough to get the contract signed.” He leaned back and laced his fingers behind his head. She pursed her lips and tapped one pink nail against the chrome armrest. “I see, and what does my father have to say about this?” “I doubt he even knows. Ian isn’t as well-informed as you and Heddi.” “I’m not surprised. Where is he? I need to speak to him.”

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“I haven’t seen him today.” “Of course you haven’t. Honest to God, I don’t know how this place stays in business. I’ve never seen a workplace so disorganized.” Why won’t you go away? “We do all right.” “You could do better. Look at the way you’re dressed. And when’s the last time you had a haircut?” He sat up, dropped his hands down and gripped the arms of his chair. “Kate, I’m about ten seconds away from physically removing you from my office.” She continued as if he hadn’t spoken at all. “How does anything get done when no one knows where the manager is? Though we can all guess, can’t we? He’s probably off with one of his women.” “He’s not all bad. He helped me get my real estate license and gave me a job here. Not everyone would have done that.” The theory being Des could make more than he could designing web pages and pay back faster the money Julia had stolen. An excellent plan except Des was a terrible real estate agent, probably because he hated every waking moment of it. “Don’t kid yourself.” Kate’s voice was thick with derision. “He helped you because it helps him. With you working here, he has more free time to bang whichever bimbo he’s got on the side.” “Don’t hold back, Kate. Tell me what you really think.” She glared at him for a long moment, then stood. “Look, do yourself a favor. Stay away from that writer. Talking to her makes Heddi uneasy.” And an uneasy Heddi was as pleasant as an uneasy grizzly bear. “I’ll keep that in mind.” “If you see my father, tell him I’m looking for him.” Des nodded. “I’ll pass the message along.”

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Kate left his office, closing the door behind her. Once she was gone, he slumped down in the chair and closed his eyes. A steady throb beat behind his eyes. Rehashing his issues with his sister on the heels of renting a house to Shayne Reynolds had left him antsy and restless. He made a quick mental calculation, subtracting his meager commission from what he owed. Who was he kidding? He’d be facing retirement before he paid all the money back. A sick smothering settled over him, something akin to a panic attack. He needed to finish up and get the hell out of there. Out of this office. Out of this town. Before he lost his fucking mind. Shayne peered up at the clapboard house. A ripple of unease raced along her spine. Complete with peeling paint, broken windows and a front door hanging drunkenly from one hinge, the house looked haunted. And certainly abandoned. What was she doing here? She should be out buying linens and groceries, not visiting a twenty-five-year-old crime scene. Yet when she’d seen the sign for River Road, she couldn’t stop herself. There were only six houses on the road, with acres of forest between them. Gwen and Robert Anderson’s hadn’t been hard to find. Sheer neglect made the forgotten building stand out. She wasn’t sure who owned the property now, but she’d make a point of finding out. Then come back with her camera and permission. While clearly no one was living there, she was likely still trespassing. She should probably get back in her car and head out to the highway. Instead, she started for the house. Just a quick look around, then she’d go. Birds tittered in the forest canopy and a slight wind stirred the humid air before dropping off. The mossy smells of earth and old leaves tickled her nose.

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Above her, dark clouds had eclipsed the sunny blue sky, and thunder rumbled low and distant. Good, maybe a storm would finally break the heat wave. Again the wind picked up, whispering through the leaves like a thousand tiny voices. She looked up at the empty house, which had seen so much violence and death. A shiver slid over her skin. As she mounted the porch, the spongy, rotted wood bowed a little beneath her weight. With her luck, she’d fall right through. Carefully, she eased forward, sliding her sneakers over the mossy planks until she reached the door. After shouldering the flimsy screen door aside, she turned the knob. Locked. Damn. She moved to the large picture window and tried to peer inside. The wood under her feet groaned ominously as she squinted to see through the grime covering the glass like a brown film. She couldn’t see anything, the dirt too thick. Maybe if she checked around back. After all, she couldn’t be the first person to try and get in. No doubt the house had been a huge draw for morbid teenagers over the past twenty-five years. “You ought to get away from that house, before you get hurt.” Shayne whirled around at the sound of a male voice, her heart leaping into her throat. The man stood about five feet from the bottom of the porch steps, between her and her car. The bill of his stained baseball cap cast a shadow over most of his face, except for the affable grin lifting his grisly cheeks. His smile seemed much less friendly, though, when combined with the rifle slung over his shoulder. “Dangerous place to be for a woman alone,” he said. Funny, she hadn’t thought so until now.

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Chapter Three

“Men who murder their families do so for a number of reasons, from frustrations with family life, to psychosis, to a sense of entitlement, but in almost all scenarios the act of killing boils down to a need for control. In Robert Anderson’s case, it was assumed he feared his young wife would leave him, taking their two-year-old son with her.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Shayne’s pulse thudded in her ears. She slid her hands into the rear pockets of her jeans so the strange man wouldn’t see them shake. “I didn’t hear you come up Mr.—” “Folks just call me Tic,” he told her cheerfully as he reached up and adjusted his cap. His chilly blue gaze traveled up her body, lingering on her chest before meeting her eyes. “I was out doing a little hunting when I spotted you.” Normally, such blatant ogling would have merely annoyed her, but right then the man’s behavior left her feeling vulnerable, isolated. Despite his pleasant grin and amiable tone, there was something vaguely threatening about Tic— besides the gun. Her mind flashed to her midnight caller from the night before. You come to Dark Water, you won’t leave. Could this be the man who’d called, and was he here to make good on his threat? His voice didn’t sound as deep as the one on her phone, but she’d been half-asleep at the time…and if he’d been trying to disguise it…he could be the same person. But why? Who was he? “I see,” she said, wanting to keep their interaction as superficial as possible. She started down the steps, every muscle in her body tense, ready to bolt if he started to reach for his gun.

Blood and Bone

“You’re that writer.” His smile remained fixed in place but didn’t quite reach the arctic gaze tracking her every step. Brown stubble covered his weathered cheeks, and despite the lines at the corners of his eyes, there was an odd agelessness about him. He might have been forty, he might have been sixty, she couldn’t say for sure. “I am.” She kept walking, making a wide circle around him in an attempt to keep her distance while she edged closer to her car. He turned with her. “I thought so.” His nose was crooked, with a pronounced bump on the bridge. He’d no doubt broken it—more than once probably. Huge arms emerged from the frayed edges where the sleeves had been cut at the shoulders of his denim shirt. He looked like a brawler. His muscles weren’t sculpted like a man who spent hours in a gym, but thick and solid. His arms belonged to a man who had lived his life doing a lot of heavy lifting. In complete contrast to his shoulders and arms, his rounded belly draped over the waistband of his stained khakis. “You like to write about killers?” His jovial voice sent a chill through her. In her line of work, she’d met a number of dangerous men, and she didn’t doubt for a moment this guy could go toe-to-toe with any of them. Shayne didn’t bother to answer his question as she eased around him. She wouldn’t be drawn into whatever game Tic was playing. Careful to keep her eyes on him, she backed toward her car. Tic’s smile broadened as if he found her behavior amusing. Not that she blamed him. After all, he didn’t need to wait for her to turn around to blow a hole through her. “It was nice meeting you, Ms. Reynolds,” he called as she opened the car door. He knew her name, and she doubted this encounter was accidental. Had he been following her?

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She slid behind the wheel, slammed the door closed and pressed the button for the power locks. The clunk of the bolts sliding into place eased a little of the tension gripping her. She let out a slow breath and started the car. As she pulled away from the house, she glanced at the grinning man in the rearview mirror. A shiver rippled along her skin. Why did she feel like he was letting her go—at least for now? Shayne set her fork down on the edge of the plate, her stomach mildly stretched, and leaned back against the cushioned booth. She must have been hungrier than she realized. With thoughts still flitting to her odd run-in with Tic and the nervous churning the man caused in her belly, she hadn’t been sure she’d be able to eat at all. But between the restaurant’s savory air and the sound of rain pelting the window next to her as the sky outside darkened, a coziness wrapped around her, easing some of the tension from her shoulders. The newspaper she’d read through dinner had proved to be a welcome distraction also. Reading at the table, her mother would be appalled. Shayne smiled to herself and took a sip of her iced tea. She set the glass down and lifted her cell phone to check if she’d somehow missed a call. Nope. Nothing so far. She blew out a slow sigh and set the cell back down. A phone at the table, even worse manners than reading, but she’d already left two messages for Robert Anderson and didn’t want to risk missing his call. Though, why he’d ask her to call him about the envelope, then refuse to call her back, she couldn’t understand. Gaze fixed on the silent phone, she tapped her blunt fingernail on the tabletop. “I recognized you from across the room and had to come over and introduce myself.”

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Shayne looked up at the middle-aged man standing beside her table. Tic’s affable grin flashed in her head and a faint shiver slithered over her skin. You and everyone else, apparently. “That’s not necessary.” She glanced around the bistro, in search of her waitress. Time to get the bill. The man next to her let out a chuckle that sounded a little forced. “I’m sorry, but it is. I’m Ian Grey.” Oops. Gwendolyn’s brother, not a deranged stalker. Heat flooded her cheeks. “Of course, Mr. Grey. I’m sorry if I appeared standoffish. I had a strange experience earlier today. Please sit down.” “Call me Ian.” He pulled out the chair opposite her and sat. His thin lips split into a blinding smile, made brighter by the darkness of his bronze tan. “It’s a pleasure to meet you face-to-face at last.” Sure it is. After he’d ignored her repeated attempts to contact him, he came off less than sincere. Still, at least he hadn’t threatened to sue her…yet. “Your family’s been very clear about their feelings regarding my book. Does running into you here have anything to do with your nephew?” His smile dimmed. He reached up and smoothed his thinning, silver-blond hair. “My nephew?” “Des. He rented me a house today.” “I’m surprised he was willing to help you at all.” A chill crept into his voice, his smarmy charm evaporating. He clearly didn’t like the idea of her speaking to Des. Was he merely protective, or was his nephew the weak link in their family’s closed ranks? Somehow she didn’t think so. “Me too. But he was very clear he wouldn’t change his mind about participating.”

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“I see.” Ian nodded slowly, his irritation fading. “Which house are you renting?” “It was a fishing cabin, owned by a widow.” She shrugged. “Ah, the Matheson place.” The waitress finally emerged from wherever she’d been and sauntered to the table. “Ally, you look lovely tonight,” Ian said, his gaze moving appreciatively up and down the young girl’s slight frame. Disgust curdled Shayne’s insides. The waitress had to be at least eighteen to serve alcohol, but that was of little comfort while watching some creepy letch check her out. Ally giggled, but her expression hardened when she turned her attention to Shayne. “Will there be anything else?” “Coffee please, Ally,” Ian said. The girl nodded at him and sashayed to the kitchen. Ally would probably spit in hers. “I must admit,” Shayne said, dragging Ian’s gaze away from Ally’s swaying backside, “I’m surprised you’re speaking to me now.” Ian chuckled and leaned closer so his hands, flat on the tabletop, slid past the midway point, his fingertips less than an inch away from hers. “I’m sure I don’t have to tell you anything I say to you is strictly off the record.” Shayne bristled, shifted back and rested her hands in her lap. “If I were interviewing you, you’d know it.” “Of course, I didn’t mean anything, but you must understand, my sister’s behavior during both her marriages was extremely embarrassing for my family. With Gwen dead, what good can come from making those details public? Details that could hurt her surviving children.”

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Gwendolyn had left her first husband for Robert, and the months between their wedding date and Des’s birth weren’t even close to nine. The relationship had clearly begun while she was still married. Could she have been involved with another man while married to Robert? Was that why she’d wanted to leave him? The possibility certainly fit. “I have no intention of exploiting or damaging your sister’s memory, nor do I want to hurt her loved ones. No matter what she did or didn’t do, she certainly didn’t deserve her fate, and neither did her son.” “That may be, but, as I said, what good can dredging it all up do?” “Hopefully, anyone who reads the book can learn from it. There are certain behaviors and personality traits common to men who murder their families. Perhaps someone might recognize those traits in their own relationship or that of a loved one, and the same tragedy could be prevented from occurring again.” Ian watched her intently. Maybe he was protective of his niece and nephew, and not a total skeez, after all. Ally returned with their coffees, and Ian’s gaze fixed on her breasts jiggling against her fitted blouse. Ick. Still a skeez. “Could I get the check, please?” Shayne asked the waitress, handing over her credit card. Ally nodded and hurried away. “Leaving so soon?” Ian asked. “I’m afraid so. I have some shopping left to do.” He leaned back. “I have to admit, you’ve provided a very convincing argument. I’d like to talk more about your book and my sister. Perhaps I could stop in at the cottage one evening.” Not frickin’ likely. She grabbed her bag from beside her, produced a business card and handed it to him. “I don’t conduct interviews or meet with sources in

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my home, but, if you’d like to set up an appointment, please call me. I’d be happy to make the arrangements.” She would have liked to tell him to get lost. Deep down, she didn’t believe for a moment he was interested in participating in her book, but he was the only Grey speaking to her willingly, and she couldn’t simply blow him off. Ian’s gaze shifted to something over her shoulder and his beaming smile slid away. “Vivian,” he said, his voice flat. “What are you doing here?” Shayne turned as a scowling woman dressed in a pale yellow skirt that pulled a little too tightly at the hips made her way to their table. Her hair, a dull blonde and brittle from overprocessing, framed her round face in a pageboy cut. Good, the wife. This should put a stop to his waitress ogling. “I saw your car outside.” Vivian cast a withering glance at Shayne. “Am I interrupting?” The woman didn’t actually think anything was going on between her and Ian, did she? The very idea threatened a reappearance of her chicken fettuccini. “Not at all,” Shayne said, offering the woman a wide smile and her hand. “I’m Shayne Reynolds.” Vivian’s unnaturally smooth forehead creased slightly. She barely gripped Shayne’s palm before her arm fell to her side. “The writer?” “That’s right.” She dug out another business card and handed it to the woman. “I was telling your husband that should he change his mind about participating in the book, he could contact me and I’ll arrange an interview. I would like to extend the same offer to you.” Vivian’s brown eyes narrowed, but she accepted the card. Like a miracle, Ally returned with her credit card and receipt. After signing, Shayne gave the couple a tight smile.

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“Good night. It was a pleasure meeting you both,” she lied. “You be careful driving home, now,” Ian said, with a wink.

“It was the strike that did it,” Burt said, his voice slurred. “After the strike, people just lost interest in the sport. Hey, Anderson, you listenin’ to me?” No, he wasn’t. Facing the tarnished mirror behind the bar, Des’s gaze locked with Tic’s and the delighted grin spreading across the big man’s face made his heart pound. Shit. Here we go again. On Saturday night, Smitty’s, the only bar the town tolerated—and only because Smitty, the owner, offered a reasonably priced family brunch on Sundays—was packed. Yet as crowded as the place was, no one seemed to notice the jackass standing perfectly still in front of the doors, gearing up to pound the living hell out of him. “Well, well,” Tic said, taking a step toward him. Des focused on his beer. How in the hell was he going to get out of this one? When he lifted his gaze back to Tic, skinny Wayne Norton was trying to tug the bigger man away, but Tic wouldn’t budge. He’d locked onto his target and wasn’t about to let him go. When would this psycho lose interest? Hell, Tic had won. The poor girl he’d nearly killed in the parking lot of this very establishment had been too terrified to name him, let alone press charges. She’d left town, and without her story to back Des’s, Tic remained a free man. Now, he and his redneck pals dogged Des’s every move, and had been for the past six weeks. Ever since he’d pulled that nut job off the waitress.

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Des clutched his nearly empty beer bottle around the neck and waited for the inevitable confrontation. Instead, Tic grinned. “I’ll be looking for you later, Anderson.” He turned away, chuckling to himself, Wayne and Joey Grizzle following behind him until they were absorbed into the crowd. Des let out the breath he’d been holding and ordered another beer. Beside him, Burt picked up his monologue as if the whole confrontation hadn’t happened—continuing to share his theories on the game of baseball as he did with anyone foolish enough to sit next to him—and not at all perturbed by Des’s obvious disinterest. How was he going to get out of there without Tic beating the hell out of him—again? Christ, this crap with Tic was like dealing with a fifth-grade bully. Des closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead with the heel of his hand. How much could one man be expected to deal with? First Julia and Heddi, then Tic and his boys, and hell, throw in Shayne Reynolds and her book for good measure. He opened his eyes and looked back into the mirror, searching the sea of redand green-checked tablecloths covering wobbly tables for Tic and his pals. They were nowhere in sight. He doubted the man would simply give up and go home. Someone let out a loud whoop from the dance floor and a woman jeered. The steady country twang blasting from the jukebox, combined with the drunken frivolity surrounding him, grated his taut nerves. The hot air, thick with the combined stink of stale booze, smoke and body odor, closed in around him. Without finishing his beer, he tossed some cash onto the bar top, muttered a quick good-bye to Burt and started for the door. He kept an eye out for Tic or any of his pals, trying to get a bead on him in the crowd, but the dim light and the veil of cigarette smoke made it virtually impossible.

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Pushing out the door into the muggy night, the heavy air gripped him like a fist. Almost instantly sweat sprang to his skin. The storm earlier hadn’t done anything to alleviate the humidity, had only made it worse. He cut across the gravel parking lot toward his car. As the rusted beast came into view, the urge to climb behind the wheel and drive straight out of town, not stopping until he was miles away from this place, made his hands itch. But he wouldn’t. After all, there was Julia to consider. Christ, how many days and weeks and years stuck in this town going nowhere like a hamster in a wheel could he stand? As many as it took. A sick emptiness settled in the pit of his stomach. Gravel crunched under unseen feet, and immediately he understood why he couldn’t find Tic in the bar. Joey and Wayne materialized from the darkness like storybook trolls. “Looking for us?” Joey asked unoriginally. “No,” Des replied, equally uninspired. He jammed his hands into his jean pockets. Now what? “We got friends here, Anderson. Friends who let us out the back way so we could wait for you. Not like you. You don’t have any friends here.” “Christ, Joey. Are you going to steal my lunch money next?” “Not quite.” Joey grinned, exposing his chipped front tooth. If it hadn’t been that Des was about to be pummeled, he might have found Joey’s attempt to reenact some larger-than-life action movie sadly amusing. Wayne shifted from one foot to the other like a toddler in need of the bathroom. “I don’t like this, man.” Still no sign of Tic. He probably waited behind him, cutting off any chance of retreating into the bar. “We don’t like snitches,” Joey said.

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Des shrugged. “I don’t like onions.” Joey frowned, clearly confused by his response. “Look man, you should’ve just minded your own business.” The memory of that woman’s screams, wild and terrified, barely human, still haunted him. Whatever Tic and his boys had planned, he was glad he hadn’t just minded his own business. He never would have been able to live with himself. Something slammed into him from behind, catching him off guard and knocking the wind out of him as he hit the ground. Fierce pain seared his shoulder as his arm was yanked behind his back and pinned in place by a crushing weight. Sharp stones from the lot bit into the skin of his cheek and through the thin fabric of his shirt. “When I’m done with you, you ain’t ever going to open your big mouth again,” Tic said, spraying the side of Des’s face with tiny drops of spittle. The mix of booze and smoke on Tic’s breath turned his stomach. “I wouldn’t count on it.” Des could hardly get the words out. His lungs squeezed like they were slowly being flattened. “If I turn up dead or beaten so bad I can’t remember my own name, who’s the only person with a grudge against me?” “Ah, hell, I don’t want to kill you.” Tic twisted his arm farther back. Red stars flashed in front of his eyes. His shoulder was ready to pop from the socket. What did they want him to do? Say uncle? “This is too much fun.” For a moment, Tic released the pressure and the white-hot agony receded to a throbbing ache. The reprieve was short-lived. Tic’s fingers tangled in his hair as he yanked Des to his feet and shoved him into the side of a truck. His elbow struck the fender and pain exploded in his arm. But before Tic could get his hands on him again, Des caught him with a knee to the gut. The larger man grunted, wrapped his arms around his middle and dropped to his knees.

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With Tic down, Des darted for his car. Joey grabbed for him, but only managed to get a handful of shirt. Des swung and struck him in the nose, grim satisfaction filling him when something crunched beneath his knuckles. Joey howled and doubled over, cursing. For a moment, escape seemed like a real possibility. Des turned quickly, but something thick and solid struck him square across the face, sending him sprawling across the gravel lot. The stones scraped his hands and up his wrists. When he looked up, Tic stood smiling over him, rubbing his fist into his palm. Slightly behind Tic, Norton looked nervously over his shoulder. “Maybe this ain’t the best place, man.” In the distance, thunder rumbled low and menacing. Another storm was blowing in. “Anderson,” Joey said, his voice muffled by his hands tepeed around his nose. Blood seeped between his fingers. “Everyone says how fucking smart you are, but that weren’t smart. That weren’t smart at all.”

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Chapter Four

“While some fathers who kill do so as an attempt to clean the slate and start anew, others murder out of an overdeveloped sense of ownership of their families. This was believed to be the motive behind Gwendolyn Grey Anderson’s murder.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds The rain eased as the storm moved on. Shayne adjusted the pace of her windshield wipers from frantic pulse to leisurely swoosh and squinted into the darkness. Her turn should be coming up. At least, she hoped so. These back roads were difficult to navigate during the day, but next to impossible at night. Well, she was almost home now, and— A large, silver streak darted from the darkness and stopped across both lanes. A car. Her heart stopped. She stomped on the brake. The back end of her car swerved, tires sliding on wet pavement. “Damn. Damn. Damn.” She jerked the wheel hard, car skidding sideways. The other vehicle loomed closer. “Shit!” She hunched her shoulders, tightened her grip on the steering wheel and waited for the inevitable crunch. It never came. Her car slid to a stop, the bumper less than a foot from the other car’s passenger door.

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“Oh, my God.” She flopped against the seat, closing her eyes, relief flooding her trembling limbs. That was close. Too close. She opened her eyes and leaned forward, prying her fingers from the steering wheel. Fat drops of rain pelted the windshield. The yellow beams from her headlights gleamed off droplets on the side of the other car—a Rolls Royce, no less. Thank God, she hadn’t hit it. The last thing she needed was a car accident. Why would someone pull out like that? And then just sit there? Alarm bells clanged inside her head, memories of Tic and threatening phone calls all-too vivid. Thunder rumbled, low and distant. Lightning flashed, and for a split second the night lit up like day. A large man lumbered toward her car, then darkness closed in once more. Forget this. She wasn’t about to wait around for some psycho to rape and murder her at the side of the road. She threw the car into reverse, turned to look over her shoulder, but a large, square face pressed against the driver’s side window stopped her. Not Tic, but the man’s grim expression did nothing to alleviate her growing anxiety. He moved his fist in tight circles, motioning for her to roll down her window. At least she hoped that’s what he was doing, and not threatening to punch her in the face. “I have a message from Heddra Grey,” he said, voice muffled through the glass. Shayne nipped at her lower lip, her heart beating frantically. Still, this was the closest she’d come to actually speaking to Heddra Grey. She pressed the power-window button, lowering the glass a half inch. “What message?” “Mrs. Grey asks you stop work on your book. Her daughter’s loss was a painful event. She feels the past is best forgotten.”

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He couldn’t have told her this over the phone? Or approached her in a welllit public place? She recognized an intimidation tactic when she saw it. “You work for Mrs. Grey, Mr.—?” “Hudson. My name is Hudson.” “Mr. Hudson, I have no intention of dropping this story. However, I would very much like to speak to Mrs. Grey about her daughter’s death. This could be an ideal opportunity for her to gain a sense of closure. Perhaps I could arrange an interview. I have a card here.” Shayne leaned down to retrieve her bag from where it had fallen off the passenger’s seat and into the foot well. A metallic thud rattled the car. She jumped and glared at the man outside. Hudson stared back, his fist resting on the hood. He better not have dented her car. She started to tell him, but his lips pulled back from his teeth in a feral snarl that turned her blood cold. “I don’t think you understand—” he began. “No, you don’t understand,” Shayne cut in with a bravado she didn’t quite feel. “This story is going to be told with or without Mrs. Grey’s consent. If she would like to contribute, I’d be happy to speak to her. Tell her she can reach me through her family’s realty office. Now. Move. Your. Car.” For a long moment, Hudson peered at her without speaking. Shayne tried to swallow, but her mouth had gone dry. At last, he straightened and turned away. As he marched past the front of her car, he swung his leg out. A hollow pop followed by tinkling glass reached her ears, and one of her headlights went dark. “Son of a bitch!” She didn’t dare get out of the car, though. She was mad, not stupid.

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He folded himself into the Rolls, pulled the car forward and drove away. Shayne stayed where she was until his taillights disappeared into the darkness. Once certain he’d gone, she climbed out to inspect the damage. The rain had tapered off to a fine drizzle, the droplets clinging to her hair and skin. She barely noticed as she ran her fingers blindly over the wet hood. The smooth metal sloped in a distinct dip. The bastard had dented her car. She trudged to the front end, her feet sinking in the mud. The remaining headlight cast a faint glow over the splintered plastic edging the dark hole of the broken lamp like jagged teeth around a gaping mouth. Great. The perfect end to her day. The sucking slop of footsteps in wet mud rose from the surrounding black. The hair on the back of her neck bristled, and a chill tickled along her spine. Was it Hudson coming back to finish her off? Tic? What was she doing standing around out here anyway? A woman alone, late at night, on a deserted country road, during a thunderstorm? The scene had slasher flick written all over it. She started for the driver’s side door, but a low moan rose up from the darkness. The wind? Had to be. Still, she picked up her pace. The moan came again, louder this time. Shayne stopped and turned. A dark, hunched figure staggered toward her. “Christ.” She gripped the door handle and yanked open the door. The stooped outline lurched in front of her single headlight, and the glare illuminated the ugliest Hawaiian shirt she’d ever seen. Des Anderson.

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Relief swamped her like a tidal wave, turning her muscles soft for the second time in one night. The feeling, however, was short-lived. He may not have been the homicidal maniac she’d imagined, but the jerk had scared the life out of her. And all because he was staggering drunk. Even from this distance, the smell of beer was nearly overpowering. As he pitched forward, the light cast a ghostly pallor over his face. Dark smudges beneath his left eye, along his lip and circling the edges of each nostril stood out from the stark whiteness of his skin. Blood. He wasn’t just drunk, he was hurt. “What happened to you?” she asked. Her question stopped him short. He tilted his head the way her sister’s terrier did when asked if he wanted a cookie. Des opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Instead, he sank to his knees and fell forward, sprawling face-first on the gravel at her feet. “You have got to be kidding.” Shayne looked down at the man passed out on the ground in front of her. Could this day get any more bizarre? She knelt next to him and shook his shoulder gently. He muttered something, but didn’t open his eyes. He looked worse close up. His battered face was dirty, and streaked with blood. His lower lip was swollen and cut, and the stink of beer clung to his filthy, torn clothes. Gingerly, she fingered the oozing cut surrounded by bruised flesh beneath his eye. “Anderson.” She shook him a little harder. “I can’t lift you. You have to get up.” “I just want to sleep,” he mumbled. He didn’t open his eyes, but at least he was coherent.

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“Fine, but you can’t do that out here. Come on, I’ll help you.” She gripped his arm and tried to tug him up, but he jerked away from her touch. “I got it.” Des pushed onto his knees and shoved his sopping hair back from his face. Without thinking, she brushed away the tiny stones stuck to his cheek. He didn’t seem to notice. “God, how much did you have to drink?” “Two beers.” “You smell like you drank a lot more than two beers.” She grasped his arm and helped him stand. “I’m wearing a hell of a lot more than I drank. I can walk, by the way.” He shrugged out of her grip and hobbled away from her along the edge of the road. “Can I drive you somewhere?” she called. “No.” Shayne sighed. “You’re in pretty rough shape, and it’s a long walk to town. My place isn’t far. You could call someone to pick you up.” He let out a humorless laugh. “And what would I have to do for such kindness? Tell you all my family secrets?” Her cheeks heated. “I’m not evil incarnate, you know. Actually, you don’t have to speak to me at all. At this point, I think I’d prefer it that way.” He stopped, but kept his back to her. For a moment, he didn’t move or speak. Probably deciding if he could stand to be in her presence for more than thirty seconds. “Fine,” he said at last, and shuffled to her car. She opened the passenger’s door for him and he lowered himself onto the seat slowly, as if every movement hurt. If the rest of him looked anything like his face, it probably did.

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She walked around the front of the car and slid behind the wheel. Closing his eyes, he leaned back against the headrest. He didn’t say a word as she started the engine and pulled onto the road. “We can call the cops from my place.” He opened his good eye. “Cops?” “Yeah. Somebody obviously did this to you.” “What makes you think I didn’t deserve it?” “Did you?” He closed his eye. “No good deed goes unpunished.” Whatever that meant. She kept her attention fixed on the road, all the while doing her best to ignore her raging curiosity. Who beat the hell out him? And why? Did this kind of thing happen often? Maybe he was having an affair with a married woman. Someone unhappy with a house they bought or sold? Beating the hell out of him seemed a tad extreme. Maybe he owed money to loan sharks. When she finally reached her small house, she cut the engine, plunging them into darkness. Rain splattered the leafy canopy of the trees overhead, the only sound in the silence closing in around them. A strange sense of intimacy crept over her as she listened to the rain mingle with Des’s even breaths in the dark. Unnerved, she opened her door a crack so the dome light turned on. The pale glow did little to improve his battered complexion. His eyes were closed. He must have dozed off. “Hey.” Gently, she touched his shoulder. He winced and she jerked her hand away. “Sorry. We’re here.” They both got out of the car, and she came around to his side. She reached under the seat he’d vacated and pulled out a first aid kit. “Is that yours?” he asked, slowly following her up the wood steps to the deck.

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“It’s in my car, who else would it belong to?” She turned her key in the lock and pushed open the door. Maneuvering her way through the black to the living room, she reached out blindly, trying to remember where the table with the lamp was. Her knee struck something solid and she muttered a curse. Table found. She flicked the switch, filling the small room with electric light. When she turned around, Des was slumped against the doorframe. “I’m easily impressed by people so prepared for emergencies.” The sarcasm in his voice relieved her a little. Maybe he wasn’t in as bad a shape as he looked. “Don’t be too impressed. My father bought it for me. This is the third one since I was sixteen.” “That’s nice of him.” He shuffled toward the sofa. “Sort of. Every time I visit, he roots through it for items past their expiration dates, then lectures me about the importance of being a responsible driver. I think he forgets I’m thirty-five, not sixteen.” “The easiest way to keep from acknowledging one’s own age would be to refuse to acknowledge one’s children’s ages.” Gingerly, Des lowered himself onto the ugly plaid sofa and leaned back with a sigh. She bit her tongue to keep from mentioning his mud-covered clothes. It wasn’t her couch after all. Besides, most of the mud had already come off in her car. “Are we getting philosophical in our delirium?” He smiled slightly, then grimaced. “Don’t make me laugh, it hurts.” Shayne sat across from him on the sturdy coffee table and opened the first aid kit, digging through it until she found an antiseptic pad. With her teeth, she ripped open the foil package. “Hold still,” she instructed, shaking out the wet cloth and leaning into him. She lifted his hair away from his face, the damp strands cool and soft against the

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back of her hand. Forcing herself to concentrate, she dabbed at the cut under his eye. He hissed and pulled back. “What’s on that?” “Antiseptic.” “Were you fresh out of battery acid?” “Stop whining. If you’re going to get into fights, you’re going to have to accept a certain amount of discomfort.” Shayne applied the cloth to his eye once more. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Now, there was an image she could have done without. “Obviously,” she muttered, struggling to stay focused on cleaning his cuts. “There were three of them.” He sounded indignant. “How did you end up in a fight with three guys?” “Like I said, no good deed…” “I don’t know what that means.” He sighed. “Doesn’t matter. It’s a long, boring story, anyway.” She wanted to ask him more, but he’d probably accuse her of pumping him for her book. Instead, she asked. “Where’s your car?” “Last time I saw it was at the bar. It’s probably at the bottom of the river by now.” He sounded so forlorn, she couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m glad you find my misfortune amusing.” “Sorry,” she said, not meaning it. Satisfied the cut under his eye was clean, she wiped the dry blood smeared down his cheek. “If your car’s in town, what were you doing out here?” “A bunch of rednecks tossed me into the back of their pickup and dumped me in the middle of nowhere.”

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“God, how long were you walking?” “Hours. Days.” He shrugged. “Who knows?” “Don’t talk so I can clean your lip.” He did as instructed, and she dabbed at the swollen wound, her finger brushing the smooth, straight line of his mouth. Something fluttered deep in her belly. Oh, she did not need that. A lot of men had nice mouths. And sure there was his voice, all sleepy and deep. But so what? He was a story. A potential source. Nothing more and certainly nothing to get hot and bothered over. “Here.” She shoved the wet cloth at him. “You can wipe the blood off your nose.” He missed the wipe and bent to retrieve it at the same time she did. She bumped his shoulder and he drew back, wincing. “Take off your shirt,” she told him. He smirked. “Shouldn’t you at least buy me dinner first?” “Just do it.” He unfastened the three remaining buttons and shrugged out of the shirt. She gasped. Blue and purple half-moon bruises ran up his left side. “I think we should take you to the hospital.” “No, I’m fine. It looks worse than it is.” “Something could be broken.” “Nothing’s broken.” “What did they do to you?” “This—” he gestured to his ribs, “—is from those morons kneeling on me to hold me down in the back of the truck.”

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“Are you sure nothing’s broken? It looks bad.” She brushed her fingertips over the purple flesh. His build was lean and sinewy, like an alley cat, his body hard. He tensed beneath her touch. Goose bumps studded the skin under her fingers. She lifted her gaze to his face and locked with his hungry eyes. The fluttering returned, along with a simmering heat between her legs. No, no, no. She jerked her hand back and looked away at almost the same instant Des pulled his shirt over his shoulders. What was wrong with her? She’d never experienced such an intense reaction to a man this quickly. Granted, she hadn’t had sex in more than a year, and she was a relatively normal woman. For a while, the endless and unproductive attempts to conceive, followed by her divorce, had killed any interest in the activity. It seemed said interest had been revived. “Your skin’s like ice and your clothes are wet. Why don’t you take a shower and I’ll throw your stuff in the dryer.” “What am I supposed to wear in the meantime?” She had Travis’s old pajama bottoms and sweatshirt. She liked lounging in them on Sunday mornings while she read the paper and consumed more coffee than any human being should. They’d fit, but she didn’t like the idea of Des dressed in anything that once had belonged to her ex. It just seemed wrong. Don’t be ridiculous. “I have something that should work.” He followed her to her bedroom and waited in the doorway while she dug Travis’s old clothes out of her suitcase. She hadn’t had time to unpack before leaving to shop. “Here.” She shoved the clothes at him.

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He accepted with a short nod. “Thank you. You’ve been pretty decent, but I’m still not going to help you with your book.” Ouch. There she was lusting for him, and he’d been afraid she was working an angle. She forced a smile. “No problem. You did manage to find me a great rental in a very short amount of time. I couldn’t very well leave you at the side of the road now, could I?” “Lucky for me you liked the place.” Spears of pain sliced through Des’s side, stealing his breath. He froze doubled over, his jeans and boxers shoved down to his knees, waiting for the screaming agony to pass. Don’t let her come for my clothes now. The way his luck was running, he half expected the door to swing open while he had his ass in the air. He shouldn’t have stayed. Instead, he should have taken himself away from this cottage and Shayne Reynolds as soon as he could have. But his body was too damned tired to listen to his brain. The pain receded and he sighed, carefully shimmying free of his wet jeans. Naked, he gripped the edge of the sink to steady himself and caught sight of his reflection in the mirror mounted on the wall. Bloodied, bruised and dirty, he looked like hell. This crap with Tic had to stop. Des gathered his clothes and dumped them on the floor outside the bathroom, then shuffled to the tub. Gritting his teeth against the dull ache throbbing from head to foot, he twisted the faucets. As the room filled with steam, he stepped beneath the hot spray and yanked the translucent curtain closed. The water stung his injured skin like tiny, hot needles, but the warmth penetrating his flesh counteracted the hurt. He waited a moment, giving himself

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a chance to adjust to the temperature, then looked through the assortment of plastic bottles filling the wire basket affixed to the edge of the tub. Hopefully, Shayne had something that didn’t smell too girly. He lifted the container with the plainest packaging and read the label. Green tea body wash? Christ, why couldn’t women just use soap? He pressed the lid open and sniffed. The same sweet, fresh scent that clung to Shayne’s skin teased his nose. His stomach pulled tightly, the sensation not unpleasant. He squirted a glob into his hand and lathered the cream over his body. Of all the people he could have met on the way back to town, why Shayne? He turned, letting the spray soak his hair and sluice down his back. Sure, she’d been decent to him, never looking at him like he might suddenly snap and go on a murderous rampage—a refreshing change—but he didn’t like her motives. Or the way he reacted when she looked at him, touched him. With dark, coffee-colored eyes that lifted slightly at the corners, and black, straight hair falling past her shoulders, he’d have to be blind not to find her attractive. Her husky laugh hummed through him like an invisible energy. God, her voice, rich and a little gravelly, could make a dead man come. He gave his head a shake. She was after a story, and she’d lie to get it. He couldn’t let himself be swayed by a few kind acts and brain-numbing sex appeal. There was more at stake than just him. He turned off the water and pulled back the curtain. The metal clips scraped against the rod, setting his teeth on edge. Two fluffy, blue towels lay folded over the edge of the sink. Shayne must have left them there when she’d come for his clothes. After drying himself, he dressed in the blue-plaid pajama pants she’d given him. The cuffs brushed the tile floor, almost covering his bare feet. Who did they

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belong to? Des had a good four inches on Shayne—if she wore these, she’d have to roll them up or she’d trip. The faded gray sweatshirt was big on him too. She’d be swimming in it. Was there someone waiting for her at home? Not that it mattered to him. He shook his head, shoving away the mental image of her and some tall, brawny guy with his hands all over her, and forced the muscle in his jaw to relax. When he returned to the living room, he found a glass of water and two ibuprofen waiting for him on the coffee table. The woman was a saint. After he swallowed the pills and gulped down the water, he lowered himself to the couch, leaned back and closed his eyes. She shuffled around the kitchen, opening and closing cupboard doors. “Thanks,” he called out. The noise stopped and he forced his heavy lids open. She stood at the top of the short set of stairs, arms folded over her chest. “No problem.” He couldn’t stop himself from letting his gaze travel the length of her firm body. When he finally managed to bring his eyes back to her face, a slight blush tinged her olive cheeks. He should be the one who was embarrassed, but couldn’t work up the energy. “I’m putting away some groceries,” she said. “Once we finish with the police, I’ll drive you to your car. If your clothes are dry.” “The police? What for?” “Why don’t you want to talk to them? Christ, you look like you were hit by a truck.” “I told you, there’s no point.” “Why? What did you do?” Her eyes narrowed. “Sleep with a married woman?”

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He snorted, but the shooting pain in his side made him grab his ribs and wince. “Don’t be shy. Feel free to ask me personal questions that are none of your business. The answer’s no, by the way.” “Did you screw someone on a house or property deal?” “No.” “Owe money?” “Yes, but that has nothing to do with this.” He should be annoyed by her prying, but the blatant questions amused him. “It’s driving you crazy, isn’t it?” “Not at all.” She shrugged, turning back to the bags on the counter. “I couldn’t care less.” “You should phone the cops back and tell them not to bother.” “I wanted to call the police.” “I told you, there’s no point.” “Not for you. For me.” He frowned. “I don’t get it.” Shayne sighed and came into the living room, flopping down on the ugly gold bucket seat across from him. “Some guy threatened me tonight. He punched my car and kicked in my headlight.” Anger flashed through him, catching him off guard. Why the hell did he care? She was looking to make money off his mother’s and brother’s murders. If someone threatened her, he should be glad. “When?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm. “Right before you happened along. Didn’t you wonder what I was doing standing at the side of the road?” “Nope. Do you know who he was?”

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She nodded. “Actually, you might know him. He works for your grandmother.” “Hudson.” “Good guess.” Shayne held his gaze, trying to gauge his reaction, or would have if he’d given her one. Did he know anything about Hudson’s ambush, or about Tic’s cornering her alone this afternoon, or about last night’s phone call? Des’s bland expression gave nothing away. “The police won’t do anything,” Des said, his voice flat. “They’d better do something. He threatened me and vandalized my car.” The mere memory iced her blood all over again. She hated the way that bastard made her feel, small and vulnerable. “I’m telling you, the police in this town won’t help. It’ll be your word against his.” What else was he going to say? Hudson worked for his grandmother. “I’m going to finish putting the food away.” Des nodded, covering a yawn with his hand. She stood and went into the kitchen, unsure why his reaction bothered her. What had she expected? Undying loyalty because she’d cleaned his cuts and dressed him in her ex’s clothes? She’d nearly finished in the kitchen when a banging at the front door interrupted her. She set the box of pasta she’d been holding down on the counter. Her stomach tightened. She blamed Des. After all, he’d been the one to claim the police wouldn’t help. Squaring her shoulders, she marched across the living room to the front door. Her skin tingled from the weight of Des’s gaze. Yeah, well, let him stare. She was about to feed him a large helping of crow.

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She turned the knob and yanked open the wooden door. A tall man dressed in a uniform nodded as she opened the screen door. “I’m Constable Avery. I understand you had some trouble tonight,” he said, his deep voice oddly affected. “Yes. Please come in.” Avery swaggered through the door like John Wayne down a dusty road at high noon but froze the minute he spotted Des on the couch. Some of the puff left his chest and his small eyes narrowed. “What the hell are you doing here, Anderson?” “Long story,” Des muttered, slouching down and closing his eyes. Apparently, he planned to nap through the conversation. “Well, Miss, let’s hear it.” Avery’s sharp tone caught her off guard and she stuttered a little as she explained what had happened. He folded his arms over his barrel chest and nodded. “Did you want to write any of this down?” Shayne asked when she’d finished. Des snorted from behind her. Avery ignored the question. “Let’s see the car.” With a sinking feeling, Shayne led Avery outside. The rain had stopped and stars peeked out between the black clouds in the night sky. Avery inspected the damage, shining the beam of his flashlight on the dent first, then the shattered headlight. “Looks like you got quite a mess here.” “Yes, it does,” Shayne agreed, struggling to keep her annoyance in check. Avery straightened and started back to the house. She fell into step beside him, her jaw sore from gritting her teeth. “You see any of this Anderson?” Avery asked once inside. “Just the aftermath,” Des told him without opening his eyes.

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“Well, I’ll speak to Hudson, but with no witnesses…” Avery shrugged, his expression smug, tone patronizing. “The man vandalized my property and threatened me.” Her temples throbbed with impotent anger. She glanced at Des. A faint sardonic smile curved the corners of his mouth. “I’ll do what I can.” Sure, you will. Avery returned his attention to Des. “What happened to you?” “A completely unrelated incident,” Des said. “Would you like to tell me about it?” “Nope.” “I suppose I’m done here.” “Done?” Shayne threw her arms in the air. “What did you do? Are you even going to file a report?” “Young lady, if you’re worried about someone threatening you, maybe you ought to be more careful traveling alone at night.” Avery pushed past the screen door and left. Des sat up and met her gaze. “Would you hate me if I said ‘I told you so’?” Shayne looked away from the dark road, lit only by her remaining headlight, and turned to Des sitting next to her. Staring out the window at the night surrounding them, he didn’t notice. She returned her attention to the road. “How did you know Avery would act that way?” she asked. “A similar experience,” he replied without looking at her. “Hudson?” He shook his head and his voice hardened. “No. Someone else.” “What happened?”

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“Doesn’t matter. Just keep in mind, Avery doesn’t like to rock the boat for anyone, but especially not for people just passing through.” She glanced at him again. “Are you just passing through?” “God, I hope so,” he muttered. “How long have been in Dark Water?” He turned away from the window but didn’t speak. Her gaze shifted to his intense features then back to the road. He probably thought she was digging up information for her book. Her face flushed. She was getting awfully tired of being viewed as some manipulative liar who would use any situation to get what she wanted. “Six months. I came back in March.” His reply surprised her. “Did you want to come back?” He let out a bitter laugh. “No.” “Why did you?” “Turn there,” he said without answering. She pulled into the nearly empty parking lot and stopped the car. When she looked over at him, his expression was pensive. Nothing about him was what she’d expected. His personality was a fascinating contradiction. Laid back and unaffected one moment, uncomfortable and defensive the next, yet beneath it all he seemed so unhappy. The urge to brush the hair back from his face caught her off guard. She locked her fingers around the steering wheel until her knuckles whitened. His ugly station wagon was the only car left in the lot—not at the bottom of the river as he’d predicted. “Doesn’t look like they did any damage,” she said. “No.” His tone was flat and his features bland. “Looks as bad as always.”

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She waited for him to get out, but he didn’t. Instead, he kept his gaze fixed forward on the ancient car. Only the hum of the car’s engine made any noise. “Thanks for not leaving me on the side of the road,” he said at last. “No problem.” With a curt nod, he grabbed the handle and popped the door open, but instead of climbing out, he hesitated. “The hell with it,” he muttered, turning until his face was mere inches from hers. Her breath caught. Her heart stuttered in her chest. What was he doing? If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was going to kiss her. He cupped her cheek with one hand, while the other gripped her hip. A slow tingle spread over her flesh. His scent, fresh and clean from the shower, teased her senses. This was crazy. She started to tell him, but before she could utter a word, his mouth covered hers.

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Chapter Five

“Heddra Grey ruled her family like a tyrannical dictator, using any means possible to bend them to her will and maintain her control.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Shayne’s head spun as Des’s mouth, rough and hungry, moved over hers. His hand at her cheek raked through her hair, grasping the strands in his fist as if to keep her from moving away. He needn't have worried. She wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Craving the feel of him pressed against her, she arched forward, but the seat belt held her in place, driving her half-crazy with frustration. His hand at her hip slid under her backside, gripping and kneading, as his tongue darted into her mouth, tasting her, letting her taste him. Heat pooled low in her belly, making her wet. God, she wanted him. The force of her need slammed into her like a truck, leaving her weak. She nipped at his lower lip and he drew back with a sharp hiss. The memory of his battered face had the same effect as a bucket of ice water. “I’m sorry,” she said, dropping her arms back to her sides. “I forgot your mouth.” “I don’t care,” he growled, lowering his head and trailing nibbling kisses along her jaw line. Her skin tingled where his lips touched. If they didn’t stop now, she’d tear off his clothes and take him right there in the passenger seat, battered or not.

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What was wrong with her? “We have to stop.” She pressed against his chest with the flats of both hands. When he lifted his head, his eyes, dark like a storm at sea, held hers. “Why?” “Aside from the book I’m writing about your father—” the mere mention of the book had Des back in his seat, “—I just got divorced. You’d be a rebound.” That smirk she was becoming all too familiar with curved his mouth, and he leaned forward, his lips nearly brushing hers. “Rebound, huh?” Would he kiss her again? A tiny thrill pulled tightly in her belly. “That’s right.” Her voice was hoarse. “We’ll see,” he murmured instead. Des left the car and sauntered across the empty lot, then slid behind the wheel of the station wagon. The engine roared to life and he honked once before pulling out onto the road and driving away. With his car out of sight, Shayne rested her forehead against the steering wheel, closed her eyes and released a slow breath. What had she been thinking? Obviously, she hadn’t been, that was the problem. His image lingered behind her closed lids as if burned onto her retinas. His too-long hair falling away from his face, high forehead, straight nose, and square chin. So he was extremely attractive with a certain cynical charm, that still didn’t explain her making out with him in her car like a horny teenager. She knew better. Maybe she hadn’t been that far off calling Des a rebound. God knew her ego had taken a beating when Travis hooked up with Sandy so fast. She couldn’t deny the painful surprise at finding herself replaced, as though all she’d ever

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been to Travis was a walking uterus—and a defective one, at that. No doubt the attentions of an attractive, younger man assuaged her wounded self-esteem. She sat up and opened her eyes. She could analyze the situation until the sun came up—which coincidentally was less than an hour away—but the bottom line was she had a book to write. Whatever strange attraction she was experiencing was completely inappropriate. Des was a source for a story, nothing more. She needed him to help her find Julia at the very least, and in a best-case scenario, to agree to an interview himself. She couldn’t afford to blur the line between them because she was flattered, or because he was a damned good kisser. From this point forward, her behavior where Des was concerned would be nothing less than perfectly professional. By the time Des arrived home, the sun’s first rays had started to brighten the eastern sky, and his mood had improved considerably. So much so, he was whistling. Sure, his body throbbed like he’d gone ten rounds with a fleet of sumo wrestlers, but aside from that, he felt pretty damned good. Shayne wanted him. Maybe as badly as he wanted her. The knowledge filled him with a heady sense of triumph. Rebound? He grinned. Not when she’d kissed him like that. He shoved his key into the lock of the garage apartment he rented, but found the door open. His good mood evaporated. If those assholes had broken into his apartment… He’d never considered the possibility before. The old widow he rented from was better than any alarm system he could buy. Nothing happened in this neighborhood Rose didn’t know about. He pushed open the door and entered the small square kitchen. If there had been anyone in the apartment, they’d been extremely careful. The dishes piled in the sink were as he’d left them. Nothing appeared broken or out of place.

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If those idiots had broken in, they wouldn’t have been careful and they certainly wouldn’t have left anything in his apartment intact. So who had been there? Des climbed the steep stairs to the loft, but froze at the top. Hudson sat on the swivel chair behind his desk. “I would have picked up the place if I’d known you were stopping by,” Des said, jamming his hands into the back pockets of his jeans. Hudson watched him with small black eyes. “Now why don’t I believe you?” “I’m surprised to find you here. Did you run out of defenseless women to terrorize on deserted roads?” As soon as the words left his mouth, he wanted to call them back. If Hudson knew about his visit with Shayne, Heddi would too. The big man’s face remained stoic, as if he hadn’t heard Des. Between his robotic features and a physique like Frankenstein’s monster, it was easy to believe he was as thick in the head as everywhere else, but Des knew better. Hudson never missed a beat. He stood, his huge square frame filling the room. “She wants to see you.” Des tensed. “It’s five a.m.” “Now.” “My next payment isn’t due for another two weeks.” “She wants to see you on another matter.” His stomach churned sickly. Please, not Julia. Not again. Despite his pounding heart, he cocked his head and tried to appear nonchalant. “Is Heddi interested in acquiring some property?” “Now!” Hudson’s voice exploded like a thunderclap. “She doesn’t like to be kept waiting.”

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“It’s. Five. A. M.” He enunciated every word, as if speaking to the insanely dim-witted. “She’s not even awake.” “You can wait for her at the house.” Des sighed through gritted teeth. Exhausted and sore all over, the last thing he wanted was to be dragged in front of Heddi, but he had to go. Arguing with Hudson was about as effective as arguing with the wall. “I want to change first.” Des went to the dresser at the far end of the long room. “Stop stalling.” “You might jump at her every command,” Des snapped, yanking open a drawer, “but I’ll be damned if I’m going to.” He pulled out a pair of clean jeans and a new shirt. Hudson snorted. “Keep telling yourself that.” Tension gripped Des’s aching muscles, and a dull pain throbbed behind his eyes. “She can wait ten minutes more for me to change.” “Fine, make it quick.” When Hudson made no effort to leave, Des yanked open his shirt. “Are you going to stand there and watch?” Hudson gave him a last measuring stare, perhaps taking in the bruised flesh, then smirked. “Don’t look so down. She has a job for you. One small job and all debts will be wiped clean.” “What do you mean?” Des asked, refusing to acknowledge the tiny kernel of hope expanding inside him. “What I said. You do this for her, and she’ll forget the money you owe.” What could Heddi possibly need from him so badly she would be willing to forget the money? To let him go. A kidney? No, he had two of those. One

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wouldn’t be worth it for her. Lung? Liver? Heart? Not likely, he doubted she had one to begin with. Internal organs be damned. He would give his grandmother whatever she wanted if it meant he could finally be free. Hudson ignored him for the twenty minutes it took to drive to the large Georgian-style house Des had come to despise over the years. The original family homestead dated back to 1860, but his Grey ancestors had soon replaced the original log cabin with the brick monstrosity before him. His great-grandfather had amassed his fortune with a sawmill, exploiting the area’s resources and using the money to buy business after business, until he’d owned nearly half the town. A tradition his grandmother had maintained and expanded upon. Hudson parked in front of the house, climbed out of the car and started up the stone steps to the door without a backward glance to see if Des was behind him. Why would he? Hudson knew he’d follow him like a well-trained dog. He had no other choice. Inside, the foyer was dark and silent despite the sunny brilliance outdoors, the oppressive atmosphere like that of a tomb. Bleak emptiness combined with the sensation that he wasn’t alone. Somewhere down the dark hallways his corpse-like grandmother waited. He followed Hudson to the parlor, but stopped short in the doorway. “Jesus,” Des muttered. Someone had been redecorating. The period antiques that had once filled the room to the point of clutter were gone, replaced with a rose leather sofa and brass tables with glass tops. The room had been painted the same putrid pink and a wallpaper border had been added beneath the wide crown molding. “Who did this?”

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“Vivian,” Hudson replied. “And she lives to tell? She’s not buried somewhere in the woods?” Hudson scowled and turned away. “I’ll see if she’s ready for you.” Once alone, Des moved to the window. The steady tick of an old cuckoo clock on the wall behind him—one of the few surviving antiques—filled the room and throbbed in time with his head. The ibuprofen was wearing off. He wanted to go to bed. Outside, sunlight spilled over the emerald lawn. His gaze followed the cobbled drive to the line of trees hiding the road from view. If he squinted, he could imagine he saw, through the tangled branches, the sun glinting off the cars as they sped past. As a child, he’d stood in this window for hours, hoping some passing car would turn up the drive and take him from this place. Back then, he’d sensed instinctively he didn’t belong here. And even now, as an adult, a desperate smothering settled over him whenever he entered this room. “She’s waiting for you in the library,” Hudson’s voice broke into his thoughts. Des nodded and walked out, leaving his grandmother’s henchman in the room he hated. Exhaustion seeped into his extremities, and his body ached, especially his head. He could almost feel his skull expand and contract like a cartoon character struck with an anvil. I’m Wile E. Coyote, super genius, time for another round with Road Runner. A round that would undoubtedly end with his sliding face-first down a rock wall and the old woman’s watching with smug satisfaction. Beep! Beep! Des walked down the hall. His footfalls on the wood floor were too loud in the unnatural quiet. God, he hated this place.

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The library was tucked away at the back of the house. Dark wooden bookshelves lined the walls, filled with dusty volumes he was sure no one bothered to read. In one corner, there was an ancient rolltop desk and an assortment of chairs from various periods in history sporadically placed about the room. Heddi waited for him, stretched out on a faded chaise. A ruby-colored blanket draped over her lower half, the outline of her bony legs almost invisible amongst the folds in the fabric. She pretended not to notice him, gazing through the picture window at the meticulously-landscaped outdoors. One of the games she played before striking to encourage her prey to lower their guard. But Des had been struck far too many times to fall for it. At last she turned to face him, her thin lips pulled back into a smile, exposing yellowed teeth too large for her thin face. Her appearance surprised him. He’d managed to avoid her for nearly three months. While having heard about her illness from Ian, he’d yet to see the results in person. Sickness had left Heddi shrunken and haggard, but despite having been ravaged by disease those black eyes gleamed from her gaunt face. “You look awful,” she said, gazing up at him. Funny, I was thinking the same about you. “I know.” “Sit down,” she ordered. “I’ve no intention of craning my neck.” Des sat in the chair facing her, slouching to annoy her. Heddi ignored him and turned her attention outside to the slow-moving river. The morning sun glittered on the dark water like diamonds on black velvet. Another awkward silence settled between them. This was where she hoped people would talk, filling the void with idle chitchat or confessions for things

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she’d been previously unaware of. Why she bothered with him, he wasn’t sure. He hadn’t fallen for this since he was ten. “It’s been a long time since you’ve been here,” she said at last. His insides tightened, but he remained slouched, his expression relaxed. “A few months.” He shrugged. Again the silence. What was she hoping for? His body hummed with nervous anticipation. “I’m dying, you know,” she said as blandly as if she’d told him she planned to repaint the room. Good. “I heard.” “Stomach cancer,” she told him. “It’s eating my insides.” “What do you want, Heddi?” She smiled again, that horrible skeletal smile that made his skin crawl. “Have you no pity for a poor, old woman?” “I might if there were one here.” She laughed, but it sounded more like a dry cackle. “You’ll get nothing when I go. Not a cent.” “I’m glad we cleared that up. I guess I’ll be on my way now.” “You don’t care, do you?” Des slouched farther down in his chair and a smirk touched his mouth. “It’s a nonissue.” “A pity your sister couldn’t say the same.” His stomach jerked and his smile fell away. Malicious glee shone in her eyes—black eyes like a shark’s. He used to think of her as a shark, eager to tear into his flesh at the first scent of blood. Until one night after moving out from under Heddi’s thumb for the first time. He’d been living in a dumpy, one-room apartment, stoned from a joint

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he’d just smoked, eating Pringle’s potato chips from the tin on a stained futon mattress and watching a documentary about killer whales. They hunt in packs like wolves, positioning themselves over another whale and biting painfully small strips of flesh to keep their prey from surfacing and getting air. Eventually the other whale suffocates. That was how Heddi worked. Tearing off strips of flesh and keeping him from catching his breath. Only she didn’t need a pack. She was that vicious all on her own. “What do you want?” Des asked again, turning to look at Heddi. “I have to get to the office.” “Yes, of course. You’ll want to get to work. You do owe a considerable amount of money, after all. How’s your sister enjoying Bermuda? She and…what was his name? Kevin? Are they having a nice time?” “Wonderful.” “Good. It’s such a shame the way they’ve left you to pay the money back. They’d be in some real trouble were it not for you.” He wanted to laugh. Did she actually think she could get to him this way? Whatever Julia had done, she was away from here. Away from Heddi. Whatever he had to pay, it was worth it. “That’s the best you got? You’re slipping, Heddi.” Something flashed in her dark eyes. “Perhaps, though, she needed to get away from you. Do you ever wonder if when she looks at you, she sees your father? If you’re a large factor in her problems?” Closer to the mark this time. “Is this what you wanted to see me about?” “I have some work for you.” “Are you planning on selling the house?”

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“Stop being foolish. You’re a Grey, in your own way, and with that name comes a certain responsibility.” “Not interested.” “Our family built this town,” Heddi continued as if he hadn’t spoken. “The community looks to us for guidance.” “If you say so.” “When something or someone threatens what we’ve built, the Grey family must work to eradicate it.” “All of this is terribly fascinating, and yet I can’t bring myself to care.” “I understand you rented a cottage to a certain writer,” Heddi said, again ignoring him. Here it comes. “So?” “I can’t have her writing that book. Publishing our family business. I will not allow some hack writer to profit from what your father did to my Gwen.” “Of course not.” His stomach churned. He wanted to go home. “What did you want me to do about it?” Her lips pulled back into a feral smile. “Get rid of her.”

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Chapter Six

“Gwendolyn’s first marriage, to Calvin Warren, was little more than a business arrangement. He gave her the family she longed for, and she gave him opportunity.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Des gaped at the old woman grinning malevolently back at him. Heddi had finally completely lost her mind. “Excuse me?” “I want her out of this town.” The tension gripping him eased some. “I’m not the strong-arm type. Besides, isn’t that what you pay Hudson for?” “When I stopped her from taking a room at the hotel—” “I knew something was off there. That hotel is never booked to capacity. Hell, I don’t how the place stays in business. You must have paid them a good chunk of cash to refuse her reservation.” Shayne had been telling him the truth. “And it would seem I did, for nothing, since you found her such a quaint little cottage to rent.” He grinned. “I made a commission on that. You’ll see it in my next payment.” “How would you like to not make that payment?” Was she kidding? He couldn’t think of anything he wanted more than to get away from this place, from Heddi. Still, he held himself rigid, refusing to give in to the tiny ember of hope flickering inside him. “Go on.” “You do as I ask, and I’ll wipe the debt clean. Stopping that woman will be your final payment.”

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“That’s a very nice offer, but like I said, I’m not the strong-arm type.” She cackled and he half expected her to pull a broom out from under her chaise and fly away. “That’s not what I had in mind. I want to know to whom she’s talking to and what they’re saying. As for strong-arm tactics, I’ll take care of that.” “More visits from Hudson?” He’d never hated anyone in his life the way he hated her. Not even his father. “That’s not your concern.” “You’re right, it’s not. I don’t want anything to do with this. If you want a spy, find someone else.” He didn’t want Shayne writing her book anymore than the old bitch sitting next to him did, but he wouldn’t get involved in Heddi’s craziness, not even if it meant his freedom. “You are so much like Robert.” Her thin lips curled back in a sneer, but her words had remarkably little effect on him. Whenever he didn’t fall in line, she pulled out the same spiel. Maybe he was, maybe he wasn’t. It could be worse. He could be like her. “What do you think this book will do to Julia? God knows what she saw, what hell she survived so you would live.” He stood and his stomach roiled from the ache in his head. He gritted his teeth, locking his jaw, determined not to throw up. “I won’t do it,” he said once certain he could keep his stomach contents at bay. His voice sounded hoarse, even to his own ears. He turned away from the malicious little skeleton and made his way to the door. “We’ll see.” Heddi’s voice, remarkably strong for someone so ill, followed him out.

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Shayne pressed the doorbell, stepped back and waited. The midmorning sun glared down on her shoulders, turning her skin hot beneath the thin fabric of her blouse and pants, and casting her faint reflection in the leaded window mounted in the door. Despite the warped glass and watery image, she could still see dark circles bruising the flesh beneath her eyes. She looked tired and worn out. Old. She sighed. Well, why wouldn’t she? She hadn’t slept. After dropping Des off, there hadn’t been time to catch a few hours’ rest, not if she wanted to be on time for her appointment. Not that she could have fallen asleep, anyway. After that kiss, her mind had been spinning too fast, her thoughts too turbulent. Her lips still tingled with memory as if permanently imprinted with his mouth. Pull it together, it was one kiss. A decent sleep and she would no doubt have the situation back in perspective. Thankfully, this interview with Gwendolyn’s first husband was the only thing she had scheduled for today. Once she finished here, she could head back and take a nap. The door before her swung open and Cal Warren’s imposing frame filled the narrow space. He had to be six feet tall, or more, his body trim beneath broad shoulders. His steel-gray hair, cut short, receded at the corners, creating a distinct widow’s peak. Hawkish features turned his already-stoic expression harsh. Shayne plastered on her best smile and extended her hand. “Mr. Warren, I’m Shayne Reynolds. Thank you for agreeing to speak with me.” “My pleasure.” But he didn’t look pleased, just the opposite, actually. His large hand gripped hers briefly before he stepped aside. “Come in.” Shayne nodded and stepped into a wide foyer. White walls, gray marble and a blast of frigid air conditioning left the room stark and cold. The sharp contrast from the blazing heat outside studded her bare arms with goose bumps.

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“I thought we could speak in my office,” Warren said. Her tight smile remained fixed in place, and her cheeks started to ache. “Wherever you’re most comfortable.” He nodded and led her through a door off the foyer and into a long, narrow room with dark green walls and gleaming wood furniture. The rich, reddishbrown wood of his desk and bookshelves matched the wide mantel framing a dark, gas fireplace. The cool air smelled faintly of his spicy cologne and old cigars. “Please, sit down,” Warren said, waving her toward one of the chairs before his desk. The burgundy leather creaked beneath her weight as she eased onto the seat. Warren settled himself into the throne-like chair behind the desk, laced his fingers and rested his hands on the pale green blotter. Shayne pulled her notepad and audio recorder from her bag. “Do you mind if I tape our conversation?” “No.” Warren held himself rigidly. His blue eyes stood out against his tanned skin. “I’d like to make something perfectly clear before we begin, though.” She stiffened, hoping he wouldn’t try to put restrictions on her work because he feared how he’d appear on the printed page. “What’s that?” His eyes narrowed and creased at the corners. His face was remarkably unlined for his age. Maybe he’d had work done. “With Anderson free, this book had better not be about some imagined miscarriage of justice, that poor Robert Anderson was railroaded.” Why would he even wonder? “I assure you, I work only with facts, not speculation.” “Have you spoken to Anderson?”

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“Yes.” “Did he deny murdering them?” Anderson’s so-called envelope of proof popped into her head. Not that the articles inside meant anything to her, and after three messages, the man still hadn’t called her back. “The evidence and his confession say he’s responsible for the murders. That’s what I’ll be working from.” Warren nodded. “Good. Let’s begin.” Shayne set the recorder on the desk between them and balanced her notepad on her knee. “Can you tell me how you and Gwen met?” “Through mutual friends in our final year of university.” “Were you attracted to each other immediately, or did the relationship develop slowly?” He snorted. “Our marriage was not a love match, if that’s what you’re thinking. No love at first sight or any of that nonsense. She wanted to annoy her mother, and I wanted a shortcut.” Shayne looked up from her notes. “A shortcut?” “Gwen was being groomed to take over Heddi’s companies and I thought marrying her would help me get my foot in the door. Perhaps even take my wife’s place once we had children.” Shayne made notes on her pad, struggling to keep her expression impassive. Poor Gwen. Had she had any idea the man she married was merely using her? “And did marrying Gwen help you further your career?” He shook his head. “No. Heddi wouldn’t let me near her little empire. Even once Christian was born, Heddi wouldn’t have it. The only person she wanted in charge was Gwen. Heddi wouldn’t let her own son have any real power, just

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stuck him with some broken-down realty office. What chance did a mere son-inlaw stand?” “When marriage and family didn’t get you what you wanted, how did you react?” Damn, even she’d heard the derision in her tone. A hard smile lit his face. “I was using her—you’re absolutely right—but don’t kid yourself, she was using me too. She wanted out from under her mother’s thumb, a family of her own. Like I said, our relationship wasn’t about love. Neither of us wanted that.” That may have been, but she had a feeling Cal had gotten the better end of the stick on that deal. “Gwen was aware of your feelings and motivations when you decided to marry?” “Of course. I think after we eloped, Gwen was disappointed Heddi didn’t disown her. The old hag still wanted to control every aspect of Gwen’s life, and once Julia was born, Heddi became more demanding.” “What changed with Julia’s birth?” “You’d have to ask Heddi to know for sure, but I suspect she saw her legacy continuing in Julia.” “Not with Christian?” A dry bark of laughter burst from his mouth. “No, not Christian. Heddi hates men. She has no use for them.” “Why?” “I don’t have a clue, but she made no secret of her feelings for the opposite sex. She considered men weak and not to be trusted.” “With Heddi’s interfering, and your own hopes of gaining access to the company dashed, did you ever encourage Gwen to resign?” Shayne was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

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“No. She was making a lot of money. More than me, and I was VP of Finance for a major holdings company.” Right again. God, sometimes the predictability of human nature could be depressing. “What was happening in your marriage when Gwen met Robert?” “Nothing. Business as usual.” “How did you feel when you learned she was seeing someone else?” He sat back in his chair, a faint smirk on his face. “I’d be lying if I told you I didn’t have my concerns.” Warren kept his stare fixed on her face. Gauging her reaction, maybe. She refused to give him one. “After all, she only told me about Anderson once she was pregnant. She wanted a divorce so she could marry him.” “You were upset to learn about the affair?” “I couldn’t have cared less about her sleeping with the man. I’d been with other women almost from the word go.” He sounded like a high school kid trying to convince her he’d done the breaking up, not the other way around. “But I wasn’t pleased about the divorce. That wasn’t part of our arrangement. In the end, though, Gwen and I agreed to a settlement that was advantageous to us both.” “Which was?” “She gave me the money I needed to start my own business, and she took full custody of Christian and Julia.” “Did you see the children?” “A few times.” “A few times in three years?” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk and pressing his steepled fingers to his lips. “To be honest, I saw the children rarely. I was a lousy husband, but I was an even lousier father.”

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“Is that why you allowed Heddi to take custody of Julia after the murders?” “What would I do with an eight-year-old girl on my own?” Comfort her. Protect her. Be her father. For a moment her thoughts flitted to her own father. Critical he might be, but he loved her and her sisters. He would never have turned his girls over to someone else when they needed him most. “I know this may be difficult.” At least it would be if you experienced half-human emotion. “But could you take me through the moment you learned of the murders, and what you felt?” His rigid expression crumbled, and for a moment, he looked every one of sixty-four years, plastic surgery or not. But the flash of emotion was fleeting, his features turning hard so quickly she couldn’t be sure she’d seen it at all. “I was supposed to take the children that weekend, did you know that?” Shayne shook her head. “I canceled, as I had many times before. I had an important meeting with my investors the following Monday.” He swallowed hard and shifted his gaze. He was no longer looking at Shayne, but through her. “I was home working late, preparing for that meeting when someone knocked on the door. I felt sort of cold and sick. It was past midnight and no good news ever comes in the middle of the night. All the way to the door, I kept telling myself it was nothing, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that something awful had happened.” He was quiet for a long moment, and Shayne took back some of her mean thoughts about his lack of feeling for his ex-wife and children. She may not agree with how he behaved, but the memories obviously had stayed with him. Haunted him. “I opened the door,” he continued. “There were two men standing there, one a

uniformed

police

officer

and

another

who

introduced

himself

as

Detective…somebody. I can’t remember his name now. I’m not sure it even

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registered back then. They told me they had bad news and asked if I’d like to sit down. I said to just tell me.” He was quiet for a long moment, lost in his memories. He shook his head, drew a deep breath and resumed his story as if he hadn’t stopped. “The detective explained Christian and Gwen had been murdered. Shot. No one knew Robert had killed them, not yet. “You wanted to know how I felt? Shocked at first. I didn’t believe it. There had to be some kind of mistake. No, the detective assured me, there wasn’t. They were dead. It had been nearly a year since I’d last seen Christian and Julia, and I couldn’t really remember what they looked like. I should have been a better father. He would be alive if I had been.” Shayne didn’t speak. Rarely did she find herself in a situation where she didn’t know what to say, but sitting before Cal Warren, his voice raw with regret, all she could come up with was, “I’m sorry.” So small, so feeble, so ineffective. He cleared his throat. “Do you have everything you need?” She hated to push him, but she doubted he’d give her this chance again. “Were you surprised when you learned Robert Anderson was the man responsible?” He tapped his finger on the desk. “I don’t remember feeling anything but furious.” “At Robert?” “At Gwen.” His finger bounced in a quick rhythmless staccato against the rich wood. “I was angry at her for marrying the man to force her mother to sever their ties. That’s why she chose him.” “You don’t believe they fell in love?” “Good God, no! He was a small-town mechanic and she was a CEO—what could they have possibly had in common?”

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He might have had a point. Ian’s less-than-subtle hint his sister had been seeing someone else when she died came to mind. “Was Gwen involved with another man while married to Robert?” “I wouldn’t be surprised. You think I’m a user?” His voice rose, and his fingertip thudded against the desk like dull machine-gun fire. “She was too. When marrying me didn’t get her what she wanted, she went after Robert. He was already married, you know, with a child of his own.” She did know. While she’d managed to track down Robert’s now-grown son, his ex-wife seemed to have vanished. “That’s why she let him get her pregnant,” Warren continued. “Otherwise, Gwen wouldn’t have had enough leverage to convince Anderson to leave his wife. Her plan worked too. Robert Anderson was just the kind of man to force Heddi to disown her. But Gwen hadn’t calculated Robert’s reaction when she finally got fed up playing housewife in their hovel in the woods. She hadn’t counted on the man being angry enough to kill.” “Why would she go through all that trouble to have her mother disown her? Why not refuse to have anything more to do with the woman?” Warren laughed. “Heddi would never have let Gwen go.” “She was a grown woman. I doubt Heddra Grey would have had much choice in the matter.” “The only way to escape Heddi is if she let’s you go. Or death.” Some family. And this was the woman he’d turned his own daughter over to. Poor Julia. Poor Des. There’d been nowhere else for him to go. “You’ve heard Robert Anderson is free now—how do you feel about that?” she asked. “I can’t put what I feel about him into words. I lie awake for hours, thinking of how I could get back at the man. Prison isn’t punishment enough. I want him

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to hurt. But how do you hurt a man like him? How do you strike out at a man who tried to murder his own son?”

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“Robert Anderson’s arrest rocked the small community of Dark Water. While the family kept to themselves, neighbors refused to believe a loving husband and father could commit such an atrocious crime—until he confessed.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds What did Heddi have planned for Shayne? Unease wrapped around Des like an icy shroud. He leaned forward, propped his elbow on the desk and rested his chin in the palm of his hand. His heavy lids drooped in an extended blink until he forced his eyes open, trying to concentrate on the computer screen before him. He’d popped a couple of ibuprofen after leaving Heddi’s so most of the achiness and nausea had gone, but he was exhausted from having missed a night’s sleep. After walking out on his grandmother, any hope for a few hours’ sleep was dashed once he got a look at the time. He had to be at work before nine. He manned the office on Sundays in case of walk-ins, for all the good it did him. Rarely was anyone off the street seriously interested in a house. Most were tirekickers, looking to while away their Sunday afternoon. He’d tried phoning Ian to see if his uncle would work for him, but, as usual, Ian wasn’t answering his cell. Des didn’t dare call Ian’s home. He wasn’t up to one of his aunt’s interrogations today—not that he ever was. With a sigh, Des glanced at the clock. Two o’clock. In two hours he could finally close up, go home and get some sleep. What about Shayne?

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What about her? Heddi’s schemes had nothing to do with him. He didn’t want Shayne writing that book. If Heddi chased her off, he should be grateful. He lowered his head to the edge of the desk, wincing from the pressure the movement put on his bruised ribs. Maybe he could close his eyes and get a few hours of sleep. He doubted anyone would come in today, anyway. Instead, his thoughts kept returning to Shayne. What had he been thinking, kissing her? Entertaining the idea of something more, even briefly? Too many blows to his skull, obviously. He should warn her, at least. But warn her about what? He didn’t know Heddi’s plans, except for the role she wanted him to play. With a groan, he forced himself upright. He could at least give Shayne a heads-up, let her know Heddi was dangerous. Whatever Shayne decided to do afterward was her business. Guilt somewhat appeased. He glanced at the clock. One hour and forty minutes to go. The chime above the front door rang, announcing a customer. Des sank lower in his chair. Crap. He wanted to deal with people like he wanted another run-in with Tic. “Des?” Ian called. Oh, thank God. Maybe he could get out of there early, after all. He pushed back from the desk, hauled himself up, then shuffled out to the lobby. Ian stood at Heather’s desk, flipping through a pile of papers. “What are you doing?” Des asked. Ian didn’t look up from what he was reading. “I saw that you called.” Yeah, five hours ago. No point in asking where he’d been. Des didn’t want to know. “I wanted you to work for me today.” “Why?” Ian glanced at him, then did a double take. “What in the hell happened to you?”

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“That bad?” “You look like you were in an accident. Sit down.” Ian dropped what he’d been reading back onto the desk and ushered Des into one of the lobby chairs near the door. “What happened?” “I had a run-in with Tic last night.” Ian let out a string of curses. “This has to stop. Did you go to the police?” “Yeah, right. Going to the police is what landed me on Tic’s radar to begin with.” “You have to do something.” “I’m hoping he’ll eventually get bored and forget about me.” “And if he kills you in the meantime?” Des leaned back and closed his eyes. “I don’t think I’m that lucky.” “Not funny.” “You’re right, it’s not.” Des cracked an eye and looked up into his uncle’s worried face. “Would you mind if I went home?” “No, I don’t mind.” Ian opened his mouth as if to say something, then closed it again. He jammed his hands into his pockets, shifting from one foot to the other. “What is it?” Apprehension uncoiled in Des’s belly. “There was something else I wanted to talk to you about. I understand you rented a house to that woman writing about Gwen and your father.” “Robert,” Des corrected on reflex. “So?” Ian folded his arms across his chest and leaned back on Heather’s desk. “I’m surprised, that’s all. I would think that you of all people would want that woman as far from Dark Water as possible.”

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Des stiffened, sending a fresh wave of pain rolling up his side. Was Ian here to give him a gentle push toward Heddi’s crazy scheme? Aside from Julia, Ian was the only other person in his family he remotely cared about. Growing up, his uncle had done what he could to protect Des from Heddi’s nearly pathological fury. But strength of character had never been Ian’s strong suit, and like everyone else connected to Heddi, he was only willing to push so hard, risk so much. Despite the man’s willingness to help Des, if Heddi wanted Ian to convince him to fall in line, Ian would do as he was told. “I don’t care what she does, so long as she stays away from Julia,” Des told him, pretending indifference. “That woman is dangerous, stirring things up.” “Anderson confessed,” Des said, his head starting to pound again. He hated talking about the man. His father. “How much damage can Shay…she really do?” Ian stared at him, frowning. Damn. Had his uncle heard his near slip? That’s all he needed, for Heddi to realize he and Shayne were…were what? Nothing. You’re nothing to each other. She found you stranded at the side of the road and gave you a lift. That’s it. She would have done the same for anyone. Warn her about Heddi, pay Shayne back for helping you last night, then forget she ever existed. Easy. Or it should have been, but the memory of her mouth on his had stayed with him all day. Still, the less he had to do with her, the better off he’d be—her too. Look how his family was trying to manipulate him, and all they knew was he’d rented her a house. What would they be like if they knew he was interested in her? “I wish I were as confident as you, but I knew your mother, and she was no saint,” Ian said. “Have you thought about what this book could do to your sister?

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She’s spent the past twenty-five years running from that night. What will happen if she has to face it?” “Do you honestly think I haven’t considered Julia’s reaction?” Hell, he’d be the one who’d have to put her back together in the aftermath. “Did she ever tell you anything about that night?” Des shook his head. “Never.” Ian sighed, his shoulders drooping. “I suppose her being out of the country is almost a blessing.” “Yeah, I guess.” He didn’t want to talk about Shayne or Julia anymore. It was like shining a spotlight on his lose-lose situation. No matter whose side he came down on, he was betraying one of them. “Can you finish here for me?” Ian smiled. “Of course. Go home and get some rest. And, for God’s sake, stay away from Tic.” “It’s not like I go looking for the man,” Des muttered as he stood. His muscles had stiffened while he’d been sitting, and now they hurt. He probably needed more ibuprofen. Going home and resting sounded good, but first he needed to make a stop. He still had to warn Shayne about Heddi. Then they’d be even. The sun had sunk behind the trees, leaving the sky streaked with shades of turquoise and indigo and the woods dark by the time Shayne turned up the dirt drive toward the cabin. She’d stayed in the city longer than she’d initially planned, hoping to track down Robert Anderson. Between his envelope and the possibility Gwen had been involved with another man, she had to talk to him. Who had the man been? What had happened to him? Did Robert know? With Anderson’s trying to convince her he’d been innocent, the odds of his admitting he’d known about the affair weren’t good, but from what she’d seen,

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Robert Anderson wasn’t a man who hid his emotions easily. If she introduced the possibility, she might be able to get an idea of how close to the mark she’d hit based on his reaction. And if she pushed a little, maybe she could even get the man talking. A fine plan, except Anderson still hadn’t bothered to return any of her calls. She’d even contacted Anderson’s lawyer, hoping he might be able to set up another interview, but no such luck. She’d had no choice but to start back to Dark Water. Still, she wasn’t ready to give up yet. She’d keep trying. Shayne emerged into the clearing in front of the cabin and frowned. Light seeped from the gap between the drapes. Unease prickled her skin. Had she left the lamp on in the living room? Maybe. She’d been tired and distracted when she’d left. She stopped the car and cut the engine, before climbing out and hoisting her bag over her shoulder. A soft breeze rustled through the leaves, lifting the ends of her hair, and a chill gripped her belly. Who would she find this time? Tic and his rifle? Hudson? Cut it out, you could have left the light on. You’re making a big deal out of nothing. Still, her pulse fluttered in her throat as she started toward the cabin. Instead of going to the door, she made her way to the front window and peered through the glass. The foot-wide gap between the heavy curtains gave her a clear view of the sitting room and a man standing next to the table she’d converted into a desk, reading the notes she’d left there. For an instant, her heart ceased to beat. Her breath locked in her lungs. The man turned slightly, revealing his profile. Straight nose, high cheekbones and a mouth she’d spent entirely too much time thinking about today. Des.

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She let out a shuddering breath and waited for her heart palpitations to stop. Son of a bitch. Bad enough he’d let himself into her home while she wasn’t there, but to be reading her work… She took the steps to the front deck two at a time and slammed the front door open. “What the hell do you think you’re doing…?” The words died on her lips as Des turned to face her, tape recorder in hand, Robert Anderson’s tinny voice emanating from the speaker. Des hit Stop and cut his father off midsentence. “You spoke to him?” She stood rooted to the spot. “That’s right.” He nodded, but didn’t speak. His bruises stood out against his too-pale skin. “I didn’t see your car out front,” she ventured. “I parked around back, so no one would see it from the road.” A thin pang pierced her chest. Of course, he wouldn’t want his family to know he was here. They would probably see any contact with her as disloyal, a betrayal. “How can you talk to him?” Des asked, his voice thick with disgust. “It’s part of the process. I interview the perpetrators as well as the victim’s family.” “Even if everything out of the man’s mouth is complete bullshit? He’s saying he didn’t do it,” he ground out, as though each word was torn from his throat. She took a step toward him. “Des—” His eyes flashed. “But that’s probably great for you, right? Innocent man wrongly imprisoned for all those years. Think of the sales.” Shayne recoiled as if slapped and a shaft of dark delight filled Des. He tightened his grip on the tape recorder, struggling against the urge to crush the plastic in his white-knuckled fist. Smash the thing against the wall.

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“That’s not fair,” she said. Fair? She wanted to talk about fair? Robert Anderson was a free man now, had been for months. The mere thought of Anderson out there, living his life, while he and Julia served their own life sentences—hers a mission of selfdestruction with suicide attempts and addiction, and his the futile fight to save her—ate at him with jagged teeth. He set down the tape recorder and snorted. “Few things are.” “No matter what your father claims—” “Anderson,” he corrected. She nodded. “No matter what he claims, I derive my information from the evidence. There’s no proof he didn’t do it. And why would anyone confess to a crime like that, serve a twenty-five-year sentence if they didn’t do it?” Des turned away from her. Away from the wary compassion in her voice. The pity in her eyes. Served him right, really. This is what he got for sticking his nose in where it didn’t belong. He’d come here to warn her about Heddi, but her notes scattered over the table had been too great a lure. He couldn’t resist flipping through them, anymore than he could resist the audiotape with his father’s name scribbled across the label. As he’d slipped the cassette into the player, two sides of his brain screamed out. One wanted desperately to know something of the man who had altered his life so severely, a man he had no memory of, a man he could pass on the street and not recognize. The other had been repelled by such curiosity. “Did you want to finish listening to the tape?” Shayne’s voice cut the mindnumbing fury pumping through him. He shook his head. “No.”

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He wanted to take a hammer and smash the cassette and any other evidence his father existed. To never speak the man’s name again. Though he suspected the sound of Anderson’s voice would haunt the inner recesses of his mind for years to come. He wanted to get in his car and drive as far from Shayne, his father and Dark Water as possible. But he couldn’t. Not while Heddi held his sister’s life in her bony grip. Besides, he still needed to warn Shayne. After that, he would never need to see her again. Listening to his father’s voice had driven home the reality of the situation, evaporating whatever interest he’d had in her. He opened his mouth to tell her about Heddi, but instead asked, “What did you want from me for your book?” The concern in her face dissolved, wariness taking its place. She should be wary. The hate and shame and fury writhing inside him needed an outlet. Maybe Heddi was right. Maybe he was like his father. “I wanted to ask what you remembered. What you’d been told happened. Your feelings about your father. What life has been like as a survivor.” Her tone was soft, careful. He opened his arms wide. “Well, here’s your answer. Take a good look.” She stepped back, eyes round, mouth tight. Her reaction both pleased and infuriated him. “I guess you wanted to know the same things about Julia?” She didn’t reply, but her gaze held his, her eyes boring into him. She could probably see his black, twisted soul. “Compared to her, I’m the picture of well adjusted. Let’s see…three suicide attempts…I imagine she’ll eventually get it right. Five bouts of rehab to get her off the pills and booze. She’s been in the Caribbean since March. When, and if,

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she makes it back, I figure she’ll be ready for round six. That’s what it’s like for Julia to survive. Shouldn’t you be taping this, or at least writing it down?” Shayne’s eyes darkened to the color of onyx. He’d pissed her off. Good. Why should he be the only one? “Did you know she agreed to speak to me, that we were to meet back in March?” Shayne asked, her tone still soft, but clinical, as if she were interviewing him. “She never showed.” Dark anger swelled inside his head like a gathering storm. “Yeah, well that’s Julia. She wouldn’t have told you anything, you know. She doesn’t talk about what happened that night. Any attempt to make her sends her into hysterics. But I guess that wouldn’t matter to someone like you.” Pain flashed across her face. Yeah, well, the truth hurts. But was it the truth? Aside from that first phone call, she’d been completely up front with him. Provided, of course, she was being honest about her book and Anderson’s guilt. He still wasn’t sure. The dark pleasure surging through his veins shriveled. Exhaustion washed over him like a wave. “You need to leave,” Shayne said. Her eyes glittered like black ice. “As for where you stand on participating with the book, I understand. I will make no effort to contact you, or your sister, again.” “Wait.” With his fury easing, something entirely too close to shame pulled at his conscience. “I’m sorry I went off—” “Get out, Des.” He opened his mouth to protest, but Shayne turned her back on him. Without a backward glance, she strode into the bedroom, flicking off the lamp and throwing the room into darkness as she went. She slammed the door shut, the windows rattling with the impact.

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Alone in the dark, Des dropped onto the couch with a sigh. What a fucking mess. Shayne stripped off her clothes and kicked them into a pile behind the door. Her body trembled with pent-up fury. But who was she angrier with? Des or herself? She couldn’t decide. Had she not told herself to remember who he was and what he meant to her book? One stupid kiss and she’d developed romantic schoolgirl fantasies. He hadn’t, though. While she’d been talking herself out of an attraction, he’d been convinced she was a lying, manipulative bitch. A painful lump lodged in her throat. He barely knew her, so his assumption she would use his father’s unsubstantiated claims to make a few bucks really shouldn’t bother her, but it did. “The hell with it,” she muttered, stalking over to the dresser and yanking a pair of striped pajama bottoms and a tank top from the drawer. Maybe all of this was for the best, anyway. She shimmied into the pants and tugged the shirt over her head. She should be focusing on her book. Des was a distraction she couldn’t afford. She flopped back onto the bed. The tension in her shoulders eased almost the moment her head landed on the pillow. She lay there for a moment, listening for any sign of life from the other room. Nothing. Had Des left? She hadn’t heard the front door or his car. But would she have even noticed while she’d been storming around the bedroom? He must have gone. Why would he stay? A shrill clatter from the other room shattered the quiet. Shayne jumped off her bed and yanked open the door. The living room was dark, just as she’d left it,

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except for the heavy gold drape blowing out from the window like a brocade ghost and revealing a jagged hole in the glass. What the hell? Men’s disembodied voices drifted to her on the cool breeze, but were drowned out by a car engine revving. Bright, white light spilled through the gap in the curtains, making her squint. “Wake up bitch, you got company.” A man’s voice rose from the darkness outside, mingling with the loud guffaws of at least two other men. Her gaze darted around the darkened living room. Des must have gone. There was no sign of him. “Shit,” she whispered, frozen where she stood. Her wide stare fixed on a man’s huge silhouette moving before the headlights. His shadow stretched across the floor and up the far wall like a horror movie monster. Her heart pounded against her chest so hard she could taste it. “Hey, girlie, come on out and play.” The same man spoke, and again laughter followed. Her breath came fast and shallow. She was in some serious trouble. Alone, isolated, if those men came inside… Her head swam. She couldn’t seem to drag in enough air. Squatting on the floor, she dropped her head forward, squeezed her eyes shut. She had to pull it together. Caught like a literal deer in headlights and hyperventilating on the floor wasn’t going to save her. She had to do something before they came in. Call for help. Find something to use as a weapon. Something. Her cell phone was in her bag by the door. She could make her way over there, then to the kitchen for a knife. She just had to take that first step into the living room that would leave her exposed and visible to the men outside.

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“Not coming out?” the man called, his voice filled with malignant humor. “Maybe I ought to come in.” More laughter drifted through the hole in the window, and more mumbled discussion from at least two, maybe three, distinct voices. She couldn’t wait any longer. On her hands and knees, she crawled across the floor. As she crept in front of the window, an arm shot out from nowhere, wrapped around her waist and jerked her sideways behind the couch. A scream bubbled up the back of her throat, and a hand slapped over her mouth.

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“On the surface they were a happy family, but beneath the veneer nothing was as it seemed. No one knew of the campaign of terror being waged against them.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Panic burst in her brain like a flash flood. The pounding rush swept clear thinking and inhibitions away, leaving only the primal desire for survival in its wake. With her free hand, Shayne swung out. She caught her assailant in the side of the head. He let out an airy grunt, but his hold on her wrist didn’t loosen. Instead, he jerked her to the floor and rolled on top of her, his length pinning her down. No. No. NO! She rocked and wriggled, struggling to dislodge him, but it was like fighting a stone slab. The hand gripping her wrist pressed her arm to the rough wood floor, and the weight of his chest wedged her free hand between their bodies. “Shayne.” Whispered breath tickled beneath her ear. “It’s me. It’s Des.” Relief washed over her. “I’m going to let you go, okay?” When she nodded, he eased his hand away from her mouth, released her wrist and sat up. Her arm ached where he’d been holding her, but she barely noticed. She’d never been so glad to see anyone. As she pushed herself up, he slid his arm around her shoulders and helped her. “You’re still here,” she murmured. “Were you hit with anything?”

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“No, I’m fine.” His voice was little more than a breath against her skin. She shivered and he tightened his arm around her, drawing her closer. “I’m sorry if I—” “Where are you, girlie? Why don’t you come on out?” the man outside called, his voice laced with dark merriment. “Tell you what, I’ll come in. We’ll have us a hell of a good time.” His cronies jeered and guffawed. Her stomach slid to her feet. Des’s body stiffened against her. Tucked in the shadows out of the glare of headlights, she could only see the outline of his profile, his expression hidden. “I’m starting to think you don’t like me,” the man continued. “You hear me? Do you, bitch?” Her knees and back ached from the awkward, hunched position she was frozen in. “We can’t sit like this forever. My cell phone’s in my bag on the table. Maybe I can crawl around the couch and grab it.” “Wait. They’re warning you.” Des’s lips brushed her ear, and her skin tingled. “If they were actually going to come in, they would have waited until you were asleep.” “You can’t know that.” Unless… “Do you know who they are?” He shook his head, but she wasn’t sure she believed him. “Well, that’s fine,” the man yelled. “I can take a hint. The question is, can you? You need to get your pretty little ass out of town, and don’t come back.” Who was this guy? How did he tie into her book? Hudson’s granitelike face peering through her car window flashed through her head, but the man outside didn’t sound like him. Tic maybe? But why would he be trying to scare her into leaving town? “If you’re not gone by tomorrow,” the man shouted, “I’m going to think it’s ’cause you do like me, and I’ll be back.”

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More laughter. She tried to swallow, but couldn’t, her mouth too dry. Des crushed her to his chest, his body heat and the strength of his arms reassuring. Low voices, the words unintelligible, drifted in from outside, followed by the hollow thuds of car doors opening and closing. Engines revved and the brilliant light spilling through the gap in the curtains swept across the room then disappeared. For a long moment, she and Des stayed where they were. The distant hush of the wind in the leaves, mixed with their own ragged breaths, the only sounds in an otherwise quiet night. “You can let go of me,” Des said softly. She looked down at the corner of his shirt locked in her white-knuckled grip. Heat crept into her face and she released the fabric immediately. “Sorry.” “No problem.” He stood and held out his hand. She took it, letting him help her up. Her rubbery legs shook badly, and she locked her aching knees to keep from crumbling back to the floor. She had to pull herself together. She didn’t want to make a fool out of herself, especially now that the men had gone and the threat was over. She drew in a quivering breath and let it out slowly. A dry click in the darkness, followed by a flood of electric light, made her jump. She pressed her hand to her chest and turned to Des, standing next to the lamp. “Sorry,” he said. Her face burned hotter. She hated his seeing her so wobbly, but when she met his gaze, he looked as shaken as she felt.

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“Didn’t mean to give you a scare before.” A faint smile tugged the corners of his mouth. “You know, I never thought there’d be anyone less popular than me in this town—until you came along.” “Glad I could help.” She made her way to the couch, let her trembling legs give out and sank into the cushion. Absently, she rubbed her sore wrist. “Did I hurt you?” She shook her head. “Not badly. Why didn’t you tell me it was you?” “I tried, but you were punching me in the head at the time.” He flopped down next to her. “I tend to react that way when someone jumps me.” “I had to get your attention.” She snorted. “You did that.” “And I didn’t want the idiots outside to see you.” The mere mention of those men and her stomach dropped. Who were they? And why were they so intent to see her leave town? They had to be connected to Gwendolyn’s family. To Des’s family. Was it a coincidence he had been here at the same time? He’d told her he’d purposely parked his car where it couldn’t be seen if anyone he knew drove by. Those men wouldn’t have known he was here. Still, what was he doing here in the first place? “You don’t know who those men were?” she asked again. He shook his head, but his gaze stayed fixed on the window. “No, I don’t.” Did she believe him? Could she? A cool wind blew the heavy drapes away from the broken window. Goose bumps raced up her bare arms. The lamplight glittered off the jagged shards of glass scattered across the floor. A rock the size of a football sat between the couch and the coffee table.

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“You were lucky you didn’t get hit.” Shayne wrapped her arms around her middle, suddenly freezing. “Why were you still here?” “After you kicked me out, you mean? Not that I didn’t deserve it.” He had deserved it, but it was hard to stay angry with the man after he’d stuck by her while some psycho smashed her window and screamed threats at her. “Why didn’t you leave?” “I shouldn’t have said those things to you before. I was wrong and I’m sorry. I didn’t want to go until I told you.” Des leaned closer and pushed her hair back from her face. His fingers lightly brushed her cheek, leaving invisible trails of heat on her skin. “Are you okay? You’re pale.” She wasn’t okay, not really. The adrenaline that had been surging inside her was dissipating, leaving her shaken, jittery and cold to her soul. She couldn’t have stemmed the shivers moving through her if she’d had a gun to her head. She wanted Des’s strong arms around her again, crushing her to his chest, wrapping her in his warmth. And with him so close, the temptation was simply too much. She stood abruptly and cleared her throat. “I’m okay, just freezing. I’ll throw on a sweater, then call the police.” She hurried toward her bedroom, but something sharp stabbed the bottom of her foot. Pain zinged from her heel up her calf. She sucked in her breath, then released it in a string of curses. “What is it?” Des asked, standing. She balanced on one foot and lifted the other. Blood dribbled down the two inches of exposed glass lodged in her foot. “I have a hunk of window in my heel.” He frowned and held his hand out to her. “That looks bad. Come here and sit down.”

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He gripped her elbow and helped her limp to the couch. She flopped onto the cushion, a sharp throb pulsating in her heel. Holding her breath, she lifted her injured foot and inspected the damage. The jagged shard jutted from her flesh. Oozing blood smeared her skin. She tugged gently on the glass, sending fresh spikes of pain shooting up her leg again. “Let me have a look,” Des said as he sat on the coffee table in front of her. He gripped her foot and she gasped. “Damn it. Be careful, it hurts.” Cupping her heel in one hand, he gently probed the bottom of her foot with the other, his touch was warm and cautious. “This is in pretty deep. Is your car locked?” She nodded. “The keys are in my purse.” He stood, gingerly set her foot down, grabbed her purse from the table and rooted through it. “Will I find any embarrassing feminine products?” She widened her eyes with feigned innocence. “Like what?” The telltale jingle of her car keys filled the quiet. “Ha. Got ’em. Be right back.” He disappeared outside, was gone barely a minute before the door clattered open. Des strode toward her, the first aid kit tucked under his arm. “I bet your father would be happy to know you’ve gotten so much use out of this.” “I’m sure he’d be gloating. After all, there’s nothing he enjoys more than telling me ‘I told you so’.” She reached for the kit, but he held it just beyond her grasp as he sat on the coffee table across from her. “I can take care of myself,” she told him. “I’m sure you can, but I owe you one.” “Don’t be ridiculous.”

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“Don’t you be ridiculous. Besides, your hands are still shaking.” She closed her fingers into fists. Her injury provided a slight distraction from the evening’s events, but not enough for her to feel entirely normal again. She sighed. “Fine.” Des gripped her heel tightly, with quick fingers pulled out the glass and pressed a gauze pad against the wound to stem the bleeding. Fresh pain soared up her leg, before settling into a dull throb. “Your foot’s really bleeding.” He lifted the gauze. She tried to pull her foot away, but his hold tightened, and he grinned. “I still need to clean the cut and bandage you up.” She glared while he opened the antiseptic pad’s foil package. The same brand he’d complained hurt when she’d used it on his face. “Remember, I could have left you at the side of the road last night.” “Duly noted.” He applied the damp wipe to her oozing injury. Stinging flames licked at her nerve endings. “Sadist,” she hissed. Closing her eyes, she bit her lip and waited for him to finish. At last, the pain receded. When she opened her eyes, he was carefully applying a bandage. “All done.” He bent his head and pressed his lips to the arch of her foot in a feathery kiss. A delicious tingle rippled over her skin. He peered up at her, those smoky eyes watching her through the hair that had fallen into his face. She forgot the pain in her foot and a new ache settled low and deep inside her. He eased off the table until he was kneeling on the floor between her legs, his gaze never wavering from hers. Her breath caught in her throat. His hands rested lightly on her knees, then slid slowly up her outer thighs as he leaned

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closer. The heat from his palms seeped through the thin cotton of her pajamas, burning away the last of her nerves. A shiver slid over her, bringing with it gnawing need. Wrong. Letting him touch her this way was wrong for so many reasons. Her book. His family. He was seven years younger than her and— He pressed his lips to her throat. The damp heat of his mouth shot an invisible current directly to her core. She closed her eyes and bit back the moan swelling in her throat. Oh God, she wanted him. Maybe just one kiss, then she’d put a stop to all this craziness. With her heart beating double time, she cupped both sides of his face and lifted his head. Stubble scraped her palms. He smelled good. Clean, spicy and male. She touched her mouth to his in a slow, drawing kiss. His lips parted and she met his tongue with her own, tasting him, sweeping the contours of his mouth. He groaned and dug his fingers into her backside, pulling her forward and fitting his hips tight against hers. The friction sent tiny rockets of need bursting inside her. She moaned and arched forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and bringing her body flush with his. She should stop this, but he felt so good. But I guess that wouldn’t matter to someone like you. His angry words from earlier sounded in her ears. The furious accusation in his eyes while he listened to her interview with Robert flashed through her mind. She turned her head and tore her mouth away from his. “We can’t,” she said, her voice hoarse, her breath ragged. “My book. Your father.” He nodded slowly, eased back, and stood, his expression inscrutable.

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“I can’t do that with you.” No matter how badly she might want to. “Your family. My book.” Why couldn’t she stop babbling? “You’re right, I know.” He raked his fingers through his hair. His chest rose and fell quickly. At least he looked as shaken as she felt. With a deep breath, she started to stand. “What are you doing?” he asked, frowning. “I still need to call the police.” “Stay where you are, off your foot. I’ll get your phone.” “Thanks.” Shayne watched as he bent and dug through her purse, unable to stop herself from admiring his lean, hard physique or imagining it without clothes. Good God, her reaction to him was insane. There was an undeniable chemistry between them, and it had her acting against her better judgment. After tonight, she would make a point of keeping her distance from him. Of all of Dark Water’s finest who could have shown up, why did it have to be Avery? The man grated on Des’s last nerve. The cop strutted across the living room, his chest puffed out liked he’d hidden a pillow under his shirt. “Two nights in a row, huh, Anderson? You must be doing something right,” Avery said when he spotted Des on the sofa. Des wanted to smack the knowing smirk off the cop’s face—though, after that kiss, the man wasn’t all that far off the mark—but Des had more to worry about than some dirty-minded cop’s innuendo or whatever there was between him and Shayne. The memory of Tic’s voice, pumped full of malignant humor, made his heart pound. He flashed back to the night he’d found Tic with the waitress from Smitty’s. Her animal-like wails still rang in his ears. Her bloody face and the way her arm dangled after Tic had popped it from the socket still haunted him.

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The woman had been too terrified to name Tic, claiming Des had been wrong, she didn’t know who her attacker was, but she was certain it wasn’t Tic. When the police pushed her for a name, she packed up and left town. No one had heard from her since. Without her to back up Des’s story, he’d been left to twist in the wind. Not that he blamed her. Tic was a psychopath. God knew what the man was capable of. And now he’d set his sights on Shayne? Fear speared Des. He stood and wiped his damp palms on his jeans. Shayne looked over at him and rolled her eyes while Avery nodded and scribbled in his notebook. Why had Tic homed in on her? Could he know she’d helped Des? If the man suspected Des had something going with her… Or could Tic have noticed her on his own, the same way he had with the waitress? If tonight was all about the man’s predatory instinct, why not come in and make good on his threats? Why warn her to leave town? The blood drained from Des’s head to his shoes in one quick rush. Heddi. …strong-arm tactics… I’ll take care of that. Surely, she wouldn’t deal with a man like Tic? But the more he thought about it, the more plausible the scenario became. “Did you see any of them, Anderson?” Avery’s voice jerked him from his thoughts. “No,” he said. Shayne folded her arms over her chest and glared at Avery. “What about anything they were driving?” Avery asked. Des shook his head.

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“Did either of you recognize anyone’s voice?” “After my run-in with Hudson last night, you might want to speak to him,” Shayne snapped. Avery turned to Des. “You know Hudson pretty well, did you hear him out there?” “No,” Des said. “I told you already, I didn’t recognize any of the voices.” Shayne glared. “There was more than one man. At least, two others. And I had a strange encounter on my first day here with a man named Tic. Maybe he was involved.” Des tensed. Fear wriggled low in his gut like a wet worm. Avery glanced Des’s way before returning his attention to Shayne, and when he spoke next, a little of his bravado had slipped away. “Did he threaten you?” She sighed. “No, he asked about my work.” “Doesn’t exactly make him a likely suspect. There’s not much I can do for you with nothing to go on. I’ll file a report.” “How helpful.” Shayne’s lips thinned into a tight line. Anger made her eyes glint like black glass. “What would you like me to do?” Avery snapped. “Oh, I don’t know. At least make a token effort to try and find the men who did this.” Des snorted. “That’s asking an awful lot, Shayne. Wouldn’t want Avery to break a sweat or anything.” Avery swung around, turning his bulldog glare on him, but didn’t say anything. Instead, he turned back to Shayne. “Let me give you some free advice, miss. There are some dangerous men in this town. You might want to think about that.”

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He flipped his notebook closed and swaggered out the door. Shayne slammed it shut behind him. “I hate that man,” she snarled, whirling back to Des. “You know, I have friends who are cops. Contacts from other books I’ve written. I ought to call them and see what I can do about making his life a living hell.” Des knelt and started gathering the glass on the floor. “Wow. You’ve got a vindictive side.” “I am not vindictive. I just have very strong feelings about right and wrong. And this good ol’ boy bullshit is starting to wear thin with me.” She sighed, turning her attention to the mess on the floor. “Forget it. I’ll get a garbage bag.” “I’ll do it. You should get off your foot.” “It’s fine, really.” He didn’t argue with her. Together they cleaned up the glass and made a shoddy repair of the window by taping a large piece of cardboard over the hole. All the while, the air around them hummed with an invisible charge, like the air before a thunderstorm. The urge to pull her back to him, feel her moving against him while he lost himself in her touch and kiss appealed like nothing he’d known before, but giving in would be a mistake. Her book, Robert’s claims of innocence and Julia’s fragile mental state were all reason enough to keep his hands off Shayne. Heddi’s bringing Tic in to drive Shayne away was just an added bonus. Hell, what a mess. “Are you going to do what they said?” He stood back to admire their makeshift patch. Worry and indecision tightened his stomach into knots. “Will you leave town?” She shook her head. “I can’t.”

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“Christ, Shayne, you’ve been threatened twice now in as many nights. Don’t you think you should start taking this seriously?” “I am taking this seriously,” she said. “I’ll leave, as soon as I’ve completed my interviews and finished the research I came here to do. I have to write this book. I’m in too far to start all over again. I know you don’t want me writing about your family—” “I don’t give a shit about the book right now. Write it, don’t. I don’t care. You and I both know my grandmother’s behind those men coming here tonight. What do you think will happen next when threats don’t work?” “If you think Heddra Grey arranged for those men to come here, why didn’t you say something to Avery?” she demanded. He threw his arms in the air. “Because Avery knows! Why else would Hudson stop you last night? Heddi doesn’t want you writing this book, it’s no secret.” “Look, I’m going to take precautions. I’ll probably move to a hotel, even if I have to take something in the neighboring town. Or maybe you could see about finding me something not so isolated to rent.” He nodded, his mind spinning. He could tell her who had been outside, what the man was capable of, but she’d go to the police and the police would do nothing. Somehow, no matter what Tic pulled, he managed to avoid arrest. Of course, if the man worked for Heddi, that would explain a lot. Shayne’s going to the police about the man would only paint a bigger target on her. Still, he needed to make sure Shayne stayed away from him. “That guy you ran into, Tic, he’s dangerous. If you see him again, get as far away from him as possible. And don’t ever let yourself be alone with him. Ever.” “You know him?” “Yeah, I know him.”

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She looked at him for a long moment, and he tensed, certain she would insist he elaborate. Instead, she said, “Thank you for helping clean all this up.” “You’re welcome. Let me stay tonight.” She gave a short laugh, but it sounded tinny and false. Her smile looked strained. “I don’t think that’s such a great idea, do you?” “I’ll sleep on your couch. Just for tonight.” She opened her mouth to argue, but he cut her off. “Nothing will happen, I promise, and you’d be doing me a favor too. I haven’t slept, I’m exhausted. If I drove home, I’d probably wrap my car around a tree.” “Fine. On the couch.” She turned and disappeared into her bedroom. When she returned, she was carrying a pillow and blanket. “Here.” “Thanks.” He took the bedding and tucked it under his arm. As she started to turn away, he grabbed her hand and stopped her. Her fingers were cold and small in his palm. “Des…” “Aren’t you afraid?” he asked. “Of course I am. But I can’t run away every time I’m afraid.” She eased her hand from his grip. “I’m glad you didn’t leave.” She turned and walked into her room, shutting the door behind her. He dropped onto the couch. Her fragrant scent—green tea body wash, he smirked—wafted to his nose from the bedding in his arms. His head filled with visions of slipping into bed beside her, running his hands over her smooth, slender body, touching her, easing inside her— Sex wasn’t an option. He needed to focus on something else, like how to stop Tic. But even if he did somehow manage to get Tic locked up, he still had Heddi to contend with. And nothing would stop her from getting what she wanted.

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Chapter Nine

“Robert’s choice to leave his first wife for the married Gwendolyn Grey created a great deal of animosity within the community, especially from his eldest son, Sam. He despised the woman.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Des stormed across the driveway, up the stone steps and pounded on his grandmother’s door. The sun beat down on him, the air thick and hot despite the early hour. Sticky sweat slicked his skin and his irritation amplified. He closed his hand into a fist and beat harder on the thick oak. The door opened a half foot and Deirdre’s bulldog face filled the opening. “What do you want? She hasn’t asked for you.” Des ignored the housekeeper, shoving the door open the rest of the way, striding past without a backward glance. “Wait! You can’t—” “Watch me,” he snapped as he strode down the hall. He glanced into the parlor, then the library. No sign of Heddi. He made his way deeper into the house to check her sunroom. If she was awake, that was where she’d be. Her refuge from the world where she was not to be disturbed. Well, he’d disturb her all right. Deirdre made no attempt to follow him. Instead, she scurried to the kitchen. Probably going in search of Hudson to toss Des out of the house. In the mood he was in, despite still being stiff and bruised from his last beating, Hudson would have a fight on his hands if he tried.

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Des stormed into Heddi’s sunroom and froze, shock stealing away some of his anger. “Vivian.” Heddi’s dry voice pulled his attention from the peach and turquoise wallpaper to his grandmother on a rattan love seat surrounded by ugly floral cushions the same hideous colors as the walls. “She did this? When?” His grandmother had added the sunroom to the original house years ago, and no one was allowed entrance without Heddi’s explicit permission. “While I was in the hospital. I suspect she didn’t think I’d be leaving it, at least not upright. Now this room looks like the inside of a goddamned Florida nursing home.” She wasn’t wrong. No wonder his aunt had been on edge these days. She’d probably spent the last four months waiting for the proverbial ax to fall. There was little Heddi enjoyed more than a surprise attack. “Mrs. Grey?” Hudson’s deep voice rumbled inside the small room and Des stiffened. Heddi’s dark eyes filled with black humor and she smiled. “You may go, Hudson. I’ve been expecting Desmond.” Without another word, Hudson left, heavy footfalls on the wood floor fading. Alone again, Heddi waved at the chair next to her. “Sit. I understand you had an eventful evening last night.” The mere mention of Tic sent a fresh wave of fury rolling through him, and he fought to keep his expression bland, refusing to give the old hag a glimpse of the storm roiling inside him. He dropped onto the seat she’d indicated. The wicker creaked beneath his weight.

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Heddi watched him with narrowed eyes. “What have you been doing with that woman?” “What makes you think I’m doing anything with her?” Her dark glare bore into him. “You’ve spent the past two nights with her.” He didn’t bother to ask how she knew. Among Avery, Hudson and his landlady, Heddi had an entire network of spies to report on his every move. He shifted in his seat. The sunlight spilling through the glass walls turned the air stifling, despite the air-conditioning pumping from the vents. He shrugged. “After such an eventful evening, I didn’t want her out there on her own. I stayed on her couch.” “How noble.” Her bony fingers curled around the arms of the chair. She leaned forward until her face was inches from his. Her sour breath stunk of illness. Of death. “But what were you doing with her at all?” “I was filling her in on everything I could remember from that night,” he sneered. Heddi jerked back as if he’d slapped her, fear glinting in her black eyes. “You did what?” It was probably mean to torment the terminally ill, but he didn’t give a rat’s ass. “I was two years old when it happened. I don’t remember anything from that night.” She glared darkly. “Not funny. Now tell me what you were doing there?” “I was telling her to stay away from me and to forget Julia altogether.” “Of course, your sweet sister.” Heddi cackled. He turned his gaze to the window and the deep green lawn spilling down to the water’s edge. “Since the writer hasn’t yet abandoned the house, I assume last night’s incident wasn’t enough to frighten her off.”

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Dread tightened his stomach. “No. Tic and his boys put on a hell of a performance, but she doesn’t scare easily.” Heddi frowned. “Avery told me you didn’t recognize any voices.” “I’ve got enough problems with Tic, I don’t need more.” “Not so noble now, are we?” Her face lit with vicious delight. Des gritted his teeth, but didn’t speak. “Why have you come? Have you changed your mind about my offer?” He dipped his head in an abrupt nod. “What exactly do you want me to do?” “I need you to keep an eye on her, tell me whom she’s seen and what she’s learned.” “And if I do this, I don’t have to pay back the money.” “Of course,” she told him. “I’ll want something in writing.” “If you think you need it.” “Oh, I do.” “I’ll arrange for the paperwork today. You’ll have it first thing tomorrow morning.” He nodded again, his stomach churning sickly. Why couldn’t he shake the feeling he was selling his soul? “Call off Tic. No strong-arm tactics or I won’t do it.” “Are you afraid of him?” An image of Shayne with Tic flashed through his head, making his insides quiver. “He’s a psychopath. Even you would have a hard time controlling him.” “How do you suggest I drive her away?” “I’ll provide you with the names of her sources. You can pay them off to keep them from talking to her.”

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She cackled, the sound going through him like tinfoil on a filling. “You do have a devious side. Your way will be expensive.” “It’s this way, or I won’t do it.” “Are you in any position to be giving ultimatums?” “My way, or I. Don’t. Do. It.” She smiled her creepy, toothy grin, but her eyes glinted dangerously. “Fine, we’ll do it your way. But if you even think of crossing me, I’ll make you sorry you were ever born.” “Leave a message. I’ll get back to you.” Shayne sighed and pressed the End button on her phone as Anderson’s terse voice-mail instructions slipped into the beep. No point in leaving another message. He hadn’t bothered returning any of the others. She flipped her cell closed and nipped at the corner of her lip. Why wasn’t the man phoning her back? He’d wanted her to call him. He couldn’t know she didn’t buy into his I’m innocent claim, or she wanted to ask him about the possibility of his late wife’s being involved with another man. Where was he? She glanced at the clock on the dash of her car. Five to one. She didn’t have time to worry about him now. She’d try again later. She hit a button next to the radio and the convertible roof started to close. A low hum filled her ears as the canvas slowly stretched overhead, blotting out the brilliant midafternoon sun. With the roof closed, she opened the car door, got out and started toward the convenience store/gas station/garage. How did places like this stay open? Alone on a deserted stretch of highway, the yellowed white paint on brick, and the faded sign mounted above the door

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with the words “Pump and Buy”—except the first P had vanished and the sign read “ump and Buy”—certainly gave the impression finding the placed boarded up and abandoned wasn’t that far off. Warm wind stirred the leaves in the forest rising up behind the squat garage. A patch of dandelions growing through the stones on the gravel parking lot bowed under the invisible pressure. An odd sense of isolation wrapped around her, fueling her already-keyed-up nerves. Was anyone even here? Or was this some kind of setup? She thinned her lips and tried to will her beating heart back to a normal pace. After last night, she’d been edgy, looking at every man who glanced her way as a potential attacker, wondering if he was the one who’d smashed her window and threatened her. She hated the nerves jittering beneath her skin like frayed live wires. Hated jumping at shadows like a frightened child. Hated the men who had left her feeling this way. Her gaze shifted to a rusted silver hatchback parked next to a navy pickup at the side of the store. The place wasn’t entirely deserted, but the realization did little to ease her apprehension. Shayne opened the steel-and-glass door, and an electronic chime announced her arrival as she stepped inside the small convenience store. Though, store seemed somewhat lofty for the one rack of potato chips, another for candy, and a fridge with pop and energy drinks. Shelves of cigarettes hidden by gray metal shutters and a rack of newspapers rounded out the -ump and Buy’s inventory. The stink of mothballs and motor oil filled the hot air inside. Her stomach gave a small lurch in protest. Ugh. She hated the smell of mothballs. A rotating fan at the far end of the counter blew the stale air into her face, and she bit back the urge to gag.

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A woman sitting behind the counter and flipping through a gossip rag looked up. Her dull brown gaze met Shayne’s and she stared, a scowl etched into her worn features. The fan turned and blew her frizzy brown hair up like a strange parody of the flying nun. “I’m looking for Sam Anderson,” Shayne said. The woman snorted and dropped her gaze back to the paper on the counter. “They always are.” Shayne managed not to roll her eyes, but couldn’t quite mask the irritation in her voice. “We have an appointment. Do you know where I can find him?” “Through there.” The woman nodded at a closed the door to the left, her gaze never leaving the colorful pages before her. “Thanks.” Shayne pulled the door open and stepped inside the dimly lit garage. A tall, dark-haired man fiddled with something—a motor maybe, she’d never been mechanical—at a long workbench. His messy black hair fell across his forehead as he worked, his gaze intent on whatever it was he was doing. As the door clicked closed behind her, he didn’t look up. Sweat trickled down Shayne’s back. The day’s heat intensified inside the small space despite the gritty film of dirt on the windows filtering the sunlight from outside. To her left, a battered pickup truck on the lift hovered over the stained, cracked cement floor. The scent of motor oil and old gasoline hung so thick in the air she could almost taste it. Better than mothballs, though. “What do you want?” The man’s voice made her jump. With a deep breath, she squared her shoulders. “Sam Anderson?” Bright gray eyes—like his father’s, his brother’s—held hers. “Yeah.”

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No, not like Des. Where Des’s eyes glinted with humor or promises of things she needed to stop thinking about, Sam’s were flat, cold. A glower curled his mouth and he tightened his grip on the wrench in his hand. She could easily imagine him yelling through her smashed window…bludgeoning her with that wrench. Shit, pull it together. She swallowed hard, the sensation like rubbing sandpaper on the back of her throat, and forced her feet forward, extending her hand. “I’m Shayne Reynolds. We spoke on the phone.” “I know who you are,” he told her. He ignored her hand and set down the wrench. A wave of relief swept through her and her knees trembled. She locked them. “Is there somewhere we can sit and talk?” He shook his head. “Ask me what you want to know, and make it quick.” If he didn’t have time to be interviewed, why the hell did he have her drive all the way out here? She bit back the question, forcing a smile and digging her recorder out of her purse. “I hope you don’t mind?” She moved closer to him and set the player on the workbench. The faint hum of a car speeding by seeped through the cement walls. A sign of life just outside the door. “I’d like to ask you about your father.” “Do it, already.” He lifted his gaze, those eyes all but glowing within the long, straight lines of his face. The angles and planes gave him an almostpredatory look, his dark, curly hair wild and unkempt. Like his father’s. She could easily imagine Robert with the same hard-assed attitude thirty years ago. Maybe that had been what had drawn Gwen in the first place. Some women liked the bad-boy type. Shayne hadn’t been foolish enough to get seriously involved with a guy like that since high school.

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No, instead you married Mr. Perfect who threw you aside like a defective appliance once he realized you had a faulty uterus. Travis might have been a jerk, but that didn’t mean she should hook up with the first lousy real-estate-agent-in-a-bad-Hawaiian-shirt she met. Even if he did turn her to mush with long, slow kisses. Her face heated and she shoved thoughts of Des aside. “What was your father like? What do you remember about him?” Sam picked up the wrench again, and her heart leaped in her chest, only to settle when he turned his attention back to the motor. “Do you want me to tell you he was abusive? That he hit me and my mom?” “Did he?” “Nope. He was all right. He used to read to me. Took me fishing. Brought me here. Taught me about cars.” “This was his garage?” For a moment, the taut lines of Sam’s face softened and she caught a slight resemblance to Des. “Yeah. I apprenticed here with Dad’s partner. Bought him out about ten years ago.” Despite his flat tone, his words held a hint of sentimentality. Des could barely refer to Anderson by name, and never as his father. Sam still called him Dad. He must have felt some affection for the man. “How was your father with your mother?” He jerked a shoulder. “They fought a lot.” “Do you remember about what?” “Shit. Nothing. Everything. They were both miserable. It was no secret they had to get married because he’d knocked her up. Toward the end, I think they hated each other.”

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Some men never learned, it seemed. After all, twelve years later Anderson would find himself married to Gwen for the same reason. Christ, had he never heard of a condom? “Did you notice a change in him once he met Gwen?” “I might have if I’d seen him. But he was a little too busy with his new family.” “How did your mother react when he left?” He rolled his eyes. “How the hell do you think she reacted? She might not have felt a damned thing for him, but do you think she wanted to be out on her own with a kid to take care of?” Finding oneself replaced in one’s marriage was a scenario with which she was sadly all too familiar with. “Didn’t your father offer any kind of support?” “Sure, but he was raising three other kids. He only made so much money. There wasn’t a lot to spread around.” Shayne frowned. “But Gwen had money of her own.” He snorted. “Not once the old woman cut her off. And her first husband didn’t have anything to do with those kids.” Financial tension, blended families, a new baby. The couple would have been under tremendous stress. A recipe for disaster with the wrong man. “Do you remember anything from the night of the murders?” His tinkering with the engine ceased. “Not the night of the murders, but the next day when word about what had happened started to spread. Mom got scared. She packed us up and took off to my aunt’s. She never came back.” An odd shiver raced over her skin and the hair at the back of her neck prickled. “Did she ever tell you what had frightened her?” He shook his head. “Never, but for awhile, until my dad confessed, I wondered if she might have been the one, you know?”

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“Was she still angry, even two years later?” Would she still be angry with Travis in two years? God, she hoped not. She didn’t want to wind up bitter. “Not about his leaving. She had a man she was seeing and was leaving me alone a lot at night. I was almost thirteen and fine by myself, but Dad started making noises about wanting me to go live with him.” The first decent thing she’d heard Anderson had done. “Were you worried she was angry enough that she might have hurt Gwen?” “Yeah, it was stupid, but I was a kid.” “What changed your mind?” He leaned back against the workbench, his brows drawing together and his mouth curling into a perplexed smile. “He confessed.” “Of course.” She nodded. “Would you have wanted to live with your father?” “No, I hated him. Hated Gwen. Hated all of them. There was no way in hell I would have lived there.” He spoke with an oddly casual tone that seemed out of place given the seriousness of his words. “Ended up being a good thing in the long run. If I’d been living there, I might have wound up dead too.”

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Chapter Ten

“After their mother’s murder, the surviving children were taken by their maternal grandmother and shielded from the media frenzy that followed. No one suspected the fine line between life and death both children walked daily.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Des stood on the curb in front of the realty office and waved at the young couple as their car drove away, a stiff smile pulling at his mouth until his cheeks hurt. Once they were out of sight, he dropped his arm to his side. Shit, that was painful. He hated showing houses to indecisive people who couldn’t match what they wanted with what they could afford. Actually, he hated showing houses period. To anyone. In fact, he hated everything to do with houses. At this point, when he left Dark Water, he’d move into a tent. At least now there was a light at the end of his tunnel. Of course, he had to screw Shayne over to get there. A lousy, sick sensation rolled over him. But he wasn’t helping Heddi to get out of paying back the money his sister owed. He wanted to protect Shayne. He didn’t want Tic anywhere near her. He would never have taken Heddi’s offer if not for Tic. Why then did he feel like the biggest sack of shit there ever was? Would he feel better if he wasn’t escaping from under Heddi’s thumb too? Maybe. But he just didn’t have the strength of character to turn her down. With a sigh, he went inside, but, as soon as he hit the lobby, he froze. His Aunt Vivian was leaning over Heather’s desk, the hem of her slip peeking out from under her dark pink skirt.

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“I want to know where the hell he is.” Vivian’s shrill voice set his teeth on edge. “You think I don’t know you cover for him? You’re probably sleeping with him too.” Her words slurred slightly, and Des took a tentative step back toward the door. “That’s not true, Mrs. Grey. I don’t know where your husband is. I’ve tried calling, but his phone is off.” Heather’s voice hitched and Des stopped his retreat. Crap. He made his way to the desk. Heather’s glassy gaze fell on him and she pointed. “There’s Des. Maybe he knows where Mr. Grey is.” Vivian spun around too quickly and teetered on her glossy black heels. For a second, she pitched sideways. Des reached out, ready to grab her and keep her from hitting the ground, but she caught her balance and steadied herself. Some of her dry blonde hair stuck out oddly on one side. Her black satin blouse gapped between her breasts, buttons threatening to pop. Her dark eyes narrowed and pinned him where he stood. “You wouldn’t tell me, anyway.” “I don’t know where he is either, Vivian.” A wave of exhaustion swept over him. God, he couldn’t wait to get away from these people. They were like vampires, sucking the life out him, draining him until only a withered husk of who he once was, or who he might have been, remained. “What else are you going to say? You Greys are all the same. You stick together.” Denying he was a Grey danced on the tip of his tongue, but that left Anderson, and he didn’t want to claim that name either. “Everyone knows what you’ve been doing, or should I say who?” Vivian chuckled at her own bad pun. “God, you’re disgusting.”

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He didn’t argue with her. He actually agreed with his aunt, even if she was way off in her reasoning. Sleeping with Shayne wouldn’t have made him disgusting. Lying to her and sabotaging her work on the other hand… Christ, he’d dug himself a deep hole this time, and he had no idea how to climb out. “It’s genetic, you know?” Vivian’s words broke into his thoughts. “The way you all spread yourselves around. None of you can keep it in your pants. Even your dear mother, and you’re living proof.” Des rolled his eyes and started away from the woman’s bitter tirade. Under Heddi’s tyrannical rule, he’d lived his whole life hearing how he’d been responsible for his mother’s death, how his unfortunate conception brought about his saintly mother’s downfall. He’d hardened himself to his parents years ago. Nothing Vivian could say bothered him anymore. “You know what?” Vivian followed. The clatter of her high heels as she scurried after him was like a small, yipping dog’s nails on the wood. “As awful as your mother and Ian were, even your thief sister, you take the cake. How can you sleep with that woman knowing what she is?” He rounded on his aunt, a wave of fury washing through him. Not because of what she’d said about him, but what she’d said about Shayne. This so-called family of his took delight in exploiting each other’s weaknesses and fears. They lied and manipulated, used each other up for no other purpose but to destroy. Shayne had been honest and fair. She’d been kind to him. Yet in the end, he’d sided with the poison blood pumping through his veins. He took a step forward, narrowed his eyes, and Vivian stumbled back, her skin whitening beneath the thick layer of makeup. “Why do you stay with him, Vivian?” Des asked, his voice low and hard even to his own ears. He didn’t give her a chance to respond. “Is it the money?

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The name? My God, look at what he’s turned you into. A miserable, bitter woman who people avoid like they do a telemarketer.” She blinked rapidly, opened her mouth as if to respond, then snapped it shut again. “You keep asking where the hell he is, like you’re hoping to catch him in the act, but what would you do if you did? You’re right, we all know he’s screwing around on you, but you do too. Hell, you did catch him two years ago, and nothing changed. Do us all a favor, either leave him or shut up.” Des turned to head into his office and nearly collided with Kate. She stood, arms crossed and lips pursed. He waited for his cousin to let him have it for telling her mother off. Instead, Kate looked past him and spoke to Vivian. “Wait for me in the car. I’ll be there in a few minutes.” “Yes, I will,” Vivian replied. With his back to her, Des couldn’t see her expression, but ice laced her stiff voice. As he moved around Kate and into his office, she turned and followed. “That wasn’t very nice,” Kate said, shutting the door behind her. Des snorted, holding himself rigid against the twinge of guilt twisting low in his gut. “Yeah, you think that was bad? You should have heard the first part of the conversation. What were you doing in my office?” “Leaving you a note.” Kate plucked a scrap of paper from his desk and crumpled it into a ball. “I wasn’t sure when you’d be back. How did the showings go, by the way? Any offers?” He shook his head. She snorted. “Surprise, surprise. I guess it’s a good thing you took Heddi up on her deal.”

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Kate knew. The question was, how much? She didn’t elaborate, though. She’d played Heddi’s games for so long she’d adopted a few of their grandmother’s techniques. Still, using them on him was a wasted effort. He dropped into the chair behind his desk, leaned back and met Kate’s hard gaze. When he didn’t speak, she continued. “I’ve spoken to Heddi about your assignment. She wants me to arrange the payouts. You’re to report to me with the contact names. Given my involvement with this office, we should be able to meet here fairly regularly without attracting suspicion. Does the writer already trust you enough to tell you what you need to know?” He shook his head. “No, but she will.” Speaking the words out loud turned his stomach. Could he actually do this? Betray her? Look her in the eye and lie? What choice did he have? He could destroy her work, or Tic could destroy her. Yeah, he could lie if it meant keeping that psycho away from her. “Did Heddi deal with Tic?” Kate shrugged. “I think she was planning to send Hudson to speak with him this afternoon.” Planning and doing weren’t the same thing. Des would go see the man himself and make sure Heddi had done whatever was necessary to call him off. “Is that it?” He wanted Kate to go and leave him alone with his self-loathing. “I guess.” She studied him with narrowed green eyes. “I don’t know what you’re so pissy about. You’re getting what you want. You’ll be out of here and away from Heddi, with Julia in the clear until the next time she screws up and you have to fix things.” “Let’s get one thing straight,” he bit out. “I’m not helping Heddi to get out of paying the money back. I’m doing this to keep a psychopath away from Shayne.” He shouldn’t have said that. He might as well have announced his intentions to

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Heddi directly. Still, he couldn’t seem to keep his mouth shut. He wanted someone to know his motives were not entirely self-serving. But who was he trying hardest to convince, Kate or himself? “Why not agree to help Heddi without her writing off the loan if you’re so goddamned noble?” Kate smiled wide, her voice dripping with mockery. “If Heddi knew I was in this to protect Shayne, she’d use it. I expect you to keep your mouth shut. After all, you owe me.” “Why? Because I didn’t cover up Julia’s stealing?” “No, because you didn’t keep a better eye on her in the first place.” She threw her hands in the air. “Fine. Do what you’re supposed to do, and I’ll have no reason to mention to Heddi you have a soft spot for that woman.” “Good. We’re done now?” “Yes, yes, I’m going. I’ll be back in a couple of days. You better have something for me.” After Kate left, he wasted the next forty-five minutes playing Tetris on his computer. As the hour neared six, he stood, grabbed his jacket and started for the door. Heather was shutting down her computer for the night when he strode through the lobby. “Des,” she called, “I’m sorry about siccing Vivian on you.” He stopped. “Don’t worry about it.” “Those things she said… She was wrong.” Des shook his head. “No, she wasn’t.” He would have slept with Shayne, given the chance, book or no book. God knew he wanted her. Even knowing what he had to do, he still would have loved nothing more than to strip her out of her clothes and wrap himself around her naked body. What a bastard he was. “She actually pegged me pretty damn close to the mark.”

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Des walked out into the warm summer evening and found Shayne sitting on the bench outside the office. The same bench he’d been sitting on when they’d met. With her head turned, she watched three boys about ten years old eating giant freezies and bragging on their skateboarding skills. She didn’t notice Des right away. A faint, bemused smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. The pinkish-gold glow from the sinking sun cast a warm luminance over her skin. The three boys glided between them on their skateboards and her gaze followed until her eyes locked with his. Something in his chest clenched tightly. His hands itched to pull her up from the bench and against him. He wanted to press his mouth to hers and lose himself in another long, devouring kiss. Great idea. And when he was done, he could destroy her career. She smiled at him, and for an instant all the ugly thoughts swirling in his head vanished and his heart lightened. She’s the one you’re going to betray. Get your lies ready. His stomach plummeted. Still, he drew a deep breath and trotted down the steps. “Hi, I’ve been waiting for you,” she said, once he reached her. “Not in a weird stalker way, though.” He flopped down beside her. “Would you think I was strange if I told you I’m disappointed to hear that?” She chuckled. “Um…a little…yeah. I didn’t go inside, so I wouldn’t cause you trouble with your family.” If she only knew. “I don’t care what they think. Let’s go get some dinner or something.” She snorted. “I’m not here to date you. I came to find out if you found me a new rental yet?”

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He hadn’t looked. With his falling in line, and Heddi calling off Tic, the urgency to find Shayne another place had dimmed. Still, he had to keep up the pretense, and he didn’t like her being so isolated. Now that he was cooperating with Heddi though, he could probably get her a room at the Pinecone. “I have some ideas, I have to do a few things first. Why don’t you head back and start packing up. I’ll meet you at your place in about an hour.” “Okay.” A thin line formed between her eyebrows as they drew into a frown. “Are you okay? You look worn out. Maybe you should take it easy tonight. I can always stay at that motel on the highway.” The gentle concern etched into her features hit him like a punch to the gut, stealing the breath from his lungs. Absently, he reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, the strands soft and cool against his fingertips. He cleared his throat before he could speak. “I’m fine. I’ll be better once you’re settled somewhere less isolated.” She tilted her head, and studied his face. “Are you sure?” He nodded because he couldn’t speak. When was the last time anyone asked if he was okay and gave a shit about the answer? He couldn’t remember. He couldn’t do it. Not to her. He didn’t know how the hell he’d get out of this mess, but he wouldn’t use Shayne. He wouldn’t lie to her. He’d have to come up with a plan, and fast. Des was playing a dangerous game. Did he really believe he could double-cross Heddi and get away with it? Yes. No. Maybe. Hell, he didn’t know, but since he’d made his decision that sick swirling in his gut had finally stopped. All he had to do was stall the old woman long enough for Shayne to get what she needed and get out of Dark Water before

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Dawn Brown

Heddi realized what he was doing. And while he was at it, why not part a few seas? Turn water into wine? He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and squinted into the gray gloom as he steered down the deeply-rutted driveway. As dusk slid into night, even with his headlights, the narrow path winding through the thick forest was difficult to navigate. His car bounced over the uneven ground so hard he half expected the rusted panels to shimmy off the frame. At last, the drive spat him out before a tiny clapboard house. The pale glow from his headlights cast an eerie luminance over the peeling, green shingles and dirty, flaked, white paint on the exterior. Des slid out of the car, but left the engine running just in case. Besides, what he had to say wouldn’t take long. What little lawn there might have been had long ago turned to dirt under years of neglect. The trees rose up like a fortress wall, blotting out the emerging stars. As Des started for the house, the screen door squeaked open then banged shut. Tic stood on the lopsided porch, a rifle slung casually over his shoulder and a malignant grin spreading out over his weathered face. “Well, fuck me, Anderson. You do have a death wish.” The man’s blithe call lit a slow, simmering rage deep in his belly. He hated the lunatic and the town’s mix of fear and apathy when it came to dealing with him. No one wanted to poke the bear, afraid of being mauled. Not that he was entirely unsympathetic, having found himself on the receiving end of the man’s fists more than once. But how long would storeowners turn a blind eye to Tic’s openly stealing off their shelves? How long would people who’d found themselves on his bad side refuse to report property damages or out-and-out assaults?

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How long could one maniac bully an entire town? And what would Heddi have him do once she realized Des had betrayed her? He didn’t care so long as Shayne was well out of the way. “You lookin’ for a little more of what I gave you the other night?” Tic laughed, apparently delighted by the idea. “Why not put the rifle down and try?” Tic’s shit eating grin dimmed a little. “What are you doing here, Anderson?” Not so quick to act when you don’t have two of your buddies in tow to tip the odds. “I’m here on business.” “I don’t have business with you.” “That’s right, and you don’t have business with Heddi either.” He didn’t trust the old woman any more than he trusted the man standing in front of him, and he wanted to be sure Heddi had lived up to her end of the bargain. “You’re off the job. She doesn’t need you to deal with the writer.” That grin returned, darker, more malevolent. “What if I don’t want off the job? She’s a sweet piece of ass. A fighter…like Connie.” At the mention of that waitress, a bizarre mix of fear and rage swirled inside Des like a cyclone. He wanted to fly at Tic, snatch the rifle and bash the butt against the other man’s head until his skull caved in. But Tic was baiting him, and he wouldn’t bite. The last thing Shayne needed was for Tic to realize she meant anything to him. “You shouldn’t let your work become personal.” Tic laughed and rubbed his crotch with his palm. “Can’t help it. I wanted to bend her over and—” “Shut your fucking mouth!” Damn it, so much for not biting.

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Tic tilted his head and studied Des. His grin widened. Des had to fix this and fast. “Look, I have my own job to do, and I don’t need you screwing it up. I know Heddi paid you to piss off. That’s what you’re going to do.” Provided Kate had been right about Hudson coming to see him today. Tic’s smile vanished, his black eyes boring into Des. “And what if I don’t?” “I know it was you at her place last night. I know why you were there and what you planned to do. I’ll go to the police and tell them everything.” “So what? The old woman won’t let me go down.” He grinned. “I know too much.” Shayne wasn’t the first job he’d done for Heddi. No surprise there. No wonder the police left him alone. “I’m not talking about those yokels in town. Shayne’s a crime writer, Tic. I’m sure she’s friendly with a few cops. I’ll tell them everything I know.” “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Anderson. I was here all night playing poker with my friends, and no one would say different. You oughta know that by now.” “That may be, but surely you don’t want any outside cops looking too closely at you. Who knows what they’d find.” Tic seemed to consider what Des had said. The man might be crazy, but he wasn’t stupid. “I could kill you,” Tic said, but the words carried no real menace. He sounded more like he was thinking out loud. “Or I could kill you,” Des told him. And in that moment he meant it. He could snatch the man’s life away without thought or guilt if it meant he could protect Shayne. Tic’s gaze narrowed. “Why do you want the job? What’s in it for you?” “I’ll be able to get the hell out of here.”

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“Good.” Tic nodded, pulled open the screen door and went inside. Probably the closest Des was going to come to getting the man to agree to back off. He’d bought himself some time, but was it enough?

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Chapter Eleven

“A struggling business, an unhappy wife, the pressures of a blended family—for a man capable of familicide, this was the perfect storm.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds A trickle of sweat dripped down the middle of Shayne’s back as she bent and dropped a pile of file folders into the cardboard box at her feet. She straightened and glanced at the closed window hidden behind the drapes. What she wouldn’t give to open the glass and let in the cool night breeze to alleviate the stifling heat inside the cabin. Not coming out? Maybe I ought to come in. She tried to shove the memories of last night out of her head, but the voices and images wouldn’t leave her. She shuddered in spite of the warm air, then turned back to the table. Since the sun had vanished behind the trees and the sky had darkened, she’d been nervous and on edge, jumping at the slightest noise. She hated feeling this way. With a sigh, she reached around and rubbed the back of her damp neck. This was nuts. Why not open a window? If someone wanted to break in, they could. Especially with nothing but a piece of cardboard taped over the hole from last night. She squared her shoulders, marched across the sitting room and jerked back the curtain. A pale face stared back at her from the glass. Her heart leapt, lodging in her throat and cutting off her breath, then eased almost immediately as slow realization dawned on her.

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Not just any face peered back at her, but her own reflection in the glass. Well done, you’re officially jumping at the sight of your own shadow. She rolled her eyes and yanked the window open with shaking hands. She needed to find somewhere else to stay. Aside from the possibility of that psychopath returning to do more than hurl threats, she’d wind up giving herself a heart attack if she didn’t get her nerves under control. Besides, she couldn’t have Des sleeping on her sofa every night, no matter how appealing the thought. You know where you’d rather have him sleeping. Oh yes, what a great idea that would be. Like her life wasn’t complicated enough. A gust of cool air whispered through the window, bringing with it the woodsy smells of pine needles and dried leaves. She opened the heavy front door, leaving only the screen door closed, hoping to create a cross breeze. The pulse of her cell cut through the quiet. She started and pressed her palm to the rapid thud in her chest. With a muttered curse, she grabbed her purse from the floor and dug for her phone. Maybe it was Robert Anderson finally getting back to her. By the time she found her cell in the mess of receipts and ATM slips, she’d missed the call. She looked down at the display. Travis. Crap, what did he want? She was already wound tight; dealing with her ex was the last thing she needed. She stared down, waiting for the message symbol to flash. Instead, her cell started to ring again, vibrating in her hand. Travis’s number appeared on the display. She didn’t want to speak to him. Why couldn’t he just leave a message? “God, Trav, take a hint.” But he didn’t. The third time he called, she picked up. “Hello.” “I knew you were there. You and that damned phone are practically fused together.” His voice dripped a combination of triumph and disdain.

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“What do you want?” she asked, trying to get to the point. “Where are you? I’ve been trying to reach you all day. I thought you were staying at your parents’.” She gritted her teeth. His high-handed tone never ceased to infuriate her. “I’m out of town working. What. Do. You. Want?” “The buyer wants to close early. You need to come back tomorrow and sign the revised paperwork.” “Tomorrow?” She didn’t believe for a minute her signature was really required so soon. No doubt this was just one more situation for which Travis insisted on calling all the shots. She bit back on the urge to tell him to piss off. Telling Travis to stick it might be emotionally satisfying, but she needed the money from the sale. The sooner her condo closed, the better. She pulled out her planner. “Let me see what I have going on.” “Whatever it is, you can reschedule. This is important.” Whereas nothing in her life mattered quite as much. God, she’d forgotten how self-centered he could be. “I guess you’re in a big hurry to move on and start decorating that nursery.” Why had she said that? Why did she always let him drag her into the muck? “You’ve heard. Sandy’s due in February.” She wanted to believe the smug delight in his voice was merely her imagination, she really did. “Wow, you sure didn’t waste any time.” “Seven years, actually. I wasted seven years.” Direct hit. Her throat tightened, infuriating her all the more. His words shouldn’t bother her. She didn’t love him. Hell, normally she couldn’t even work up the energy to hate him. Still, to be told she was a waste of his time stung. “Nice, Travis.” At least her voice didn’t tremble or turn hoarse.

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“Don’t sound so wounded. When you married me, you knew I wanted a family.” “And when my faulty uterus and I couldn’t give it to you, you moved on to someone who could. Don’t worry, I get it.” “You’re the one who walked away. You’re the one who gave up, not me.” “God forbid I get tired of living like a walking test tube.” How could they still be having this argument? “We only tried for five years. There are couples who try for twice that long. Longer.” Her mouth dried. The idea of putting herself through it all over and over again, year after year…she shuddered. “The problem with you,” Travis continued, “is you’re too damned selfish. It’s a good thing you can’t have kids because all you ever cared about was your books and your psychopaths.” Doubt poked at her conscience like a tongue at a rotted tooth. Was there really something so wrong with thinking she could still have a life, still be happy, still be whole without children? A wave of exhaustion washed over her. Every time she spoke to Travis, the same doubts crept into her head. At least once their condo sold she wouldn’t have to deal with him again. She checked her schedule for the following day. She had nothing planned except a possible move depending on what Des arranged. Tomorrow would work for her. And since she’d be back in the city, she could maybe take a chance and try to see Robert Anderson. “Yeah, I can make it. Why are you calling and not my lawyer?” “I was worried you might be difficult.”

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Her, difficult? She’d wanted to sell the condo all along. He’d been the one dragging his feet. He’d been the difficult one. No, she was not going to get into it with him again. “Look, I have to go. I have a lot of work to do.” “That’s right, the ever-present deadline. It’s all I’ve heard about since we met.” She tightened her free hand into a fist, her fingernails digging into her flesh, and turned, ready to hang up. “We’re not married anymore. I don’t have to listen to this shi—” The words died on her lips, her gaze tangling with Des’s silvery eyes. He stood inside the door, his expression shuttered. Heat crept into her face. “You better not have hung up,” Travis said, but she wasn’t listening anymore. “I have to go.” How much had Des overheard. “Yes, that’s right, your precious book. I’m sure your army of deranged fans can hardly wait to read the exploits of whatever psycho you’re writing about now. Nothing ever changes with you—” She hit End, cutting Travis off in the middle of his rant. “Don’t you ever knock?” “Don’t you ever lock the door?” Des moved toward her, those piercing eyes locked with hers. A slow tingle started in her toes and shivered up her body. “It’s sweltering in here. Besides, there’s a hole in the window,” she reminded him, trying to sound as normal as possible. Why was she so damned shaken anyway? So what if he’d heard her arguing with her ex. “The owner’s arranged for someone to replace the glass tomorrow. The cost will come out of your damage deposit, though. Who was that on the phone?”

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Her face burned hotter. She bent and focused her attention on putting her phone away in her purse. “Um…none of your business.” “You asked me if I was sleeping with a married woman the first night we met.” She straightened and grinned. “You didn’t have to tell me.” “True.” He tucked his hands into his pants pockets. “Who were you on the phone with?” She gave up. He’d probably just keep asking. Besides, people got divorced all the time. She shouldn’t be embarrassed to admit her marriage had failed. “My ex. The sale of our condo is closing early, and he needs me to go back and sign the paperwork.” “That’s good news, isn’t it?” She shrugged. “Sure.” “Why did you get divorced?” She folded her arms over her chest and glared. “Are you writing your own book?” “Sorry. I didn’t mean to pry.” The humor lacing his tone belied his words. The warmth of his voice wrapped around her, like a fuzzy blanket, drawing her closer. “I couldn’t have children,” she blurted, and blinked. Had she actually said that out loud? What was she doing? Why would she tell him? She looked up and tried to gauge his reaction. Is that why she’d told him? To test him? To see if she would appear lacking to him as well? He didn’t say anything, just waited for her to continue, his expression unreadable.

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She flopped down on the couch and sighed. Oh well, she’d gone this far. “We tried letting it happen naturally for the first year, then came the tests that showed the problem was me. After that, we tried other methods, each one becoming more invasive than the last. In the end, I wanted to get on with life, and Travis wanted to keep trying. So I got on with life and he found someone else to keep trying with.” “He sounds like an asshole,” Des said, shaking his head and dropping down beside her. “He really left you because you couldn’t have kids?” Her face heated and she looked away. “Technically, I left him. At the time I was physically and emotionally worn out from the stress. I can’t tell you how exhausting it is when the person who is supposed to love you, warts and all, looks at you like you’re ruining his life—and no matter how hard you try, you can’t give him what he wants.” Her voice hitched. Heat tingled in her cheeks. She had to clear her throat before she could go on. “The thing was, we had great careers, a nice home, friends, family. We had a pretty great life. Not what we thought it would be, but hell, whose is?” “Did you tell him that?” “Yeah, and he was furious. He ranted about how I married him knowing he wanted a family…blah, blah, blah. Like I hadn’t heard it all before. For most of our marriage, all I had heard about was what Travis wanted. And I remember looking at him, and all of sudden I was terrified.” Des’s eyes flashed like quicksilver. “Why? Did he try to hurt you?” “No, nothing like that,” she said quickly. “I just realized I didn’t love him anymore, and it scared me. I left three days later. I’d hoped, while I was staying with my parents, maybe we could figure out a way to go back to who we used to be, and I would be able to feel what I did before. But he met Sandy a few weeks

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later.” She forced a little levity into her tone. “That’s my marriage in a nutshell. Pretty boring by today’s standards.” He reached out and tucked her hair behind her ear, his finger brushing sensitive skin. Goose bumps rippled along her flesh, and something pulled tightly low inside her. “He still sounds like an asshole.” Warmth started in her belly and crept into her limbs. God, she wanted him to kiss her. Her lips tingled. “He kind of is. I can’t believe I told you all that.” She struggled to keep her tone normal. Like the sight of him with muted lamplight playing over the smooth angles of his features and his faintly spicy scent teasing her senses didn’t make her body ache. He grinned. “Me either, but I’m glad you did.” She frowned. “Why?” “You know all kinds of stuff about me. Hell, you’ve researched me. I know almost nothing about you. This makes us even.” “That’s not entirely true. I know hardly anything about you personally.” He tilted his head sideways and gave her a doubtful smirk. Her finger itched to trace the grooves of his dimples. Instead, she gripped the edge of the cushion and swallowed hard. “It’s true.” “What do you want to know?” This was it, her moment to ask him anything. He’d opened the door, but she couldn’t bring herself to mention the murders or his family, to break the heated intimacy building between them. “Ever been married? Divorced? Engaged? Long-term relationship down the drain?”

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“No.” His hungry gaze held hers. “I find the unpredictability of my life less than conducive for maintaining a long-term relationship.” “You’re only twenty-eight. Lots of time yet.” His smile broadened. “Wow, that was condescending.” “I didn’t mean to be.” “Yes, you did. Reminding yourself I’m younger keeps the barriers up.” He was probably right. With low, humming energy stretching between them, and the imprint of his touch still warm behind her ear, those barriers seemed more necessary than ever. A little physical space might help too. She stood and crossed to the table, pretending to concentrate on gathering her notes into a neat pile. “I don’t need to remind myself you’re young.” He was next to her in instant, his big hands grasping her hips and turning her to face him. “I’m not that young, Shayne.” There was a terse edge to his voice. Dark thrills shot to her core. She took a step back, but the wall stopped her and he closed the distance until his hard chest nearly brushed hers. His hands cupped both sides of her face, and her pulse fluttered in her throat. “Des—” His mouth covered hers, stealing the words with an almost-punishing kiss. Raw heat flooded her system, scrambling her senses. On instinct, she took his tongue into her mouth, tasting him, devouring him, as he did her. He pressed her back, pinning her against the wall. Mindlessly, she gripped his hips, pulling the jeans-clad erection tight against her and wrapping her leg around the back of his thigh. The wet ache at her center molded to the bulge in his jeans.

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His lips moved lower, over her jaw, down the column of her throat, his teeth scraping deliciously over tender skin. She groaned as his fingers curled around the straps of her tank top and bra, tugging the thin straps over her shoulders. His lips followed the trail of exposed skin, leaving a hot, wet path to her breast. He took the plump mound into his mouth, catching the taut nipple between his teeth and sending trills of pain and pleasure soaring through her system. She gripped his hair while his tongue and teeth played with the sensitive flesh. Her insides tightened and her body trembled on the brink of orgasm. How did he bring her here so quickly? Des, seven years younger than her, who carried more baggage than a bellhop. A source for her book. Reality returned like an autumn wind, slamming a door shut. “Des.” She pushed against his chest, but he ignored her, his mouth still feasting on her breast. Still sending white-hot spirals along her nerves. Summoning what little sanity she had left, she pushed him harder. “We have to stop.” He lifted his head and stared down at her. The dull glow from the lamp cast his features in shadow and golden light, giving him a dangerously predatory appearance. Disappointment settled over her, heavy and smothering. “We have to stop,” she repeated. He shook his head, a slow grin stretching out over his face. “You don’t want to stop.” His hand ran down the length of her leg, still wrapped around him, stopping at her foot pressed against his buttock as if to urge him on. Her face heated. Christ, all she needed was a pair of spurs. She dropped her bare foot to the floor with a thud. “Maybe not, but we should.”

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He shook his head again, lowering his mouth to her neck just beneath her ear. “I don’t think so.” She shivered as his whispered words tickled her throat. “I think we need to finally see this all the way through.” “But—” His teeth caught her earlobe and she gasped. “Forget the book. Forget family bullshit. Just us tonight. You and me.” He sucked the soft flesh then added almost pleadingly, “Just us, just for one night.” “It’s more than the book,” she said, desperately clinging to her rational self. “Oh?” “I’m older than you.” He frowned. “This again? Exactly how old are you?” “Thirty-five.” “Seven years, huh? Somehow I think we can overcome the vast difference in our ages.” His teeth nipped at her collarbone. “Besides, I think the idea of your corrupting me is kind of hot.” Oh God, me too. Her body ached for the feel of him on her, inside her. And her fingers itched to touch the hot smoothness of his skin. Des pulled back a little. His eyes, dark and fathomless, held hers. “Well?” Making love with him would be a mistake, no doubt about it. One shake of her head and it would be over. The hell with it. If she was going to crash and burn, might as well enjoy the ride.

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Chapter Twelve

“Most didn’t believe the union between Robert and Gwen to be a love match. Some claimed Gwen was merely using Robert to get what she wanted.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Des watched the play of emotions flit over Shayne’s face as she considered his question. He held his breath, waiting for the response. Every muscle in his body pulled taut. His cock, impossibly hard, ached inside his jeans. Shayne’s dark gaze held his, but she didn’t speak. Instead, she gripped the edge of her top, pulled it over her head and dropped it to the floor. “Does that answer your question?” He started to speak and couldn’t. All the spit in his mouth had vanished. With his gaze still fixed on Shayne’s smooth, swollen breasts and tight nipples, he cleared his throat and tried again. “Yeah, I think so.” “Good.” Her voice was soft and a little gravelly. “But there is the small matter of protection.” Shit. He hadn’t even considered that. “I’m healthy. When I started at the realty office, I had to have a complete physical. I haven’t been with anyone since.” Actually, Heddi had insisted on the physical before agreeing to let him take on Julia’s debt. She couldn’t have him finding a loophole out of their deal— like dropping dead. “Me too. When Travis and I were trying for a baby, I was tested for everything under the sun.” She shot him a wry smile. “And clearly pregnancy isn’t an issue.”

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“So we’re good?” “Oh, yeah. We’re good.” She took a step toward him, but he put his hands on her hips and stopped her. Confusion clouded her dark eyes. “What?” “I want to see you.” He tugged open the button on her shorts. Drew down the zipper. “All of you.” Her breath hitched as he pushed the denim and flimsy, silk panties over her hips, exposing her tanned body one glorious inch at a time. He gripped her hand and helped her step free of the tangled clothes at her feet. His gaze traveled up her long, shapely legs, flat stomach, pert breasts, smooth shoulders, and, at last, settled on her face, searing the image onto his brain. “My God,” he murmured, hardly aware he was speaking out loud. “You’re incredible.” A faint blush tinged her cheeks and she nipped at her bottom lip. He bent his head to capture it, but her hand on his chest stopped him. “You next,” she said, barely above a whisper. A white-hot charge fissured through his system. Her fingers moved to the buttons of his shirt, unfastening each one with surprising speed and dexterity. “You’re good at this.” He ran his hands along the gentle swell of her hips, over the globes of her bottom, cupping and kneading the flesh. The urge to explore and touch almost as strong as the urge to thrust himself inside her. “I’ve given this moment a lot of thought.” The idea of her fantasizing about him fed his gathering hunger. He wanted to pull her against him, spread her open and drive himself home. Shit, slow down. Show a little finesse. With his shirt open, her slender fingers traveled up his stomach, over his chest. A shudder rippled through him. Her hands slid to his shoulders, then

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pulled his shirt down his arms. He was ready to explode, but somehow managed to hold himself in check, reveling in her caress. When she reached for his fly, he stopped her. “I don’t think so.” “Fair is fair.” “If you do, we won’t be finishing the way I’d hoped.” “Fine,” she muttered, sounding annoyed. But her eyes glowed with greedy excitement while she watched him tug open the zipper and shimmy out of his jeans and underwear. Need swelled inside him. Screw finesse. He wanted her hard. Fast. Now. He grabbed her, crushed her lips to his and pushed his tongue into her mouth. She tasted damned good. Her fingers threaded his hair as she pulled herself tighter against him. The tip of his penis grazed the soft skin of her belly. He couldn’t wait. It had been too long since he’d been with anyone. Too long that he’d wanted her. “It’s got to be fast this time,” he whispered, his voice ragged and desperate even to his own ears. “Yes,” she gasped. “It’ll be better the next time.” “Hurry.” “Open for me.” She nodded, wrapping one long leg around his waist. The blunt end of his cock brushed against the damp folds of her flesh. He gripped the smooth skin of her bottom, lifting her as he thrust deep and hard. Like molten silk, she stretched around him, wet and impossibly tight. A low groan tore free from his throat. She gasped, her fingernails digging into his shoulders, and he went perfectly still. “What is it?” she murmured, wriggling her hips and nearly pushing him over the edge.

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“Am I hurting you?” She leaned back to look into his face and frowned. “Why?” “You’re so damned tight, I thought I might be hurting you.” “Trust me, you’re not. But if you don’t start moving, I might hurt you.” A slow grin curved his mouth. “Wrap your legs around me.” She didn’t hesitate, something he found absolutely amazing. There were no pretenses, no games, just the mutual desire to enjoy each other. He held her pressed against the wall, pumping slowly and deeply like a train gathering speed. His body trembled, tense and straining, torn between the need to ravish and the need to savor. Her gaze, black like onyx in the dim light, stayed fixed on his. He thrust harder, deeper, faster. Her breath hitched and her eyes started to close. “Look at me,” he rasped. “I want to watch you.” Her eyes opened and focused on him. And he drove her on, sinking deep into that tight, wet heat. She whimpered and arched her back. Her hands clutched his hair. “Des.” She contracted around him, gripping him. Her eyes widened and went blank as her orgasm shuddered through her, filling him with raw, primal fury. He pounded his hips against hers, lost in her scent, in her touch. She was soft and perfect and, for this moment, his. He shoved into her a final time, hard and deep. His cock jerked, exploding in a climax that left him shaken to his soul. His knees nearly buckled, but he held onto her, legs braced, elbows against the wall to protect her back. For a long time after, neither spoke. They clung to each other, their ragged breaths mingling with the whisper of the wind in the trees outside.

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“I think my fingernail broke the skin,” Shayne murmured, at last. Her lips brushed his shoulder, so gentle, so tender, his heart stilled in his chest and he held his breath. He could love her. He could fall mindlessly and wildly in love with her. The kind of love that drove otherwise sane men to marry, buy houses in the suburbs, and have children and pets. And in that instant, he wanted to do all those things with her. Except he was lying to her to hold his bloodthirsty family at bay. Scavengers who would never leave him alone. Shame and self-loathing slithered inside him like the snake he was. He moved away from the wall and lowered her to the floor. As he started to pull back, she caught his face with both hands, forcing him to meet her gaze. “What is it?” Her dark eyes, filled with concern, looked through him, inside him. He shut his eyes, terrified by what he might reveal. When he would have turned his head, she held him still. “Just us tonight, right?” she whispered, her voice unusually small. “Just us.” He smoothed the tangled strands of hair away from her face, lowered his mouth and captured hers in a kiss entirely too tender. But he wanted it that way, needed it. When he opened his eyes, she watched him, searching his face. He gave her his stock cocky smile. “Night’s still young.” Shayne lay in Des’s arms, sleepy and deliciously spent, her body tender and well ravished. Oh, it had been a long time since she’d spent a night making love, talking and laughing, and making love again for the hell of it.

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Dawn Brown

After she and Travis had married, they’d never had sex just because they’d been caught up in the moment, just for the sake of touching and enjoying each other. Every time they’d come together, the frantic pressure to create a family had loomed over them. And once the inseminations had started, the sex had pretty much stopped altogether. She’d no longer felt like a woman, but like the vessel, her only purpose to carry Travis’s young. A purpose she couldn’t fulfill. She felt like a woman now, though. A slight smile pulled at her lips. Her skin still tingled with memory of Des’s thorough touch, the wet exploration of his mouth. Good Lord, she couldn’t remember the last time sex had been this good, or feeling so quietly content afterward. Des’s heartbeat slowed beneath her ear. Maybe he’d fallen asleep. She shifted on the bed to get a better look at his face. “No,” he groaned, “I’m sorry. I can’t possibly go again.” Exhausted and well sated, she merely giggled. “Where’s the prowess I thought I’d get with a younger man?” “Four times is plenty of prowess. A personal record, actually.” “Oh, don’t sound so wounded. If we went again, I doubt I’d be able to walk tomorrow.” Des chuckled and pulled her against him. His lips brushed the top of her head. Something pulled tightly in her chest at the tenderness of his kiss, filling her with all kinds of unwelcome flutters. Good sex and love were not the same thing. Bad enough she’d broken her own rule about getting involved with a source, the last thing she needed to do was confuse lust with actual emotion. “Do you have brothers or sisters?” he asked suddenly. She blinked at the sudden shift in conversation. “Two sisters.” “What are they like?”

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She tilted her face to look up at him, but his expression was inscrutable. “Where are you going with this?” “Nowhere…I’m curious about you…is that bad?” His fingers fiddled absently with the ends of her hair. “No, it’s not bad.” Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling there was something more than idle curiosity driving his questions. “I have two sisters. One older and one younger. Maura is the oldest, and she’s nauseatingly perfect. She’s a stay-athome mom who makes Martha Stewart look like a slacker. She and her perfect investment banker husband have two perfect children, a boy and a girl. The only time they are less than perfect is when they spend the day with Auntie Shayne and she fills their little bellies with candy and junk food.” “You’re pure evil.” She grinned. “It’s true, I am.” “What about your other sister?” “Aiden’s perfect too, but not in the sterile way Maura is. She works for a magazine, in the art department. She’s engaged to her college boyfriend, who worships the ground she walks on. The whole thing is sickeningly sweet.” “That leaves you.” “Well, I’d say you know me rather intimately, wouldn’t you?” “You have two perfect sisters, how are you perfect?” “Um, I think we can safely say I’m about as far from perfect as one can get.” “I don’t know about that.” His hand drifted down and cupped her breast. Her nipple tightened immediately. “You seem perfect to me.” “Please, no cheese after great sex.” He chuckled, the sound bringing a smile to her lips. “And I wasn’t fishing for compliments, by the way. I meant in my parents’ eyes, my sisters have it together, while I…don’t.” “How are you less than perfect?”

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“Well, not being able to bear children, followed by my divorce, didn’t help to convince my parents I had my life together. But their real issue is my work. My father thinks I’m an unnatural woman—his words—because of my preoccupation with death, and, well, my mother doesn’t acknowledge what I do. She tells people I’m unemployed. One of her friends keeps emailing me job postings.” Des laughed aloud this time. “Your parents are cracked.” He rolled her beneath him, positioning himself between her legs and caging her head between his arms. “There is nothing unnatural about you.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “And you’re an excellent writer.” “Yeah? How would you know?” “I read one of your books.” Sure you did. “Which one?” “The one about the guy who murdered his friend’s wife, then eventually went after his friend’s daughter, killed her and didn’t get caught until years later.” An odd swelling filled her chest. She reached out and stroked his cheek. “You did read it. When?” “Shortly after I threatened to sue you. I’d heard you were planning to speak to some people in town. I knew you’d be going ahead with your book with or without my family’s cooperation. I figured I better see what kind of writer you were.” She tensed, uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken. “And?” “I liked that you concentrated on the investigation rather than the gore. You’re a good writer. I just didn’t want you writing about my family.” Doubt unfurled low in her belly. In the dark bedroom, she couldn’t read his expression. Did he feel guilty for sleeping with her? Like he was betraying Julia,

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his mother and brother? Shayne didn’t want to be anyone’s regret, but especially not his. “Are you sorry?” she blurted out. “What?” Insecurity swirled inside her. She wasn’t sure she wanted to hear his answer, but after a seven-year marriage to a man who cast her aside like a broken toy, she wouldn’t let herself shy away from difficult questions again. “Are you sorry we had sex?” “My God, no,” he said, incredulous. “Why would you think that?” “I wondered if by being with me you felt like you were betraying your family.” “Don’t ever think that,” Des said, cupping her face with both hands. His mouth found hers and he kissed her, hard and fierce. Still, doubt nagged at her. “I would never use what’s going on between us for my book. Do you trust me?” “More than anyone I’ve ever known.” He kissed her again. This time with a tenderness that stole her breath. “Do you have regrets?” “No,” she told him truthfully. Despite the many reasons why getting involved with him was a bad idea, she liked him, more than she should, given that whatever was happening between them had nowhere to go once she left Dark Water. Still, she had enough to deal with. She’d cross that bridge when she had to. “I want to be careful not to blur the lines between you and me and my work.” A wry smile lifted one corner of his mouth. “You’re not going to like what I’m about to tell you.” Suspicion coiled tightly in her stomach. “Well, don’t keep me in suspense.” “I’ve decided to help you with the book.”

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Had she heard him right? “My book? How exactly would you do that?” “I’ll answer your questions. I know who you should speak to in my family, and I’ll convince them to talk. My only stipulation is you stay away from Julia.” She sat up, gathering the sheet in a ball against her chest to hide her nudity. “You know,” he said, gently tugging at the blankets, “I’ve seen everything up close and personal. You don’t need to cover up.” “I do, actually. This is serious. I don’t understand why you would go against your family to help me.” He sighed and sat up too, not bothering to make any attempt to cover himself. She forced her gaze to remain on his face, refusing to let her attention wander down his hard-sculpted body. “I’m not loyal to anyone in my family—except maybe Ian.” He shrugged. “The truth is, if it were up to me, I’d have nothing to do with any of them.” “Why are you living here, working for the family business?” “Julia embezzled from one of Heddi’s companies. I convinced Heddi not to press charges by agreeing to pay the money back. Since the prospect of having the money returned combined with the opportunity to make my life hell was far more appealing than sending Julia to jail, she agreed.” There really wasn’t anything he wouldn’t do to protect his sister. Yet, where was Julia when he needed her? He’d given up everything to help her, and she didn’t seem to have any problem leaving him here holding the bag. That kind of loyalty was impressive, but it could be dangerous too. “Are you helping me to spite your grandmother?” She didn’t like the sound of that. He leaned closer to her. “I don’t want anything bad to happen to you. I can help you get the answers you need faster and get you out of Dark Water before

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anything else happens. As much as I would hate to see you go, Heddi’s dangerous.” Warmth rolled through her, easing the icy knots in her stomach. “You’re very sweet, but I can take care of myself.” “I know you can, but I’m still going to help. And I want to go with you tomorrow.” Oh no, he couldn’t do that. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “Until, you’re done with your book, I’m going to stick close. You shouldn’t be on your own.” “You don’t have to worry. I won’t even be in Dark Water tomorrow. I’ll be in the city.” “I don’t want you to be by yourself in case Heddi has someone following you.” “I plan to do more than sign paperwork tomorrow. I’m going to try to see your father while I’m there.” Des paled, and he hesitated before speaking, as if carefully choosing his words. “I don’t even know what he looks like. I could pass him on the street and not even know who he is.” “If you’re considering meeting the man, you need to think about what that means. I don’t want you to do anything rash, anything you’re not ready for,” she told him, the memory of his reaction to his father’s voice still clear in her mind. “I don’t know what I’ll do about him. I might wait in the car.” His mouth lifted in a smug grin. “But one thing I do know, there’s no way I’m letting you out of my sight.”

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Chapter Thirteen

“In cases of familicide, often the presence of stepchildren increases the risk of violence.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds “How in the hell did you ever end up married to that guy?” Des asked, slamming the car door behind him. Heat crept into Shayne’s cheeks as she slid the key into the ignition. “It’s a long, involved story that doesn’t put me in the best light.” The truth was, while she’d been sitting across from her ex for the past thirty minutes, she’d been asking herself the same question. God, had he always been that obnoxious, or had today been special? Maybe she shouldn’t have brought Des with her. Not that she hadn’t tried talking him out of coming, for all the good it had done. She looked up as Travis strode purposefully in front of her car toward his silver SUV, Sandy at his side. The seven years they’d been married seemed distant, like a dream, or a movie she’d watched ages ago. He looked the same as he always had—gray suit over his football-player build, short blond hair—and yet like a complete stranger. She glanced at Des next to her. The two men couldn’t be more dissimilar. Des, like the anti-Travis, leaned casually against the passenger seat, body lean, wearing faded jeans and another ugly shirt—this one black with a big, orange buddha on the front. His hair touched his collar, long compared to Travis’s near crew cut.

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She shifted her gaze to Sandy, the woman fair and petite, a slight stretch in her sundress over her small baby bump, the only hint she was pregnant. Perhaps Shayne wasn’t the only one looking for the complete opposite of what she’d had in their marriage. She gripped the gearshift, and glanced behind her, but Des covered her hand with his. She turned and met his gaze. “She’s pregnant,” he said. Her cheeks heated, though she had no idea why his observation embarrassed her. “I told you he’d moved on to try for that family.” “You did, I just didn’t realize you meant he’d actually succeeded.” Please don’t ask me if I’m okay. Instead, he squeezed her hand gently, his eyes dark with concern. “Like I said, he’s an asshole.” Despite his words, the quiet compassion in his tone and expression caught her off guard. A lump thickened in her throat, and she nodded, unable to speak until she coughed lightly. “I’m fine,” she told him, even though he hadn’t asked. She wished her voice didn’t rasp. “I knew about the baby. I’m okay with it.” And that was true. So why the sudden surge of emotion? But she knew why, even if she didn’t want to acknowledge the answer. Des’s concern for her feelings touched her more than she cared to admit. She dropped her gaze to their joined hands, but Des slipped his fingers beneath her chin and tilted her head up. His thumb traced a slight arch back and forth beneath her lower lip. Her heart stilled, and a warm shiver raced through her. He took her mouth with his, in a soft, almost-chaste kiss. The tenderness squeezed her heart.

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Oh no, she couldn’t feel things like this for him. Whatever was between her and Des had no potential for growth, nowhere to go. She pulled back. “We should go.” He frowned, but nodded. “Okay.” She slid her hand from his grip, backed out of the parking space, then steered from the lot onto the busy street. They drove for a while in silence, neither of them willing to bring up their next destination. Not surprising really. During the two-hour drive from Dark Water, Robert Anderson’s name was never mentioned once. And while Des had appeared nonchalant and upbeat most of the time, more than once Shayne had caught him, staring pensively out the window, as he was now, a vertical line creasing the flesh between his brows. “We need to talk about your father,” she said, carefully. “Anderson,” he corrected, without looking away from the rapidly passing office buildings and factories alongside the highway. “Your decision to meet him is entirely up to you, but I need you to understand I’m following up on details for my book.” He turned and looked at her, brows drawn tightly, eyes narrowed. “Like what?” “I have a few questions about some information he gave me.” She hoped Anderson didn’t start with his innocence claims. They’d infuriate Des. “I also want to ask him some questions about your mother’s activities before the murders. Her first husband implied she was involved with someone else right before her death. I’m hoping I can verify if Anderson also believed she was having an affair.” God help Shayne if Heddi discovered the angle she was following, Des thought. Heddi would have Tic on her so fast Shayne’s head would spin. And nothing he said or did would stop the woman.

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All his life, Heddi had held his mother before him like paragon, a virtual saint whose life he’d ended with his mere conception. Maybe she wasn’t perfect after all. An odd weight lifted from his chest, only to slam back down as Shayne exited the highway, turning onto a narrow city street clogged with traffic. Almost there. Des’s stomach churned. Did he really want to go through with this? Meet the man he couldn’t even refer to as his father? He had to. There was no way in hell he was letting Shayne face Anderson alone. She drove to a small complex of run-down garden apartments, pulled into the nearest visitor’s parking and shut down the engine. The wind whistled through unseen cracks around the windows. Outside, fat cumulus clouds swept across the sky, rapidly blotting out the blue. Shayne turned to him. “You don’t have to come if you’re not ready for this.” He wasn’t ready, not by a long shot. He would have been perfectly happy to go through the rest of his life never knowing the man. But he wasn’t about to wait in the car while Shayne chatted up a two-time killer. “I’m going.” Together, they got out of the car and crossed the parking lot to a chipped concrete path that led to the front door. The chilly wind whipped around them. A reminder summer was almost over, fall on its way. With his pulse pounding in his ears, Des pulled open the heavy steel-andsecurity-glass door, moving aside to let Shayne pass. They stepped into a small lobby that served the four apartments in the block—two up and two down. A mix of cooked foods mingled with the pungent stink of cat urine. Des held his breath as Shayne pressed the buzzer for Anderson’s place. This was it. No turning back. He looked to the security door dividing the lobby from the ground floor apartments, and wiped his damp palms on his jeans. No one came.

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She hit the buzzer again. Still no answer. Relief slid over him, draining away the tension in his muscles. Thank God, he wasn’t home. “Son of a bitch,” Shayne muttered. “Why would he make a point of giving me so many ways to contact him if he was going to avoid me?” Shayne sounded distracted, like she was thinking out loud rather than asking his opinion, so Des didn’t bother replying. She moved to the security door and peered through the reinforced glass. “That’s his apartment there, on the left,” she said. “So? He’s not home.” “Maybe. I have an idea.” He didn’t like the sound of that. He followed her outside, but instead of heading to the car, she started around the side of the building. “Where are you going?” he asked, falling into step beside her. “I’m going around back to peek inside through his window to see if he’s there or not.” She couldn’t be serious, but she was. They walked past a patio with rusted bicycles shoved between a brick wall and yellowed, plastic lawn furniture. “What if he is there?” “At least I’ll know if he’s out, or trying to avoid me.” The next patio didn’t have anything atop the uneven stones. The balcony for the apartment above created an overhang, helping protect against the wind, as Shayne made her way to the sliding-glass doors. Heavy drapes had been drawn across the window inside, leaving only a narrow gap to see through. She cupped her hands around her eyes to block out her reflection while she peered in. “Well?” he asked. Don’t let him be home. Don’t let him—

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“I don’t see him,” she said. Good. Something pushed against the back of his leg. “What the hell?” He stumbled sideways, shoving Shayne away from the door and smacking his elbow hard on the door handle. Tingling pain shot from the joint into his fingers, throbbing in time to his thudding heart. A huge, orange tabby gazed up at him with one amber eye, the other socket empty and scarred. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered. He must have looked like a complete idiot. He turned to Shayne. “Are you okay?” “I’m fine.” The corners of her mouth twitched. “Are you okay?” “Yeah, yeah.” He rubbed his elbow and looked down at the cat. “Menace.” The tabby flicked his badly kinked tail, then proceeded to rub back and forth against Des’s legs, purring loudly. The blatant affection seemed odd from such a battle-weary animal. Shayne bent and scratched the top of the cat’s head. “The way my luck’s running, you’ll probably give me fleas.” “I don’t think Bigwig has fleas.” Des jerked around at the sound of the woman’s voice from nowhere. Shayne straightened. The woman stood at the edge of the patio in a faded blue bathrobe. Her hair, the color of wet sand, stuck up on one side of her head as though she’d only just rolled out of bed. Deep lines scored her face around her eyes and mouth, becoming more pronounced with her deepening frown as her dark brown gaze moved from Des to Shayne. “Is this your cat?” Des asked, mostly for something to say. The woman shook her head. “Nope, a stray, but Robert’s been feeding it and taking it in at night.” Des tried to envision the man who’d blown away his

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mother and stepbrother caring for the mangy cat, but couldn’t. “Gave him that stupid name too.” “It’s from Watership Down.” When the woman stared blankly, he added, “The book about the rabbits.” Julia’s favorite book. When he was small, and Heddi, on one her tirades, would terrify him, his sister would read the book to him, her soft voice calming. And when he grew older and their roles reversed, he would read the book to her. God, he could probably recite the thing backwards and forwards. The woman’s pencil-thin brows rose. “He named a cat after a rabbit?” Des shrugged. “He was the biggest rabbit.” “Stupid name for a cat.” The woman reached into the pocket of her bathrobe and pulled out her cigarettes. She slid one from the pack, popped it between her lips and lit the tip with a plastic lighter. “You a friend of Robert’s?” He almost laughed aloud. Not even close, lady. Shayne intervened. “No, I’m a writer and he was helping me with a project. My name is Shayne Reynolds, and this Des An…Des. Are you Mr. Anderson’s neighbor?” “That’s right.” The woman exhaled a slow stream of blue-gray smoke into the chilly air and gave Shayne the once over again. “Tina Masters.” “Have you seen Mr. Anderson lately?” Tina hauled hard on the cigarette, breathed deeply, then exhaled, shaking her head. “Not for a few days, I guess.” “Is he away?” Tina shrugged. “Truck’s still parked in the underground. If he is around, I wish he’d do something about that damned cat. He starts feeding the thing, and now it’s out here meowing all damned night.”

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Des tuned out Tina’s diatribe about the cat. If his truck was there, where the hell was he? He turned to the sliding-glass door, now standing open about two inches. It must have been unlocked, then slid open when he hit his elbow. He gripped the handle and pushed the glass wider. “Hey,” Tina called after him, “what do you think you’re doing?” “Door’s unlocked.” Des shoved back the heavy curtain. Inside, the small apartment was neat and dark, the stale air tinged with a faint, putrid stink. Unease blew through him like a winter’s wind. “Des, you can’t go in there,” Shayne whispered, but she followed him inside anyway. With the door open, Bigwig raced past them into the apartment. He grabbed for the cat, but missed. “Damn it.” “Don’t go any farther,” Shayne said softly, perhaps picking up on that same sense of dread wrapping around him like an icy cloak. “Let’s call the cops and wait outside.” “And tell them what exactly? That we broke into someone’s apartment and it stinks?” That smell could have been anything. Rotten food in the fridge. Garbage that hadn’t been taken out. A backed-up toilet. Shayne started digging through her purse, probably looking for her phone. He moved deeper into the apartment. Vaguely, he noticed the newspaper folded on the coffee table. Books jammed tightly into a cheap faux-wood shelf on the far wall. Anderson’s home. His things. The wind moaned outside, drowned out by Bigwig’s mournful meows. Absently, Des reached for Shayne’s hand, their fingers lacing together. “Something’s wrong,” she said, softly. He tightened his grip on her hand. “I know.” But he couldn’t stop. He had to see for himself.

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They passed the kitchen. The stench was stronger, but didn’t seem to be coming from anything in the room. He pulled Shayne down a short, dark hallway. The only light spilled from the open bedroom door at the end of the hall. Through a foot-wide gap between the door and the frame, he spotted an unmade bed, clothes piled on top of the dresser and a pair of legs stretched over the floor. Bigwig rubbed against one limp, sock-clad foot. “Shit,” Shayne hissed from beside him. She disentangled her fingers from his, and he lifted his hand to push the door open the rest of the way. “Don’t,” Shayne said. He glanced at her, her skin unusually pale in the dim light, her phone pressed to her ear. “Don’t look.” But he had to. He pushed the door and it swung wide. His gaze followed the denim-covered legs, to the plaid shirt over the torso, then to the mangled, bloody pulp where the man’s face should have been.

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Chapter Fourteen

“Further investigation would reveal Robert Anderson was attacked from behind with a hammer, and with shocking savagery.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds You’ve opened one hell of a can of worms, prying into things that are none of your business. Anderson’s words from the last time Shayne had spoken to him replayed again and again in her head, her stomach churning. There were a number of reasons the man could have been murdered. Robbery gone bad, crime of passion—he could have pissed off the wrong person while in prison or since he’d been released—yet she couldn’t shake the feeling his death was somehow connected to her book. She flipped through the stack of articles he’d given her less than a week ago and frowned. If there was some clue here as to why the man was dead, she was missing it. With a sigh, she pressed her fingers to her burning eyes and rubbed. God, she was tired. Exhaustion oozed into her extremities, leaving them heavy. Yet despite her fatigue, her body hummed with restless agitation. Every time she closed her eyes, Robert’s battered image filled her head. She tossed the pile of papers down on the table and glanced at the clock mounted on the wall. Nearly two a.m. and Des still hadn’t returned to the cabin. He’d left half an hour earlier and probably wouldn’t be back. Who could blame him? As bad as her day had been, his had been substantially worse.

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Once the police had arrived at Anderson’s apartment, both she and Des had quickly found themselves labeled “potential suspects.” They’d been taken to the station and questioned in separate interview rooms. Her interview had lasted over three hours, and Des’s a good forty-five minutes longer. His familial tie to Anderson made him a far more likely suspect, apparently. He’d looked wrung out when the police finally let him leave. The whole trip back to Dark Water, he’d been quiet and lost in thought, his usual cocky humor wiped clean. She wished she’d been able to say something to comfort him, to ease the tension in his tight expression, but the words had eluded her. When she’d finally pulled up to the cabin, he’d planted a light kiss on her mouth and muttered he’d be back, but she didn’t expect him anytime soon. He probably needed space. A yawn caught her off guard, nearly swallowing her face. She should go to bed and finally put an end to this hellish day. Instead, she flopped onto the sofa next to Bigwig. The huge cat blinked his one good eye, rolled onto his side, pressed himself against her thigh and purred. She scratched the fur between his ragged ears. “You know, since it was his bright idea to bring you back with us, he probably should have taken you with him when he left.” The cat’s purr grew louder until he hummed like an outboard boat motor. Shayne lifted the remote for the TV and flipped through the stations, looking for something to distract her. Maybe she could zone out and finally fall asleep. The movie The Birds flashed onto the TV screen, and Shayne stopped channel surfing. Alfred Hitchcock probably wasn’t her best choice after finding a man brutally murdered, but it was either that or infomercials. Besides, it wasn’t as if she were watching Psycho.

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After setting the remote back on the table, she snapped off the lamp, then shimmied down so she could rest her head on the arm of the sofa. Bigwig yowled in protest. His ire was short-lived, though. Once she settled in, he curled up at her feet. With only the flickering picture from the television illuminating the dark room, it was easy to lose herself in the movie. She tensed as Tippi Hedren crept down that road away from the school, flocks of birds gathering around her. A heavy clunk sounded from the front door. Shayne’s heart jumped. She sat up, swinging her feet to the floor and nearly sending the cat flying. Who in the hell? For an instant, she imagined Tic, Hudson, even Robert Anderson’s mangled corpse filling the opening. Des stepped into the dark room and relief swept over her like a warm wave. Her body sagged. “You have your own key for this place?” He shook his head, his hair damp. “No, but I’m Mrs. Matheson’s real estate agent. I know where she keeps the spare. I didn’t think you’d still be awake.” “I was too wound up to sleep.” He dropped his duffel bag by the front door and came closer to the couch, glancing at the TV and frowning. Birds swept down and pecked at people running madly on the streets of the seaside town. “And this is helping?” he asked with a chuckle. The humor in his voice eased the tension knotting her insides. He sounded better. Looked better too. The hollow, empty stare was gone, dimples grooved his cheeks. “I wasn’t sure you’d be back,” she told him. His dimples vanished, his brows drawing together. “I said I would. I have to work in the morning, so I picked up some clothes for tomorrow, and I had a shower while I was home.”

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“I thought you might want some time alone,” she told him. “I would have understood.” “I don’t want to be alone.” Slowly, he moved between her and the TV. His voice was low, with a rough edge that hummed over her skin. He crouched on the floor in front of her, pressed his hands to each of her knees. Her breath caught in anticipation. The heat from his palms seeped through her jeans, warming her flesh as he parted her legs and settled between them. “And I don’t want to talk about what happened. I’ve talked about it enough.” Her heart beat faster. Her mouth went dry. Good thing he didn’t want to talk. She couldn’t have formed words if she’d tried. The flickering glow from the TV cast his features in shadow and gray light, his dark eyes intent on her face. She drew a shuddering breath. God, he smelled good. Clean with the faint spice of whatever he used to wash and a distinctly male scent that was all him. She loved his smell. Loved the way it clung to her when she’d been close to him. He slid his hands up the insides of her thighs, stopping at the crease where her legs met her hips. Without tearing his gaze from hers, his thumb grazed her apex. A jolt shot through her. She gasped, her hips jerking, wet heat flooding her core. A predatory smile curled his lips as he popped open the fly on her jeans and gripped the waistband. He tugged down the denim and her underwear together. She lifted her backside off the sofa, eager to help him in his endeavor. After he pulled the jeans off her legs, he tossed them aside, then went for the buttons on her blouse. An invisible energy pulsed beneath her skin, leaving her hungry and needy. She wanted to wrap herself around him, to take him inside her and ease the throb between her legs. She arched up, desperate for his touch, to feel his big

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hands moving over her bare skin. But his fingers fumbled with the tiny fastenings. “This is going to take too long,” he muttered and gripped the edges as if he meant to tear her shirt open. She grabbed his wrists to stop him. “Don’t, it’s my sister’s.” And she didn’t want to replace the blouse or explain why all the buttons had been popped off. “Fine,” he growled, “you do it.” She unfastened the small buttons as quickly as she could. There were far too many of them. His silver eyes hungrily tracked her hands and a warm flush tinged her skin. He looked at her like he wanted to devour her. Her belly pulled tight. Something grazed her cleft. She gasped. Her body jerked, and she dropped her gaze to Des’s hand between her legs. His finger slid between her folds, swept a circle around her clitoris. Tiny bolts of sensation pierced low in her belly. Need tightened almost painfully at her center. She wanted…oh, wanted him. She tilted her hips up to meet his teasing fingers, closed her eyes and leaned back against the couch. The breath she’d been holding escaped on a low moan. “Keep going,” he murmured. He plucked at her nub. His finger slid down, cresting her opening, and back up. Going? Going where? “What?” “Shirt.” He leaned forward, brushed his mouth over hers briefly and pushed his fingers inside her. She gasped, lifting up to meet his probing. “Unless you want me to finish my way.” Shirt. Right. How the hell could she manage buttons with his slowly driving her crazy? She resumed her task, but her trembling fingers made sliding the buttons through the holes far more difficult than it had been.

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“You know,” she managed, her voice dry and reedy, “this would be easier if you weren’t distracting me.” “I like to touch you.” The low timbre of his voice trembled through her. The knotted need in her belly tightened. Well, far be it for her to ask him to stop doing something he liked. At last she came to the final button, pulled open her blouse and let the soft cotton slide down her arms and onto the couch behind her. Des’s light gaze moved over her bared flesh. He rested one hand on her chest beneath her collarbone, his palm big and warm. Her skin tingled where he touched, an invisible energy fissured to the frantic pounding at her core. She watched his hand slide down, inside her bra and cup her aching breast. Shivery heat prickled in the wake of his touch. His thumb circled her hardened nipple. Instinctively, she arched her back, a groan tearing free from her throat. He reached behind her, unhooked her bra and pulled the smooth satin away. He leaned back, peering down at her. “My God, I want you,” he murmured, the words reverent. He hadn’t shed any of his own clothes, yet she was completely naked and spread before him. In that instant, she’d never felt as beautiful as she did with him. Need throbbed in time with her pounding heart. She wanted him to do something. Touch her. Take her. Anything. Without warning, he dropped his head to her breast, sucked the tender nipple between his teeth. He nipped at her pebbled flesh, then soothed with his tongue. Pleasure and pain burst inside her like tiny fireworks. His hand continued to move between her legs, in and out, driving her higher and faster to the edge that would send her careening toward orgasm. “I want to taste you,” he murmured against her skin.

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Before his words had even registered, he eased his hand away, bent his head and his mouth closed over her. His tongue lapped and plunged into her wet heat, his lips sucking her throbbing nub. She shivered and jerked beneath him like a frayed live wire. The onslaught of sensation overwhelmed her, and she came in a frenzied rush, her body arching like a bow. And still his mouth drove her on until she collapsed back against the couch, trembling and weak. Her breath came in quick, shallow gasps, her muscles still quivering with the aftershocks as he lifted his head and shot her an entirely toosmug smile. Oh, she’d wipe that look off his face…as soon as she could move again. He stood, shoved down his jeans and underwear, kicked them aside and pulled his T-shirt over his head. Des naked before her turned Shayne’s mouth dry. His body was amazing. Lean and sculpted, but not bulky. Despite the heaviness in her limbs, she reached out and ran her hands up his hard legs. His short, coarse hairs tickled her palms. She continued over his narrow waist and up his wide expanse of chest. He watched her exploration with hooded eyes. His chest rose and fell with each ragged breath. She trailed her hands back down, over the planes and contours of his stomach, the side of her thumb grazing the tip of his erection jutting from the tuft of brown curls. He sucked in a breath, then groaned low in the back of his throat. “I have to get inside you.” He dropped to his knees, hooked his arms under her legs, spreading her wide and rolling her back against the cushion in a single fluid motion. She gasped. He gripped her hips, lifted her backside up off the sofa. The blunt tip of his penis grazed her entrance. He thrust hard and deep, stretching her, filling her.

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She nearly wept with relief. Their position left her completely open and vulnerable to him. With her legs dangling over his arms, she couldn’t gain leverage. He had complete control. He set the pace, riding her hard and fast. A sliver of panic tangled with her swelling excitement. Desperate to anchor herself, she clutched the back of the couch. Her fingers dug into the rough fabric so hard her knuckles ached. Fresh jitters lit her already oversensitized nerves like tiny bolts of heat lightning. Another orgasm swelled inside her. An expanding bubble, pulling her taut and leaving her ready to shatter. She couldn’t think. Her mind fixed on the waves of sensation sweeping through her and the slap of his body pumping into hers. Her climax slammed into her, exploding, leaving her shattered and trembling in Des’s arms. He drove into her a final time, ground his hips against her, threw his head back and groaned, his body stiffening. As the tension in his straining muscles eased, a shudder rippled through him. He met her gaze. Naked emotion, raw and humbling, shone in the liquid silver of his eyes. She couldn’t look away. Warmth gathered in her chest, expanding, rolling into her languid limbs. Carefully, he eased out of her, lowered her to the couch and slid his arms out from under her knees. Her feet hit the floor with two nearly simultaneous thuds. He leaned in and gathered her close, kissing her softly. Her heart stilled in her chest. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, and when the kiss broke, she pressed her cheek to his damp chest. His heart pounded fast against her ear, while he held her, stroking her hair. The intimacy, the closeness was so intense, a lump formed in her throat.

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“Was that okay?” His whispered words tickled the top of her head. She chuckled, her voice low and raspy. “Are you kidding? That was amazing.” He eased back to look down into her face. He was smiling again, but there was nothing smug about it. “It was kind of intense.” She grinned, reached up and let her finger follow the hooked dimple in his cheek. “Yeah, it was. And I loved it.” “Me too. Let’s go to bed.” Des stood and held out his hand. She took it and he pulled her to her feet. Together, they climbed into her bed. Yet despite the exhaustion weighing her down, she couldn’t drift off. Des’s strong arms wrapped around her, his naked body pressed to hers filled her with a quiet sense of well-being. She’d miss it once she was sleeping alone again. Shayne jerked awake, heart racing, body doused in cool sweat. Where was she? She blinked in the shadowy predawn light, panic ballooning in her chest. Her gaze swept the small room, before falling on the chipped dresser, warped mirror and her suitcase tucked neatly into the far corner. Her bedroom. The cabin. Dark Water. She let out a breath and rolled onto her back. Tension drained from her body, leaving her limbs soft. She’d been dreaming. Something about crows and blood. The confused images were already fading. Only the dread remained. She shouldn’t have watched that Hitchcock movie. Cool morning air studded her bare arms and shoulders with goose bumps. She dragged the thick comforter to her chin, rolled towards Des and frowned. He was gone. She slid her hand to his side of the bed, but the sheets were cool. He’d been gone for a while.

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She sat up and glanced at the clock. Just past six. Unease prickled the back of her neck. She pushed back the blankets, pulled on a pair of pajama pants and a T-shirt, then padded into the living room. The cool morning air teased her bare skin, the wood floor cold against her feet. She shivered and wrapped her arms around her middle. Des was lying stretched out on the sofa, wearing only his jeans and reading a battered paperback. The cat sat curled up on his chest as Des absently scratched the ugly thing between its chewed-up ears. Des didn’t look up as she started toward him. He probably couldn’t hear her over Bigwig’s motor-like purring. “You’re up early,” she said softly. He turned his head away from the book and winced. “Did I wake you?” “No, not at all. I was having some crazy dreams.” His eyes darkened with concern and he set his book on the coffee table, pages open and facedown, giving her a good look at the tattered cover. Watership Down. “Are you okay?” he asked. She turned her attention to Des, who was scooping a meowing Bigwig off his chest. “Me? I’m fine. Where did you find that book?” “It’s mine. I brought it from home.” He dropped the cat to the floor and shifted to make room for her on the couch next to him, then grasped her hand and tugged her forward. “Come here.” She lay down beside him, head pillowed on his shoulder, while his arms wrapped tightly and pulled her flush with his body. She wished she didn’t like the feel of him against her, or lying in his arms, so damned much. “Actually, it’s Julia’s book. Her favorite. She used to read it to me when we were kids and things with Heddi got bad.”

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A sharp pang pierced her chest. Life must have been hell for him, living under that woman’s roof. By all accounts she was a cold and vindictive person, and she’d hated Anderson. What would she have been like to the man’s son? “Did she hurt you?” Shayne asked. Her belly swirled. She almost didn’t want to hear the answer. He snorted and shot her his usual cocky grin, the one he used to imply nothing got under his skin. The one she recognized as a defense. “She didn’t beat me and lock me in closets if that’s what you mean.” Maybe not, but there were other ways to hurt people. The strikes more accurate and damaging than anything a blow from a hand could produce. Had there been anyone for him besides a sister too damaged to protect herself, much less her little brother? The skirt-chasing uncle’s image flashed in her head. The brassy aunt, running after the man. Huge, hulking Hudson who carried out the old woman’s every whim whether legal or not. Shayne’s heart ached for the two lost children falling under the care of such an austere woman with no one to protect them. Anderson hadn’t merely killed their mother and brother, he’d stolen their home, their safety, their childhood. Gently, Des cupped the side of her face with one hand. “You’re worrying.” “Why do you say that?” “You get this line right here.” He traced the skin between her brows with his fingertip. “Whenever you’re thinking too much.” “I’m worried about you,” she admitted. Des pulled back, his mouth lifting into a bemused smile. “Me? Why?” “You had a pretty lousy day yesterday.” “I don’t know.” He leaned forward, brushed his mouth over hers. “It ended on a high note.”

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The mere memory brought a warm flush to her skin. Still, she wouldn’t let him distract her. “Did you sleep at all?” “For a little while, but the cat woke me up when he tried to lie across my face.” She reached for the book on the table, the paperback cover creased and worn. “Were you wondering why Robert would name his cat after a character in your sister’s favorite book?” “It’s a strange coincidence, don’t you think?” Des continued speaking without waiting for a response, the question apparently rhetorical. “She loved this book, must have read it hundreds of times. It makes me sick, the idea of him choosing to name his cat from this book after he tried to kill her…us.” The naked emotion in his quiet words brought a lump to her throat and ignited her anger at the same time. Anderson had dragged Des to hell and back, and he was still managing to do it, even in death. She reached out and smoothed his hair back from his face, the cool strands soft against her fingertips. She wished she had the words to comfort him, to take the shadow from his dark eyes. But none seemed necessary. He leaned forward and kissed her, slowly, sweetly. Her heart stuttered, then swelled. No. Oh no. She could not have that. Shayne pulled back, ready to roll off the couch, but he smiled at her. Not his usual teasing smirk, but a genuine grin that pumped the expansion in her chest until she thought her heart might explode. “I like this. Being here, talking to you like this.” Get up. Move away. Put some distance between you. But she didn’t want to. She’d never had this kind of quiet intimacy with Travis, and she craved the closeness.

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She traced the dimple in his cheek. He caught her hand and brought her finger to his lips. Tiny flutters erupted low in her belly, warmth flooding her limbs. He wrapped his arm around her, pressing her cheek to his chest. The steady thud of his heart beat against her ear. She could stay like this all day. Mistake. Mistake! MISTA— She snuggled into him and his arms tightened. He brushed a soft kiss over the top of her head. “I need to get ready for work, but I don’t want to let you go.” The rumble of Des’s soft voice vibrated against her cheek. She smiled. At least she wasn’t the only one entirely too comfortable. “Me either, but if I don’t get some coffee in my system, I’ll fall back asleep.” She sighed, and rolled off the sofa. With the connection broken an odd mix of relief and disappointment swirled inside her. Switching to idle conversation helped to distract her from the contradiction. “I have an appointment this morning.” “Oh, yeah. With who?” Des asked as he reluctantly hauled himself up off the couch. “A neighbor who had been friendly with your mother.” Shayne climbed the short staircase to the kitchen and started prepping the coffee machine. “Annie Mumner. Do you know her?” “No. But I haven’t exactly been social since Heddi dragged me back here.” Des stretched and yawned. Those sinewy muscles pulled tightly beneath his skin. Damn, he looked sexy standing barefoot in only his battered jeans. She loved running her fingers over his chest and belly, tracing the hard grooves of his flesh, following the defined line that dipped beneath the waist— Oh, for the love of God, get your head out of his pants.

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When she met his gaze, he was grinning, apparently guessing where her thoughts had wandered. Heat stung her cheeks, and she returned her attention to scooping coffee grinds into the basket. “Hey.” She looked over at him, and he nodded at the bathroom, a wicked gleam shone in his eyes. “Want to join me?” “Yes,” she told him, honestly, “but if I do, I’ll be late.” “You have a dirty mind,” he said, in feigned shock. “I was just thinking of conserving water.”

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Chapter Fifteen

“Alienated from her family and unpopular in the community, Gwen Anderson had no one to confide in.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds By the time Des strolled into the realty office, his brain was shaken and twisted as if it had spent the past twenty-four hours in a blender. Why did Anderson’s death bother him anyway? He should be glad the man was dead. Happy to know he would never have to worry about his father seeking either him or Julia out. Hell, maybe Julia’s self-destructive nature would ease up now that the ever-looming threat of Anderson’s coming for her was gone. All good things, yet he couldn’t shake this bizarre sense of loss. And he hated himself for it. How could he feel that way after everything the man had done? Maybe finding Anderson’s body the way he had was feeding his unwanted regret. The image of Anderson’s mutilated corpse was permanently burned into his brain. Who could have hated the man that much…besides himself, of course? His blood turned cold. Heddi. No, it couldn’t have been her. She was too frail, too ill to deal with the man herself. And anyone she might have hired wouldn’t have made such a mess. A professional would have killed him, a clean hit. Whoever had bashed Anderson’s head in either hated the man, or relished the kill. Someone like Tic, maybe? His stomach churned. A distinct possibility.

Dawn Brown

“Des.” Heather’s urgent voice jerked him from his thoughts. He lifted his gaze and met her sober eyes. “Kate’s here. She’s waiting in your office.” Judging by the seriousness in the receptionist’s expression, his cousin was in rare form. Heather lowered her voice, and offered, “I could cover for you, if you want to get out of here.” Wow, not a good sign. His stomach sank like a stone dropped in a lake. “Don’t worry about it, I’ll deal with her.” After all, it wasn’t Heather’s fault he was buried chin-deep in shit. If Kate ever caught the girl lying for him, she’d fire her. He dragged himself down the hall to his office, opened the door and found Kate seated behind his desk, her features drawn in a furious scowl. A strange sense of déja vu washed over him, leaving him hollow inside. God, would he ever get away from these people, or was he destined to play out the same scenes over and over? Heddi couldn’t live forever, but what did it matter with Kate eagerly stepping into his grandmother’s shoes? “What the hell are you playing at, Des?” Kate’s low voice was an odd mix of recrimination and concern. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Get out of my chair. I have work to do.” “You went to see him? Him?!” She added emphasis as if he wasn’t sure who she meant. “How the hell could you possibly know already?” Had Avery seen his name and reported back? Hell, it wasn’t even quite nine o’clock. “You’re a suspect, Des. The police contacted everyone to confirm your alibi. Me, my father, Heddi. What the hell were you doing going to see Anderson?” Of course the police would. “Heddi wants me to spy on Shayne, that’s what I’m doing. I go where she goes. Are you going to get out of my chair?”

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“No.” Her light blue eyes pinned him where he stood. “Heddi wants to know what’s happening with the writer, and after yesterday you’d better have some answers.” He’d be damned before he told Kate or Heddi anything about Shayne. “I’ve been doing this for what? A day? I need more time to gain her trust.” Speaking those words turned his stomach. His one constant in the mess of finding his father dead, his horizon line in a turbulent sea, had been Shayne. He couldn’t remember ever having someone to talk to like he had with her earlier, not without having to fear his own words being used to manipulate him later. “She trusted you enough to take you with her to see Anderson. She trusts you enough to sleep with you.” Christ, were they peeking through windows at them now? Probably not. More likely, Kate was taking a shot in the dark to see how close she could get to the mark. “I told her I wanted to meet Anderson and there wasn’t anything she could do about it. She let me tag along with her.” “Why was she going to see him in the first place?” Kate asked. Des shrugged. A part of him would have loved to blurt out the truth. For Heddi to learn Shayne suspected her precious Gwen was having yet another affair. But he stayed quiet. He wouldn’t do that to Shayne. “Interviewing the perpetrator is part of her process.” “But she’d already interviewed the man. Why did she go back?” “How did you know that?” When Kate merely shot him a pointed stare, he shook his head and continued. “I don’t know why she needed to speak to him, she wouldn’t tell me.” Kate’s eyes narrowed. She leaned back and folded her arms over her chest. Clearly, she wasn’t buying his story. He’d have to throw her something. “Shayne doesn’t tell me anything about my parents. I think she’s trying to protect me.”

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Kate snorted. “Protect you? You can’t be serious. Why?” “Because she’s a good person, and good people consider the feelings of others. I know that may be difficult for you to grasp since your own dealings with good people are sadly infrequent, but I don’t know what else to tell you.” “Oh, please,” Kate sneered, tilted her head and smirked. “Is sleeping with the writer part of your plan? First you work your way into her bed, then into her head?” She bared her teeth a little. “I have to say, Kate, your preoccupation with my sex life is kind of creepy. To help you get past that, I’ll admit I’m staying with Shayne, but only because I haven’t found her somewhere else to live. I don’t trust Tic, and I sure as hell don’t trust Heddi.” Kate rolled her eyes and threw up her hands. “You’ve made no headway with her at all. Heddi will be furious. She’s going to pull out of the deal.” Oh, shit. Panic flared inside him. If Heddi cut him out, Tic would be back in. And where would that leave Shayne? Kate stepped out from behind his desk, smoothed her fitted skirt and jacket. Her lips pulled into a tight line. “Kate, wait. Don’t go to Heddi yet.” “I have to. She’s waiting to hear from me.” She started for the door, but he stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Look, I know Heddi’s anxious because of yesterday, but I haven’t had enough time to gain Shayne’s trust.” “One minute she’s trying to protect you, the next she doesn’t trust you.” Kate folded her arms over her chest and eyed him doubtfully. “Which is it, Des?” “I don’t know. Both probably. I need more time. Stall Heddi a little longer. Give me a day or two.” Long enough to hustle Shayne out of town or tell her the truth. Neither possibility appealed. Either way, she’d be gone.

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“You know what? I think you like this woman.” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “I like her enough to keep Tic away from her, but not enough to spend any longer than I have to in this town.” “Okay,” she nodded slowly, seeming to buy his explanation. Relief eased the knots in his neck. “I’ll do what I can, but I can’t promise you anything. The sooner you give me something to take to Heddi, the better for you.” He moved aside, letting her pass, and went to his desk. He dropped into the chair and asked, “Do you think Heddi could have had Anderson killed?” Kate stopped before the door and turned, her mouth curved in a wry smile. “Um, yes. But do I think she did? I don’t know. She appeared genuinely surprised when she heard. Why did you agree to see him? Was it just because of this deal with Heddi?” Kate’s words were uncharacteristically soft. He jerked a shoulder. “More or less. I was curious about what Anderson would say to me now, after all this time. Did you ever know him?” Kate was a year older than Julia. She might remember something about the man. “I only met him once, about a month before the murders. Heddi had invited him and your mother to dinner. She said it was a peace offering.” Yeah, right. Heddi didn’t do treaties. “I think she really wanted to convince your mother to leave him.” That sounded more like it. “The whole thing backfired. Both he and your mother accused Heddi of trying to ruin his business and terrorizing them in their home, and if she didn’t stop, she’d never see them again.” Des frowned. “What was Heddi doing to them?” “Who knows?” Kate said with a careless shrug. “We’ve both seen what she’s capable of.”

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He nodded slowly. He had seen what Heddi was capable of, experienced it firsthand. If his mother had planned to leave Anderson for another man anyway, why stay and put up with all of Heddi’s crap? Hell, he didn’t have time to think about that now. He had to get Shayne out of Dark Water, fast. Shayne parked at the curb before Annie Mumner’s yellow-brick bungalow. Similar houses lined either side of the narrow street with lush lawns and colorful flower gardens. Big maple trees rose up from the boulevard, their huge branches canopying the road, the dark green leaves of late summer giving way to patches of gold, orange and red. As she opened the car door and grabbed her bag, her phone rang. With a muttered curse, she stopped and dug through her purse. She managed to find her cell before it stopped ringing and glanced at the display. She didn’t recognize the number. Frowning, she pressed the phone to her ear. “Shayne Reynolds.” “Ms. Reynolds, this is Vivian Grey. I was Gwen’s sister-in-law.” Ian’s wife. “Is there something I can do for you, Mrs. Grey?” “I’d like to speak to you about your book.” Interesting. Des had mentioned convincing members of his family to agree to interviews, but Shayne hadn’t believed he’d be this successful so quickly. “Of course, I’d be happy to set up an appointment—” “Now. I need to see you as soon as possible.” Vivian’s words were clipped and short. A woman clearly used to getting what she wanted, when she wanted it. “I’m about go into a meeting right now.” “Fine,” Vivian said, on an impatient sigh, “for lunch then?”

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That didn’t give her much time to prep for the interview. Still, Shayne didn’t want to blow her chance. “Okay, where would you like to meet?” “There’s a cafe in Willow Creek called The Starlight. Do you know it?” Willow Creek was the neighboring town and she didn’t know the place, but she’d find it. “What time?” “Come as soon as you’ve finished where you are. I’ll be waiting. And I’m sure I don’t need to tell you to keep this conversation confidential.” Shayne didn’t like the sound of that. Hopefully, the woman wouldn’t try to keep most of what she told Shayne off the record. “Did Des ask you to call me?” Vivian chuckled softly. “In a manner of speaking. Now remember what I said. No one else can know.”

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Chapter Sixteen

“People said Vivian Grey married for money, and married to Ian Grey she earned every penny.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds “Can I take that?” Shayne offered, nodding to the tray—laden with teapot, cups, milk and sugar—in Annie Mumner’s arms. “Oh, I can manage,” the older woman said. Her stout legs took careful steps as she led Shayne along the side of her house, down a narrow path of pinkish patio stones. “I hope you don’t mind sitting outside, but it’s too lovely to be indoors, and I suspect there aren’t many warm days like this left before the weather turns.” Mrs. Mumner was probably right. The sun shone bright and hot in the cloudless blue sky, but when the breeze picked up, a faint chill tinged the air. They rounded the side of the house and entered the backyard. The path merged into a square, interlocking patio, the bricks the same pinkish hue as the cement pavers they’d been following. A mass of late-blooming rosebushes clung to the wood privacy fence and sprung up in patches across the lawn, their blooms stunning clusters of fuchsia, red, peach and yellow. “Wow, this is beautiful. It’s like The Secret Garden back here.” Mrs. Mumner smiled, her round face lighting up and she set the tray on the glass patio table. “I love roses. You should have seen our house on River Road. We had so much land, and every year I would plant more bushes. I heard the

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man who bought the house ripped most of them out to put in a swimming pool. Breaks my heart.” Shayne lowered herself onto one of the chairs, sinking into the green-andwhite-striped cushion as Mrs. Mumner poured the tea. “You sound as though you miss living there. Why did you move?” Though Shayne had a pretty good idea why. The Mumners had owned the property adjoining Robert and Gwen’s. A lot of people didn’t like to live near the site of a violent crime. “Not because of what happened to Gwen and her son, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Mrs. Mumner said, as if reading her mind. “What do you take in your tea?” “Black’s fine. Do you mind if I record our conversation, Mrs. Mumner?” The older woman shook her head and set a cup before Shayne, then sat opposite her. “Call me Annie, please. We sold the house once the boys had grown and left home. Bill and I aren’t getting any younger, and it was a lot of property to manage on our own. I do miss it, though. I mean this is lovely—” she waved her hand absently at the colorful yard, “—and we’re closer to town, which is convenient, but I do miss the quiet.” The hum of a car engine as it passed somewhere nearby mingled with the distant din of children’s voices. Birds chirped, fluttering about the yard, and the buzz of a heat bug droned nearby. Hardly the maddening crowd. Still, Shayne sympathized. Her little cabin at the edge of the river was like living at the edge of the world, the only person left on the planet. She might have found the place a little too isolated, especially after her welcome from the locals, but with Des there… The memory of his heart’s beating against her ear, his arms wrapped tightly around her while they’d cuddled on the couch, filled her head. Slow warmth built in her chest and seeped into her limbs.

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Oh, for God’s sake, could she not go a few minutes without his popping into her head? She flipped open her notebook and cleared her throat. “Were you and Gwendolyn close while you were neighbors?” “I wouldn’t say close, but I was friendlier than most. Her older boy Christian was good friends with my son Miles. They were inseparable that summer. After the murders, Miles was never the same. He went from a boy building forts in the woods and riding his bike, to a young man overnight.” The ripple effect. In a town this small, a tragedy like Gwendolyn’s touched everyone. “When you say you were friendlier with her than most, did she have a difficult time fitting into the community?” Annie shot her a wry smile. “That’s putting it mildly.” “People didn’t like her? Why was that?” “To be fair, most people in this town didn’t deal with Gwen except if she did some shopping at the local stores or ate at the restaurants. And I never heard a word about her behavior being anything besides perfectly lovely. She had little to do with the businesses here. She ran her mother’s companies in the city, letting the old woman semiretire. But Heddra Grey is a known tyrant. She’s never been well liked. Ian Grey will climb into bed with anything wearing a skirt, and his wife is a nasty woman. When Robert left Natalie for Gwen, people saw a rich woman taking what she wanted.” “You didn’t agree with public opinion?” Annie daintily sipped her tea. “Make no mistake, I don’t agree with adultery, and I think people don’t take their marriage vows seriously enough these days. Couples don’t seem to be willing to work at it anymore.” A warm tingle crept up Shayne’s neck and into her cheeks. “But it was no secret Robert and Natalie only married when she became pregnant, and she had a wild streak. She spent more

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nights at Smitty’s, leaving her boy with Robert or her mother, than she did at home. Robert appeared much more settled with Gwen than he ever did with Natalie.” “How did Robert react to his first wife’s behavior?” A man willing to kill a woman who planned to leave him probably wouldn’t react well to a wife spending her nights at a roadhouse. Annie pursed her lips, her light eyes wary as if she were weighing how much she wanted to tell Shayne. “Most of what I heard was hearsay from Natalie’s mother—and she didn’t much approve of her daughter’s actions. Ellie said they fought something fierce at the beginning, and she always felt a little sorry for Robert. Natalie wasn’t all that interested in being a wife or a mother. She was young when they married.” Natalie Anderson’s mother was in a nursing home not far from town. She’d have to get an appointment with the woman and confirm everything Annie had said if she wanted to use any of it in her book. And she definitely wanted to do that. Robert’s inability to curtail his first wife’s wild nightlife might have been a large factor in Gwen’s murder when she tried to leave him—especially if she’d been involved with another man. “How were Robert and Gwen when you saw them together?” “They seemed happy enough.” Annie lifted her shoulders in a slight shrug. “Gwen and I only became friendly shortly before she was murdered, and I think she only confided in me because she was afraid.” Shayne lifted her gaze from her notepad. “Of Robert?” “Oh, no.” Annie shook her head and waved her hand. “Someone had been vandalizing their house and Robert’s garage, calling the house in the middle of the night and threatening them. Even set fire to their shed. When Gwen told me about everything that had been going on, she was a nervous wreck. She

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suspected her mother was behind it and told me she and Robert wanted to leave town. It was the only way they could think of to get it all to stop.” Gwen and Robert? Shayne frowned. She must have heard the woman wrong. “Gwen wanted to leave with Robert?” Annie shrugged. “That’s what she said. She must have regretted telling me, though. She begged me not to tell a soul. She was afraid her mother would hear about their plans before they could get away. I know everyone, even Robert, claimed she was going to leave him, but she never mentioned it to me.” Why would she? But why would Gwen tell Annie anything? Why make up an elaborate story about leaving town with her husband to a woman who hardly knew her? Was she covering something up? “When you did see Robert and Gwen together, did he ever seem controlling, or did you notice any tension between them?” “Never. But as I said, I didn’t see them together often. My son saw more of them while he and Christian played together.” Maybe Annie’s son could help her with what she needed. “Could you tell me how I could contact him?” Annie shot her an apologetic smile. “I’m not comfortable giving you his number without speaking to him first.” “Of course.” Shayne pulled out a business card and slid it across the glass tabletop. “Here’s my information. If he’s willing to let me interview him, he can contact me.” “I’ll pass your number along.” “I have one more question.” Her mind still tried to make sense of Gwen’s claims she and Robert were going to leaving together. “What was your reaction when you learned about the murders.”

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“Shocked, of course. Horrified, and so very sad.” A faint tremble touched the older woman’s voice. She cleared her throat. “I never would have suspected Robert. When I heard what had happened, I thought for sure Heddra Grey had caught wind of their plans to leave and had arranged the murders. When Robert confessed, I couldn’t believe it. Sometimes I still can’t.” Robert denied killing his wife and stepson. With his death and Annie’s story, she could almost believe him. But why would he confess to a murder he hadn’t committed? Robert Anderson didn’t fit the profile. Shayne nipped at her lip as she pushed open the door to the Starlight Café. For the entire drive over, her interview with Annie had played back in her head, and her thoughts kept coming back to the same thing. Robert Anderson didn’t make sense as the killer. Men who killed their families were controlling, with a nearly fanatical ideal of what their families were supposed to be. When the control slipped, when their expectations weren’t met, they cleaned the slate and started again. No one had described Robert as controlling. Not with his first wife, nor his second. Funny thing was, Heddra Grey fit the profile to a T, except she was a woman. Controlling and manipulative, she would go to almost any extreme to bend her loved ones to her will. How would she have reacted when the daughter she’d spent her life molding no longer did as she was told? A daughter willing to leave town with her family to get away from her. Would that have been enough for Heddra Grey to kill the person she loved most? But Robert confessed. Why would he confess if he hadn’t done it?

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Shayne shoved her questions aside and scanned the restaurant. Indigo walls combined with dull halogen lights made the small space dark and cavernous. Strings of silver stars hanging in the windows filtered out the glare of the noon sun, and Shayne blinked, willing her eyes to adjust to the low light. The air smelled faintly of vinegar and spices. Her stomach rumbled. She hadn’t eaten lunch yet. Maybe once she’d finished with Vivian, she’d grab a bite. She spotted Vivian seated at an iron-and-faux-wood table in the back corner of the restaurant. Today she wore a mauve blouse with a ruffle around her neck and over her ample bosom. Her hair, yellow and brittle like a doll’s, curled under her chin. The color combination made her look like an Easter egg. Vivian’s gaze met Shayne’s and a faint smirk pulled at her smudged lips, a sharp gleam shining in her dark eyes. Unease crept up Shayne’s spine as she started toward the woman. Something was off. Vivian looked entirely too pleased with herself. Shayne sat in the seat opposite her. “Thanks for agreeing to see me.” Vivian’s smile widened. “Oh, no. Thank you.” The sarcasm dripping from the older woman’s voice fed Shayne’s growing discomfort. Something was definitely up. Well, whatever it was, she wasn’t going to let herself be drawn into the woman’s games. She’d come here for an interview, and that’s what she planned to get. She reached into her bag and fished out her notepad and recorder. “Do you mind if I tape our conversation?” “No tape.” Vivian said, her heavily lined eyes narrowed. “No one can know I spoke to you. Well,” she hesitated as if considering something, then smiled, brilliantly and hard. “Except for Des. You’ll want to tell him we spoke.” Invisible, icy fingers tiptoed up her spine. Clearly, the woman had some kind of ax to grind with Des and had no intention of giving Shayne an interview.

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Word must be out within his family he was helping her. Would that cause trouble for him? She hoped not. “I’m afraid I can’t use whatever you won’t tell me on the record. There’s no point in continuing.” “Are you portraying Gwen as some kind of saint because she died?” Vivian’s voice took on a slightly mocking lilt. “Innocent? The victim?” “She and her son were gunned down in her own home. Don’t you think she’s a victim?” Why did she even bother responding to the woman? Meeting her was obviously a waste of time. Shayne pushed away from the table and stood, the metal legs of her chair scraping the tile floor. Vivian’s eyes narrowed, her brows pulling together in a frown. “Where are you going?” “I’m leaving. I came here for information for my book, but if you have nothing I can use…” She shrugged and hauled her bag over her shoulder. “They’re all the same you know, those Greys. They use people up, feed on them like vampires. Everybody thinks poor Gwen, but she was the worst of the lot, the only difference was she bit off more than she could chew when she tried to use Robert.” “And what exactly was she using him for?” “To gain control of the businesses, of course.” Shayne rolled her eyes before she could stop herself. “I was under the impression her mother disowned her when she married.” “But in the end, Heddi promised her everything if she’d come back, and Gwen took her up on the offer. Two days before he killed her, she told Heddi she would leave Robert and come back to Grey Industries. But I guess Robert had other ideas.” Her mouth curled in a feral smile, her eyes bright with grim delight. Another version of Gwen’s actions prior to the murder. Though, this one seemed like pure speculation. Still, if Heddi had been putting Gwen and her

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family through hell, that could explain why Robert would be furious at the idea of Gwen going back to her mother. But why tell Annie they’d both planned to leave? What if Gwen had told her mother she would leave Robert to stop her from terrorizing them? Maybe let her believe she was falling in line so Heddi wouldn’t suspect Gwen of actually taking her family and leaving town. Why did Robert kill her? “Was she involved with anyone? Another man?” “Probably. No one in that family can keep it in their pants. But I guess you know that already.” Why even ask this woman? Vivian was hardly a reliable source. Time to go. “Well, thanks for meeting with me. I appreciate the insight.” “The apple doesn’t fall far from the tree, and Des is a lot more like his mother than he knows. He made a deal with Heddi about you, you know.” Her stomach shriveled and knotted. “What kind of deal?” “He’s using you to get information about your book and passing it on to Heddi so she can shut you down.” No. Not possible. The horrible woman was looking to start something between her and Des. Probably, because his family had heard he’d agreed to help her, and they wanted to put a stop to it. Vivian tilted her head and leaned back in her seat. “Why do you think you haven’t had anymore visits from Heddi’s thugs?” A cold rush swept through Shayne, draining the blood from her face. The woman was right. She hadn’t heard anything from Hudson since her first night, and the men who’d smashed her window hadn’t been back like they’d threatened. Slick fear coated her insides like icy oil. “How did he get you to trust him?” Vivian’s jovial words, stung like wellaimed darts, pricking her aching heart. “Did he fuck you? Tell you everything

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you wanted to hear? That’s how they operate to get what they want, and God knows he’d do almost anything to pay Heddi back what his sister owes. Even crawl into bed with a woman he can’t stand.” Did Des hate her? He certainly hadn’t liked her very much when she’d rented the cabin from him. How could she not have looked deeper into why he’d come around to helping her? She’d been suspicious. Why didn’t she ask questions? Why had she bought into everything he’d told her so quickly? Because she’d wanted to believe in him. “Why are you telling me all this?” Shayne asked, her voice thready. The woman smirked and stood. “That’s not important. And no matter what you might think of me right now, I did you a big favor. These people will destroy you if you give them the chance. Remember that.” Vivian sauntered away, the clack of her heels on the tile floor reverberating in Shayne’s ears as she stood too stunned to move. The memory of Des’s hands on her body, his breath whispering against her skin, filled her head. Her stomach lurched, and she locked her jaw to keep herself from dry heaving. Had it all been an act? Had the very idea of touching her repulsed him? And this morning, when they’d talked about his father, the stupid cat’s name, the closeness—had that been part of his game? One thing was certain. If it was all an act, he deserved a fucking Oscar. Don’t let it be true. Let it all be the ramblings of a miserable, bitter woman. Shayne slid out of her car and started toward the cabin, passing Des’s rusted station wagon as she went. Her stomach churned sickly, and her chest ached. She stopped walking, squeezed her eyes shut and pressed her palm to the throbbing pang. She didn’t want to do this, didn’t want confirmation she’d let this man make a complete fool out of her. But what choice did she have?

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She opened her eyes, squared her shoulders and started forward again. After leaving the Starlight, Shayne had gone to the realty office, ready to let Des have it, but the annoyingly chipper receptionist had told her he was out with a client. A small flicker of relief had ignited inside her, some of the tension easing from her taut muscles. With him busy, she’d have some time to gather her thoughts and think about what she wanted to say. But when she’d turned up the driveway, she’d spotted his car, and her stomach had dropped like a stone off a cliff. Now, she hesitated outside the door, drew a deep breath, and stepped inside. Des was standing in the kitchen, rooting through the cupboards. He glanced over his shoulder at her, then turned back to what he was doing. “Good, you’re back. I was going to make dinner, but there’s not a whole lot to work with. Though to be fair, my culinary talents center around spaghetti and eggs. I make a mean omelet, though.” Her throat shriveled at the sound of his light voice, the normalcy of the moment. She had to swallow past the lump before she could speak. Please, please don’t let it be true. “Do you have an agreement with your grandmother to feed her details about my book so she can stop me from writing it, and she’ll let you off the money you owe?” Des froze, his back to her, head in fridge. Her breath locked in her chest, while she waited for him to respond. Please, please don’t… Slowly, he straightened, then turned to face her. All animation gone from his expression, his skin pale, and his brows drawn tightly over his dark eyes. Oh God, it was true.

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Brilliant pain sliced her chest, stealing her breath. Her knees trembled as if they might give out altogether, but she gripped the edge of the table and steadied herself. For a long moment, she stood staring at the floor, focusing her attention on the stained rug. Blood pounded in her ears, and her face burned. Then, on the heels of the pain, a blessed numbness followed. She lifted her gaze, and met his stunned stare. “Get your things and get out.”

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Chapter Seventeen

“A passing patrol car spotted a young girl at the side of the road, clutching a toddler in her arms. This was the first indication something at 4 River Road was very wrong.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Shayne held Des’s gaze, her words hanging in the air. For a moment, no one moved. The room itself seemed to hold its breath. Des rushed down the short set of stairs toward her, eyes intent, jaw knotted. But she held up her hand and stopped him in his tracks. “I can explain,” he said. She snorted. He might have broken her heart and crushed her dignity, but at least she still had her sense of humor. “Are you kidding? Do you honestly expect me to believe a thing that comes out of your mouth?” “No, I don’t, but I need you to listen to me. You don’t know the whole story.” The words tumbled fast from his mouth, edged with desperation, maybe panic. He probably was panicked. She’d discovered his plans before he’d finished the job. He and his psychotic grandmother hadn’t managed to kill her book yet. At least, she didn’t think they had. The reality was she had no idea how much damage he’d done. “Did you or did you not make that agreement with your grandmother?” He hesitated, then sighed, shoulders sagging. “I did.” A sharp pang pierced her heart. What a fool she’d been to leave herself open, to let him hurt her like this. “I must be the stupidest woman alive. I should have

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known you weren’t on the level. You went from threatening to sue me to offering your help overnight. God, I should have seen right through you.” He took a step toward her, and she stepped back. His features tightened with what looked all too close to pain. “I made the deal with Heddi, but I never told her anything. I just said I would so she’d back off.” Even now she wanted to believe him. Wanted to believe all of this was just some big misunderstanding. And why? Because he was a good lay? Because it would assuage her wounded ego? “My God, you’re good. I have to give you that. You are one hell of an actor. How were you able to stand touching me given the way you feel about me?” “You have no idea what I feel for you,” he ground out, his voice rough. “Or did the thrill of ruining my work and humiliating me get you off?” His eyes flashed. “I would never humiliate you.” Fresh fury welled in her chest. “Really? Because having your aunt drop this particular bombshell was pretty fucking humiliating.” “Vivian told you.” He rolled his eyes and shook his head. “I should have known.” “Well, that makes two of us. Don’t worry, though. She didn’t give me anything I can use for the book.” “I don’t give a shit about the book.” “Wow, I’m surprised you were willing to take one for the team the way you did for something you don’t give a shit about. But putting yourself through this wasn’t about the book. You wanted to pay your sister’s debt.” “Christ it wasn’t like that,” he said, his voice gritty. “Everything that happened between us was real. Everything we did. Everything I said to you.” He reached for her, but she shied away.

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He swallowed hard, and cleared his throat. “Please, please, please Shayne. You have to listen to me. I’ll tell you everything, I was going to anyway, I swear.” “I can’t believe you now.” No matter how badly she wanted to. “I can’t believe anything you say to me.” Her voice hitched on the last word, and she clamped her mouth shut. The anger swirling inside her was slipping away, leaving her tired and weepy. But she’d be damned before she shed a tear in front of him. She grasped the thin shreds of her pride and held on for dear life. “Go, Des. Please.” He reached for her again, and she moved away. “Don’t touch me.” She’d crumble if his skin brushed hers, shatter into a million pieces. “Just looking at you right now makes my skin crawl.” He paled and looked away. Direct hit, but she didn’t feel good about it. After this mess, she couldn’t feel good about anything they’d done together. Every memory, every word and every touch…tainted. “Please go.” “Yeah. Okay.” He nodded slowly, but didn’t look at her. He grabbed his few belongings from the bedroom and bathroom, dumped them into his bag and started for the door, but hesitated with his hand on the knob. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you the truth.” Hell, no one was sorrier than she was. She might have told him, but she didn’t dare trust her voice. Her eyes stung with unshed tears. The back of her nose tingled. If she opened her mouth, the dam in her throat would give way, tearing from her precarious grip what little dignity she had left. Des left and closed the door quietly behind him. From outside, his car roared to life. She stood absolutely still, listening to the sound of the rumbling engine fade as he drove out of her life.

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Once alone, the silence pressed in on her. All the hurt and shame bubbled up. Hot tears flooded her eyes, ran down her cheeks. Her legs gave out, and she crumpled to the floor, wrapping her arms around her middle and sobbing so hard her entire body shook. She cried until she was empty, her insides hollow. When she finally sat up and wiped her wet face, the room had darkened, and Bigwig sat in front of her watching with his one good eye. “Where were you during all the drama, huh?” He let out a mournful meow. “I should have made him take you with him. Keeping you was his idea, and what am I supposed to do with a cat? Besides, you like him better than me, anyway.” As if to make a liar out of her, Bigwig strolled forward and rubbed his scarred face along her knee. “Oh, you probably just want fed.” On a shuddering sigh, she pushed to her feet and made her way to the bathroom. She blew her nose, then splashed water from the sink on her face. When she looked up, a red puffy gaze from her makeup-free face stared back at her from the mirror. God, she looked like she’d aged ten years since this morning. “Never again,” she vowed to herself. And she meant it. A sharp rap next to his ear jerked Des awake. He blinked, then squinted against the glare of hard morning sun spilling through the windshield. As he sat up, the worn vinyl seat creaked with his movements. The muscle along his shoulder pulled tightly and sharp pain shot up the back of his neck from sleeping propped against the window. His head throbbed from not having slept nearly long enough.

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“Good morning?” the impatient, female voice from outside punctured his sleep-fogged brain. He looked up at Shayne standing beside his door, glaring down at him through the window. “Would you like to tell me why you’re sleeping in your car outside my house?” Damn, he’d overslept. He’d really meant to be gone before she awoke. “Protecting you?” “Of course you are,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. With a sigh, he popped open the car door and stepped out. His knee locked the minute he put weight on it—from sitting in the same position for so long— and he stumbled a little before grabbing the edge of the car, steadying himself. Shayne’s arms shot out as if to help him, but dropped back to her sides nearly as quickly. Just looking at you makes my skin crawl. Those words had hit him hard, playing over and over again inside his skull while he’d watched her cabin through the night. He’d screwed up, badly. She’d been furious at him yesterday. Not that he blamed her. He should have told her the truth from the start. Now, she wouldn’t believe anything he said. Still, he had to try. Even if she continued to hate him—his chest squeezed tightly—he had to warn her about Tic, and make her believe the man was dangerous. Do whatever it took to keep her safe. After all, sleeping in his car outside her house wasn’t a long-term solution. Now that she’d found him, she’d probably get a restraining order. “Shayne.” He took a step toward her, but she jerked as if afraid she might spontaneously combust if they made physical contact. He swallowed hard, and did his best to ignore the dull ache in his chest. “I need you to listen to me.” “No, I’m done playing your games. I told you last night to go and I meant it.” She folded her arms over her chest and cocked her head to one side.

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God, she looked good with dark jeans hugging her slender legs and a snug white blouse peeking out from under a fitted leather jacket. Her straight, black hair fell past her shoulders, framing the sweeping angles of her face. Her eyes were red and a little puffy as if she’d been crying, or hadn’t slept. Maybe both. Guilt twisted low in his gut. “Just hear me out, then I’ll go and you’ll never have to see me again.” She snorted and shook her head. “Fine. Good. Go ahead. This should be interesting.” “I didn’t tell Heddi anything about your book, I swear.” She opened her mouth as if to argue, but he cut her off. “And I only agreed to what she wanted so she’d call Tic off. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. I didn’t want him anywhere near you.” She frowned. “Tic. He was one of the men who smashed my window the other night?” He nodded. “You knew, but decided not to mention it to me or to the police?” Christ, with every word out of his mouth he made things worse. “We didn’t actually see him, and one of his nimrod friends would have given him an alibi. He would have gone out of his way to make sure we never spoke to the police again. Believe me, I know from experience. The man is a psycho, and the only way I could think to keep him away from you was to go to the person who had put him on you in the first place.” She nipped the corner of her lip and nodded slowly. “Sabotaging my book was for my own good.” “I didn’t tell Heddi anything about your work. I never planned to. I figured I’d stall her long enough for you to get what you needed and leave town, but it didn’t work.”

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Her mouth pulled into a tight cynical smile. “But your actions weren’t quite as altruistic as you’d have me believe. After all, it’s not like you weren’t getting anything out of the deal. That’s a considerable amount of money your sister stole. It would have taken you years to pay that back, and your grandmother was willing to let you walk away from it provided you gave her what she wanted. Do I have that right?” His stomach coiled into an icy ball. No matter what he said, everything out of his mouth was suspect. “She would have been suspicious if there wasn’t something in it for me.” “Right.” She rolled her eyes. “You have an answer for everything.” “Would you believe me if I couldn’t explain anything?” he snapped. She sighed and shook her head. “No. I want to believe you, but I can’t. I can’t trust anything you say.” She started to move away, but he grabbed her hand to stop her. He wanted to pull her against him, wrap his arms around her and beg her to forgive him. Tell her he was sorry he’d hurt her. Promise he would never lie to her again. If she would just give him another chance… “Tic is dangerous. I’ve seen what he’s capable of. You want to hate me? Fine. You don’t believe me? Okay. But know that Heddi won’t go away. If I’m not on the job anymore, Tic probably is.” Images of that animal in the parking lot filled his head, but instead of the waitress struggling underneath him it was Shayne. Des’s mouth went dry and the blood in his veins turned icy. “Don’t go anywhere alone. If you see him, get as far away as possible.” She didn’t try to pull from his grasp, and her expression softened slightly. A tiny flicker of hope sparked in his chest. “I’ve already taken precautions. I’ve reserved a room at a hotel in Willow Creek for tonight. I can stay there while I finish gathering the rest of what I need.

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Shouldn’t take too long. You won’t need to feel obligated to sleep in my driveway anymore.” She might have been trying to lighten the mood, but the words fell flat. He should have been relieved she was leaving. Instead, the ache in his chest squeezed tighter. He could hardly breathe. “You’re leaving today?” How he managed to form words, never mind string them together in a coherent sentence, he didn’t know. She nodded. “Yeah. I managed to get most of my packing done this morning. I need to ask a favor though.” “Anything.” “Can you take the cat? If I had my own place, I wouldn’t have a problem keeping him, but I don’t think the hotel allows pets.” “Yeah, I’ll take him. Can you wait until I finish work today?” “That’s fine. Whenever you can.” They sounded like a couple in the midst of an amicable break up. Not that he had much experience in the matter. He’d kept most of his relationships superficial. Partly because he had enough people he was responsible for, and partly to avoid moments like this one with Shayne. Crazy. They weren’t a couple. They’d barely been friends. The sex had been incredible, but beyond that there hadn’t been anything else between them. Why did the idea of never seeing her again leave him empty? She backed away. “I should be going. I still have a few things I need to get done in town before I leave.” “Right.” He shoved his hands in his jeans pockets. “Remember what I said about Tic.” “I will.” When she reached her car, she pulled open the driver’s side door.

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“I really am sorry,” he called out. She turned and looked at him, her expression impossible to read. “Thank you.” Shayne pulled up in front of the abandoned Anderson place and dropped her head to the steering wheel, squeezing her eyes shut. Big mistake. Des’s image, those swirling gray eyes filled with regret, the breeze playing with his too-long hair, filled her head, and the lump making her throat ache swelled. She swallowed hard, but the knot remained as if it were permanently lodged there. A good cry would probably release the tension, but she’d cried enough, thank you very much. She needed to keep pushing forward. Get this book done, go home and forget she’d ever met Des. When she’d stepped outside and spotted his car at the edge of the trees, a tiny thrill had ignited in her chest, only to be snuffed out when reality had set in. He was a liar. A user. And she had walked right into his scheme. Still, he’d seemed sincere earlier. And what if she was wrong? What if she trusted him, and he lied to her…again? She sat up and rubbed her eyes. “Stupid, stupid, stupid.” She wouldn’t let herself be sucked in. Maybe he was telling the truth, maybe he wasn’t. She couldn’t say for certain, and that alone should be reason enough for her to stay clear of Des. She got out of the car and reached into the back seat for her camera bag. Anything she needed from town for her book, she wanted to get done today. She still had a few more interviews planned over the next week, but after that she’d be done, and she could head home. Well, to her parents’ home. Still, in a few weeks she’d have her money and she could start over. Fresh.

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Funny, the idea didn’t please her as much as it had before coming to Dark Water. Oh for God’s sake, it was a fling, not true love. That their relationship had blown up the way it had was probably a good thing. What did she think? That they’d get married and live happily ever after? The idea was laughable. But she didn’t feel like laughing. Even if they had tried to make a go of it, where would a serious relationship have gone? Did she want to be related, even through marriage, to the likes of Heddra Grey or any of the other crazies in his family? And speaking of family, he was only twenty-eight. Having a family of his own might not matter to him now, but what about once he was in his thirties and his barren, older wife couldn’t give him one. He’d be out finding a Sandy of his own, and she’d be right back where she started. And why was she even thinking about this? They were done. She gave her head a shake, hoisted her bag over her shoulder and marched to the house. She stopped, snapped a couple of pictures, then started around the side. She didn’t bother with the front door. It had been locked when she’d last visited, and that likely hadn’t changed in a week. The trees and undergrowth were thicker around the side of the building. The canopy of colored leaves overhead filtered the morning sunlight, casting an eerie gloom over the forest. Tangled ferns and vines wrapped around her ankles and she had to kick her way free. The back door had long since fallen from its hinges and lay broken, halfburied beneath piles of dead leaves and pine needles. Drawing a deep breath, she stepped through the dark opening and into the remnants of a kitchen. The dirtencrusted linoleum closest to the door had worn down to mossy wood boards, bubbling and curling farther into the wide room. Shayne gingerly put her weight

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on the floor. The boards creaked a little, but didn’t bow or shift. They seemed solid. Carefully, she moved deeper into the room. Filthy, stained wallpaper, the flowered print barely visible beneath the layers of grime, clung in torn strips to the crumbling plaster walls. Slat and lath peeked out from a huge hole above the stainless steel sink. The few remaining cupboards hung crookedly. Flecks of what little paint remained—probably yellow at one time—dotted their surfaces. The space stunk of mold and rot. Shayne concentrated on breathing through her mouth. This had been the room Julia and Des had made their escape from all those years ago. Likely, through the door she’d come in. A chill danced along her spine as she imagined the terror of living through that night. Get your pictures and go. She snapped another half dozen shots from different angles before leaving the kitchen. There were two doorways from the kitchen into the rest of the house. One opened into the front foyer, the other into a small square hallway with a closed wooden door on the left and an opening into what had probably been the dining room at one time on the right. Shayne opted for the foyer—the room where Robert had allegedly shot his wife and stepson. After shooting a few pictures, she stood by the front door, lowered her camera and frowned. The distance between where she was standing and the kitchen was maybe twenty feet. How had an eight-year-old girl managed not only to escape from the house, but also elude her father in the woods, and with a toddler in her arms? Anderson should have been able to close the distance in seconds. Even if he’d hesitated before going into the kitchen, maybe examining Gwen and Christian to be sure they were dead, he still should have caught her easily outside.

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The walls creaked from the wind outside. She’d worry about that later. For now, she’d get her pictures and get out of there before the whole house collapsed on her head. A narrow staircase rose up opposite the front door, and two openings mirrored each other on either side of the front hall. One doorway opened into what looked like the living room, the other a second entrance to the dining room. She took pictures of each room, then tried the stairs. They groaned a little, but held up. By the time she’d finished taking pictures of the crumbling bedrooms, a sick feeling had settled in the pit of her stomach and sadness weighed down on her like a wet blanket. A heavy sort of despair hung in the air as if the emotions from that night were permanently imprinted on the house’s rotting walls. She could hardly wait to get out of there. But as she stepped from the last stair into the foyer, Shayne stopped her in her tracks. The outline of a pick up truck parked next to her own car was barely visible through the grime-covered window beside to the door. Her heart pounded, hard and fast. Cold dread knotted her stomach. “Hey there, girlie,” a man’s voice called from somewhere in the house, horribly familiar and laced with dark merriment. “Looks like I finally caught you alone.”

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Chapter Eighteen

“Heddra Grey had no idea the endless barrage of scare tactics she’d orchestrated to bully her daughter into submission would act as a trigger, and inevitably would lead to the murder of daughter and grandson.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Des flung open the front door to his uncle’s red brick Victorian. The dark wood banged off the pink wall so hard the stained glass window rattled in its mounting. He hardly noticed as he stormed through the house looking for his aunt. Spiteful bitch. If anything happened to Shayne… He found her sitting at the table in the kitchen, wrapped in a faded pink bathrobe, her dry hair sticking out like dirty straw. She stared wide-eyed, and the coffee cup in her hand shook. Was she afraid? She should be. For the first time in his life, he could connect with whatever impulse had driven his father that fateful night. Christ, maybe Heddi was right. Maybe he was just like the man, after all. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” he snarled. “Get out of here,” Vivian snapped. She stood and clunked the table with the cup. Coffee splashed over the rim and pooled on the glass. “I’ll call the police. I don’t care who you are. I’ll have you arrested.” Her eyes darted around the room as if searching for a way out. Unfortunately for her, he blocked the only exit. “Why would you tell Shayne about my deal with Heddi? You of all people should know what Heddi’s capable of.”

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She set her hand on her hips and cocked her head. “You should have told me where Ian was, instead of protecting him and humiliating me.” “You did this to get back at me?” he asked, furious and stunned all at once. “I know he’s seeing someone.” Vivian’s words spewed fast and angry. “He meets her secretly. He has for months, and it’s always the same woman. I know because I always see the same phone numbers in his phone. I haven’t done the things I have for him, put up with what I have, to be cast aside now. I won’t be left with nothing.” “I don’t know who Ian’s seeing,” Des exploded. He could still barely wrap his head around the idea Heddi might do God only knows what to Shayne all because of some petty revenge scheme. “What do you think Heddi will do to you once she learns you interfered with her plan? You didn’t think about that, did you?” Her face paled, and yesterday’s smudged makeup stood out darker around her eyes. “She won’t care. I heard her talking to Kate. They didn’t think you were holding up your end of the bargain. Heddi was going to pull out of the deal anyway.” His anger deflated like an old balloon, cold fear creeping in to take its place. If his aunt was telling the truth, there was a very good chance Heddi had already spoken to Tic and Shayne was already back on his radar. “When did you hear Heddi and Kate talking?” Vivian blinked as if confused. Maybe by the sudden shift from angry to urgent in his tone. “Yesterday morning,” she said hesitantly. Before or after Kate promised to buy him more time? “Mother, get dressed. I need to speak to Des,” Kate said from behind him. How long had she been listening? Probably from the start.

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Vivian scurried past, giving him a wide berth like a dog she didn’t trust. He turned his attention to his cousin. “You never planned to give me more time?” Kate blew out a soft sigh and strolled across the kitchen to the coffeemaker. Her high heels clicked on the slate tile. “I didn’t have a choice.” “Bull. Shit. You could have told me.” “I know your chance to get out of paying the money back has been ruined,” she said with her back to him as she poured a cup of coffee. She turned and leaned against the counter, mug in hand. “Maybe we can come up with some other way of getting Heddi to write off the debt. Coffee?” “The money? Do you actually think I care about the money?” he asked, fighting to keep his voice low. “What if something happens to her? What if Tic kills her?” Kate’s face pinched in disbelief. “You’re angry because of her? The writer? You have to be joking. She was using you, Des.” “No, Kate, I was using her, because that’s what Greys do. We’re parasitic. We latch onto a host and feed until we get what we want, then we move on without a thought to the damage we leave behind.” “I am sick of your crap.” Kate banged the cup on the counter “This tragic, put-upon act you’ve got going makes me sick. Poor Des, having to act against his better nature. Like you’re somehow morally superior to the rest of us. Do you think you’re the only one? Do you think I like what I’ve had to do for this family? Grow up. We all make our choices, and you made yours. There’s no point in bitching about it now.” She folded her arms over her chest, one corner of her mouth lifted in a smug smirk as if daring him to disagree. Despite the black hate bubbling inside him like hot tar, he almost laughed. He agreed with her, wholeheartedly.

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“You’re absolutely right, Kate,” he said, his voice soft with a pleasant sort of menace. “I have done things I’m not proud of. But I’ve made a decision that makes me very happy, and I want you to repeat it word for word to Heddi. You’re good at that, aren’t you?” Kate’s smirk remained fixed in place, but her brows rose. “You tell her if anything happens to Shayne, if she so much as chips a goddamned nail, I’ll tell anybody who will listen Heddi was involved.” Kate’s smile dimmed and her eyes narrowed again. “No one would believe you, and you couldn’t prove a thing.” “True. Still, I’d go to the police, and every newspaper I can think of. Even without proof, her grandson’s claim that the two of you have been involved in such nasty dealings would probably make for an interesting story. Hell, and while I’m at it, maybe I’ll spill every sordid family secret I know.” Kate’s smarmy expression vanished, now she looked…concerned. Dark delight burst inside him like the sun’s rays burning through black clouds. “You wouldn’t—” she started. “Yeah. I would. I like Shayne. I don’t like any of you.” “You’d better be careful, Des. I promise you, Heddi doesn’t take threats lightly, and neither do I.” She nipped her lip, her eyes unusually bright. Oh, the wheels were turning, that was for sure. And he’d probably just painted a huge target on his back. So be it. As long as he’d taken the target off Shayne. Oh, shit. Tic. Fear burst inside Shayne. Her knees almost buckled and she grabbed the wobbly newel post to stop herself from crumpling to the floor. Without thinking, she gripped the knob for the front door. Locked. Her damp palm slid over dust-coated brass and tried the smaller knob for the bolt.

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Her sweat-slicked fingers slipped on the smooth metal. She rubbed her hand on her jeans and tried again, but the bolt wouldn’t turn. Behind her, the floor creaked and heavy footfalls thudded her way. She gave up on the door and ducked into the dining room. Maybe she could double back on Tic and slip out the door in the kitchen. She tiptoed as quickly and quietly as she could to the small hall off the kitchen, but came to an abrupt halt. Her heart lodged in her throat. A tall, skinny man stood with his back to the room, facing the foyer where Tic had gone. “Do you see her?” he asked. “Not yet,” Tic replied. He sounded like he was near the front hall. “But she’s here all right. I can smell her.” A sick shudder rippled through her. She had to get out of there. Should she try for the back door? Make a run for it? If she was quiet, she might be able to slip past Tic’s friend. As if sensing her train of thought, the man glanced back over his shoulder. Shayne’s breath caught, and she jerked sideways, out of sight. Sharp pain blossomed in her hip. She bit her lip to keep the yelp from escaping, and glanced down at the brass knob digging into her side. What was behind door number one? A pantry? Closet? Somewhere to hide? “Come out, come out, wherever you are.” Tic’s voice boomed, filled with mirthful menace. His heavy footfalls grew louder. Shit, he was in the dining room, headed her way. The blood in her head rushed to her toes. She grabbed the cold brass knob, turned and pushed the door open. The hinges creaked softly, and she winced, holding her breath waiting for both men to pounce. Neither spoke, and Tic’s pace didn’t increase. Maybe they hadn’t heard.

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She glanced into the darkened opening. A rickety set of wood stairs led to a shadowy cellar. Crap. Would they even support her weight, or crumble into dust the moment she took her first step? She didn’t have time to debate. Gritting her teeth, she stepped onto the first stair. The wood creaked, but held, and she pulled the door closed behind her. Breath lodged in her lungs, she pressed her ear to the rough wood. Tic’s footsteps stopped outside the door. Her heart ceased to beat. “Maybe she saw the truck and took off before we came in.” The skinny man’s voice through the thick wood sounded muffled. “I’m going to check upstairs. You watch the door.” The dark humor had vanished from Tic’s voice, leaving his tone icy and, if possible, more menacing. She tried to swallow, but her mouth was too dry. She had to get the hell away from this nut job, before she wound up a victim in someone else’s book. She eased down the stairs. Drapes of cobwebs brushed against her head and cheek. She shuddered and raked her fingers through her hair, imagining eightlegged critters creeping along her scalp. Once on the hard-packed dirt floor in the basement, she reached into her bag for her cell phone to call the police. “No Service” flashed across the screen. Her stomach sank. The stone walls were probably blocking the reception. She’d have to find a way out or a weapon. Faint, watery sunlight seeped through tiny gaps in the tangled foliage pressed against dirty, narrow windows mounted high in stone walls. Were the windows wide enough to pull herself through? Maybe. She crossed the room, dropped her bag and camera to the ground, then gripped the ledge. Something small with many legs scurried out from under her

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fingertips. She let out a high squeak, pressed her lips together and tensed. She stood frozen, straining for any sound or indication the men above had heard her. Nothing. She let out the breath she’d been holding and hauled herself up, pushing against the stone wall with the toe of her sneakers for leverage. The rubber soles slipped on the gritty surface, but she managed to prop an elbow on the ledge and push against the dried wood window frame with her free hand. It wouldn’t budge. “Son of a bitch,” she muttered through gritted teeth. The house was rotted and crumbling, but the damn window frame was as secure as ever. She let go of the ledge and dropped to the ground. She’d have to break the glass. But what if they heard and grabbed her before she could pull herself through? Maybe she should try one of the other windows first. The doorknob at the top of the stairs rattled. The hinges creaked. A wave of panic crashed inside her. She grabbed her camera and bag, and darted to the far side of the basement, behind the stairs. She needed a weapon something to fight back with. She scanned the area, but there was nothing… Her gaze fell on a two-foot gap between the wood rafters and stone wall. A way out? She squinted to see better in the dim light. An old cistern. About five feet long, three feet wide and who knew how deep. Maybe not a way out, but a place she could hide. Used to store water before indoor plumbing, Shayne had no idea if the cistern had been closed off or was still functioning. She tossed her bag and camera over the wall. They landed with a thud. Didn’t sound like there was water in there. That was good, though who knew what else she’d find? Bugs? Wild animals?

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Well, she liked her odds with insects or a rabid raccoon better than facing off against Tic. She grabbed the edge, not quite as high as she was tall, and pulled herself up. Inside, a thick layer of spider webs covered the bottom like a carpet. Oh God. She hesitated, heebie-jeebies scuttling over her back like the arachnids were already crawling along skin. “I think she ran,” the man from the kitchen’s voice rose over heavy footsteps coming down the stairs. “Shut-up, Norton. She’s here,” Tic growled. The hell with it. She swung her legs up and over. Jagged stone at the top of the wall scraped her belly. Stinging lines flared to life over her skin. She bit her lip against the pain, let herself go from the ledge and dropped into the cistern. Her feet landed in a pile of brittle sticks, and she lost her footing. She tipped back, landed hard on her backside, and locked stares with the black, empty eye sockets of a human skull.

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Chapter Nineteen

“While some fathers who kill do so as an attempt to clean the slate and start anew, others murder out of an overdeveloped sense of ownership of their families. This was believed to be the motive behind Gwendolyn Grey Anderson’s murder.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Oh God, she was sitting on a dead person. Shayne slapped both hands over her mouth to hold back the scream building in her throat. Something sharp jabbed the back of her thigh. Probably another bone. A shudder gripped her, but she held herself rigidly against it. “I’m telling you, she saw the truck and ran,” Norton’s nasal voice carried down the stairs, and Tic grunted. A thud came from the far side of the room, near the windows. She should have broken one. They might have believed she’d escaped and gone off to look for her. If Tic checked this cistern, she was done. There was nowhere left for her to hide. She could whack him upside the head with that skull, or leg bone, or something. Of course, she’d have to touch the skeleton more than she already had. Her stomach lurched, and she swallowed down hot bile. She would do what she had to. With her lips pressed tightly closed, she eased a hand toward the tattered, dirty rags covering the bones. Even her slight movement made a dry scraping sound. She froze and held her breath, straining her ears to listen for Tic. Judging by the heavy thud of his boots scuffing on the dirt floor, he was still checking out the windows on the far wall. With any luck, he wouldn’t notice the

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cistern in the low light. She hadn’t until she was standing right next to it. But if Tic was the one who put her new roommate in there in the first place, he already knew it was here. “Is she there?” Norton asked. “No,” Tic ground out, “and don’t sound so fucking happy with yourself. We don’t do the job, we don’t get paid.” And what precisely was the job? To give her a good scare? Or to leave her here and rotting in this abandoned house? Icy sweat beaded her skin. Her pulse pounded in her ears. “Maybe we can still find her. Her car’s here. She couldn’t have gone far.” “Far enough.” Tic stomped up the stairs, the old wood groaning in protest. The door slammed closed and murmured voices mingled with footsteps overhead, the words unintelligible. Dust and God knew what else fell from the rafters. She stood, ran her hands through her hair to shake any creepy-crawlies free, but she didn’t leave the cistern. Not even when the voices and movements ceased above. They could be trying to trick her from her hiding place, letting her believe they’d given up, when they were waiting to pounce the moment she went upstairs. But how long could she stay where she was? Her gaze shifted to the grinning skull. Those black empty sockets stared back at her. Long enough. Carefully, she gathered her bag and camera then made her way to the edge of the cistern, wincing anytime something crunched beneath the rubber soles of her sneakers. She hauled herself up onto the wall, sucking in her stinging belly so she wouldn’t drag the tender flesh over the rough stone again. As she swung her legs over, she caught sight of a second skull. She’d been in there with at least two human skeletons.

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God, she’d never wanted a shower so badly in all her life. Bag hoisted over her shoulder, Shayne started up the stairs. She cringed every time the wood creaked and groaned under her feet. At the top, she drew a deep breath, held it and pushed open the door. The soft squeak of the hinges scraped her frayed nerves like knuckles on a cheese grater. She tensed, ready to bolt, ears strained, listening for any hint of movement. Nothing. They were gone. Relief trickled over her, softening her limbs. Her knees gave out and she crouched to the floor, waiting for the wobbly feeling to leave her legs, the lightheadedness to pass. Muffled laughter and the tinkle of smashed glass cut through the quiet. Shayne jumped, her breath lodging in her throat. They were outside now. She fumbled her cell phone out of her purse and looked down at the screen. Good, she had service again. She dialed 911, but held her thumb over the Send button as another explosion of breaking glass cut through the quiet. Her car. “Son of a bitch,” she hissed. Hot fury mingled with the fear coursing through her veins, and she tiptoed to the front hall, keeping her thumb over the Send button. Peering through the dirty window, Tic shredded the canvas roof on her convertible while his friend bashed in the windows with a huge rock. With every popping explosion of glass, their laughter grew louder, and her anger hotter. Bastards. Des had said something about Tic’s inventing alibis, leaving the police unable to tie him to his crimes. She lifted her camera. Well, let’s see how the jerk did when she had photographic proof. Through the glass, she snapped pictures of the men, and even a few of their truck, then made her way to the kitchen and the back door. She didn’t leave the house, though. Tic and his pal had searched

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from top to bottom and hadn’t found her—as long as she stayed quiet, they would have no reason to look for her inside again. Besides, they were obviously too engrossed in trashing her car to be listening for her. Shayne lifted her phone and hit Send. Shayne spent what felt like a lifetime answering questions for the police both at the abandoned house, and at the police station. By the time she’d finished, it was nearly eleven. Having found three bodies in a single week certainly had law enforcement curious about her. Still, the photos of Tic and his pal trashing her car, and the damage said car had sustained, had gone a long way to corroborating her story. The distant wail of police sirens had sent both men scrambling back to their truck. The shiny, black convertible she loved had been left gouged, ripped and smashed. One of those pigs had actually urinated in the backseat. The only upside was that her photos should be enough to have them arrested no matter who backed their phony alibis. As she made her way out to the police station’s lobby, exhaustion weighed heavily on her limbs. Her every step was like trudging through water. A dull throb gripped her head and the back of her neck. Even her eyes hurt. She wanted to crawl into bed. But she couldn’t. First, she had to head back to the cabin, load up all her things, then go to the hotel in Willow Creek—and that was twenty minutes away. And to make the entire situation all the more complicated, she had to do all this with a taxi. God only knows when she’d get her car back. At least she wouldn’t be returning to the cabin alone.

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The image of Tic waiting for her in the dark sent an icy shiver slithering down her spine. She clenched her teeth to keep them from chattering. Maybe she’d go directly to the hotel and pick up her things in the morning. She stepped into the lobby, and her breath caught. A tiny flicker of forbidden relief burst to life in her chest. Des stood from the molded plastic bench and started toward her. “Hey.” The smooth timbre of his voice was like a soft blanket she wanted to wrap up in. She cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ear. “What are you doing here?” “Avery called me.” He stopped in front of her, and the urge to throw herself into his arms—to press against his warm, solid chest and feel his strength— nearly overwhelmed her. Instead, she folded her arms across her chest. “And I know nothing’s changed, but I’m not leaving you alone while Tic’s out there.” She was too damned tired to argue. “My car’s trashed.” “I guess you need a ride, anyway.” She nodded, and together they left the station. Outside, the cool night air wrapped around her. Goose bumps prickled her skin. Her teeth started to chatter, and she had to clench her jaw to make them stop. “You’re cold,” Des said. “Yeah.” Ice seeped into her soul. “Aren’t you?” He should have been. He was only wearing short sleeves. “I’m fine.” When they reached his car, he opened the passenger’s door. The rusted hinges groaned, the sound cutting through the otherwise silent night and setting her teeth on edge. Des reached into the backseat, pulled out his battered black jacket and held it out to her. “Are you sure you won’t need it?” she asked.

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He nodded, and she took the coat from him. She slipped her arms through the sleeves, the worn leather creaking with her movements. The weight hung heavily and oddly comforting on her frame. His scent, spicy and male, wrapped around her with nearly the same soothing warmth as the jacket itself. “Thanks.” As Des walked around to the other side of the car, Shayne slid into the passenger’s seat and pulled the door closed behind her with a thunk. Des sat next to her, started the car and pulled out of the parking lot. “Would you mind taking me to the hotel? I’ll get my stuff from the cabin tomorrow.” When it was daylight. Though, Tic had cornered her alone in broad daylight earlier. Maybe she should ask Des to go with her when she went back for her things, but she hated to ask him. Even accepting a ride to the hotel was an imposition given the shift in their relationship. Still, who else would she ask? She wasn’t exactly friendly with anyone in town. What if Tic had been to the cabin and had trashed her belongings the same way he had her car? Cold knots tightened in her belly. And what about Bigwig? The poor cat had been on his own since she’d left this morning. “Did you pick up the cat?” If he hadn’t, they’d have to return to the cabin tonight. Dread curdled her insides. “Yeah, I took him back to my place,” Des said, without looking away from the dark street. “Okay, good.” Tension eased from taut muscles and she sank into the seat. She frowned as Des turned onto a side street instead of staying on the road that would take them out of town. “You’re not driving me to the hotel, are you?” “No, I’m not.” “Where are you taking me?” One corner of his mouth pulled into a wry half-smirk. “My place.”

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Bad idea. No matter how badly she didn’t want to be on her own tonight, staying with him would be a mistake. Exhausted and emotionally wrung out, her resolve where he was concerned was already slipping. “Des—” “Don’t argue with me on this, Shayne, please.” His voice sounded gravelly, like the inside of his throat had been scraped with sandpaper. “Knowing he had you alone, that he could have…” His Adam’s apple bobbed up and down. “Did he hurt you?” “No,” she told him, and rested her hand on his forearm before she could stop herself. Des didn’t move. His grip on the steering wheel so tight his knuckles whitened. “He didn’t even find me. That’s why he and his pal wrecked my car while I hid.” He looked her way once more, his gaze measuring, as if he wasn’t sure he believed her, then turned back to the road. “Why did the police keep you so long?” She let her hand fall back to her lap, leaned back against the seat and closed her heavy eyes. “While I was hiding, I found two skeletons.” “People skeletons?” She cracked an eye and peeked at him. The low light from the dash illuminated the revulsion tightening his features. She nodded. “Who…” he hesitated as if searching for the right words, “…were they?” “I don’t know. They weren’t exactly wearing nametags.” “Where were you hiding?” “The cistern in the basement of the house where your parents used to live.” “You went out to an abandoned house in the middle of nowhere after I explained the situation with Tic?” Despite the exhaustion pressing heavier and heavier into her limbs, irritation prickled the hair at the back of her neck and she sat up, turning her full attention

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to him. She’d have to be deaf to miss the recrimination in his tone. To be fair, visiting the house on her own when she’d already run into the man there probably wasn’t one of her brightest moments. She’d figured she’d get her pictures and get out. If Tic was going to come after her, she’d assumed he’d show up at the cabin in the middle of the night. Still, she wasn’t about to offer up excuses to Des as if he were her father and she some wayward child. “I’m not up for a lecture, thank you,” she ground out. “And maybe if you had told me the truth about Tic before your aunt took the liberty of telling me about your deal with your grandmother, I wouldn’t have been suspicious of everything you said to me.” Des kept his attention fixed on the road, his features immobile. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” “No,” she said on an exasperated sigh, “I’m just trying to deflect the blame because I feel stupid. It’s not your fault.” “I should have told you how dangerous he was, though. Christ, I’ve seen firsthand what he was capable of.” The sharp edge to his low voice, jagged like shredded tin, tightened the knots in her belly. Even though she probably didn’t want to know, she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “What did you see?” He told her about finding Tic attacking one of the waitresses at the bar. About how the poor woman had been so terrified, she’d refused to name him to police and had left town. And while he spoke, Shayne’s insides shriveled into a tight, icy ball. “The night I picked you up at the side of the road. It was Tic who beat you up.”

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“Yeah.” A humorless smirk curled his mouth, then dissolved. “The whole time I was waiting in the police station, I kept picturing him with you, hurting you…” Her acid stomach burned anew, and she pulled Des’s jacket tighter around her. “I’m fine. He couldn’t find me.” But who was she trying to comfort with those words? Des or herself? “This time.” He turned into a gravel drive behind a red brick Victorian twostory. The headlights cast a wide white glow over a small barn-shaped building the same red brick as the house in front of them, a wooden garage door on one side, and a wide picture window on the other. Des cut the engine, and the lights vanished, plunging them into darkness. A tiny shiver crept along her spine, and she peered into the darkness, half expecting Tic to emerge from the shadows. Des popped open his door. The clunk combined with the sudden glow from the dome light overhead made her jump. “You okay?” he asked, straight brows drawn together in a frown. Heat stole into her face. God, she was a jittery mess. “Yeah,” she lied, reaching for her own door. “I’m fine.” At least she would be once she pulled herself together. First, a shower to scrub away the grime and cobwebs and remnants of the skeleton, then a decent night’s sleep. When she awoke, she’d be back to her old self. She slid out of the car, shoved the heavy door closed and turned to the old house. A light glowed from one of the second-floor windows, and an elderly woman peered down at them. “You live here?” Shayne asked.

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“The apartment in the garage.” He nodded at the building they’d parked in front of. “Who’s that woman?” “My landlady, Rose.” He waved, and the woman pulled back from the window. “She’s probably hurrying off to call Heddi to let her know you’re here.” “Rose knows who I am?” He shook his head and started for the door around the side of the garage. “No, she’ll tell Heddi I have woman with me, and Heddi will put two and two together.” Des unlocked the door, pushed it open, and flipped on the lights before moving aside to allow Shayne to enter. She stepped into the small square hallway. To her right, a flight of narrow, steep stairs led up, to her left, a small tidy kitchen with her boxes piled on and around the old chrome-and-Formica table. “I dropped them off before heading back out to the police station,” Des said, closing the door behind them. “I didn’t want to miss you. I’ll move them upstairs later.” She swallowed the inexplicable lump in her throat. She was touched he’d thought to bring her things from the cabin so she wouldn’t have to deal with it all herself. Maybe he went through everything, read all your notes and reported back to his grandmother while you were busy explaining to the police how you wound up discovering two more dead bodies. She cleared her throat. “Thanks. I appreciate it, but when I move into the hotel tomorrow, it’ll be easier to load them if you leave everything here.”

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“Listen.” Des took her hand in his, his grip warm and strong. She had to battle the urge to entwine their fingers and cling to his touch. “I know you hate me—” “I don’t hate you.” She almost wished she did. It would make being near him easier. She wouldn’t be craving the feel of his arms around her, or wishing she could crawl into bed and wrap herself in his warm body. “Okay, but you don’t trust me.” True, she couldn’t argue that. “And I don’t blame you. But until you get what you need to finish writing your book, I don’t want you out of my sight.” “Des.” “I mean it, Shayne. If he’d hurt you, I don’t know what I would have done.” “Des.” She sharpened her tone to get his attention. “I’m not your responsibility. It’s not your job to take care of me. I can do that myself.” Though, hiding in a cistern with a couple of dead bodies and hoping the psycho didn’t stumble upon her wasn’t exactly proactive in the self-care department. But she wasn’t stupid. She wouldn’t let herself end up in the same situation again. “I won’t let Tic hurt you,” he vowed. “If Tic had hurt me, it wouldn’t have been your fault. You understand that, right?” He swallowed. “My family is paying him to drive you out of town, and they don’t care what he does to make you go.” “Your family. Not you.” Despite her better judgment, she slipped her hand from his and cupped both sides of his face, smoothing the line of his cheekbone with her thumbs. “You should have warned me about him sooner, but I know now. If anything happens to me, it’s not your fault.”

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He gripped her hips and jerked her closer, their bodies, their faces, only inches apart. Despite her exhaustion, liquid heat pooled low in her belly. “I don’t give a shit about fault,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “I won’t let him anywhere near you again.” He lowered his head and caught her mouth with his.

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Chapter Twenty

“Cases of familicide often result from a buildup of frustration challenging the husband/father’s already-damaged ego, which results in an eruption of brutality. The murders release the building pressure, and the assailant will often feel a great sense of relief, having once again regained control over his world.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Shayne’s blood roared in her ears, her head spinning as Des’s hungry lips drew on hers. She should stop him. End the kiss. Pull away. But she didn’t want to. In that instant, he was everything she craved. Home. Safety. Life. She tilted her head, opened her mouth, giving him better access. And he immediately took advantage. His tongue swept inside, slipping alongside hers. He tasted sweet, faintly of mint. Dull, gnawing need drove her onward. She slid her hands into his hair, curling her fingers around the soft strands. Arching against him, the friction from their clothes lit her already oversensitized nerve endings. She wanted him naked. She wanted to be naked. She wanted to feel his smooth, hot flesh moving on hers. After the terror she’d faced today, she wanted to lose herself in this moment, in him. And that’s exactly what he’s counting on. The hateful little voice was as effective as a bucket of frigid water. A chill blew through her, snuffing out the heat simmering in her system like an icy, winter wind. He sees you’re vulnerable, and this is his best chance to get back into your good graces.

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She turned her head and pulled away. His predatory gaze tracked her movements. His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath. God help her, he looked hot. She almost ignored that horrible little voice and picked up where they’d left off. “I shouldn’t have done that.” Des rubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. His voice was rough and gravelly. Goosebumps shivered over her skin. “I’m sorry.” “Don’t be. It’s…” Okay, she didn’t have a clue what it was. She opted to change the subject instead. “Could I use your shower? I feel like I’m still covered in cobwebs and skeleton dust.” Lame, but mentioning the bodies she’d been sitting on should be enough to cool them both off. “Sure.” He crossed the black-and-white checkerboard tile to the far side of the kitchen and a door at the back of the room. Inside was a small bathroom, consisting of a narrow corner shower, pedestal sink and toilet. “Towels are there.” Des pointed to a pile on the shelves mounted over the toilet. “I’ll need something to change into. Where did you put my suitcases?” “They’re upstairs.” She followed Des up steep steps to the loft, a single, narrow room that ran the length of the garage. Des had set up his furniture to give the illusion of separate living spaces. A blue sectional sofa and television near the stairs, bed and dresser in the far corner, his desk and computer in the middle. Mismatched bookcases ran the length of one wall, the shelves packed tightly with an eclectic mix of titles.

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He’d set her suitcases on the floor at the foot of the bed. She knelt and unzipped the flap of the largest case and pulled out a pair of pajamas, stood and started for the stairs. As she passed Des, he reached for her hand. When she met his gaze, his eyes were dark and intent. “For whatever it’s worth, I swear I’ll never lie to you again.” She didn’t know how to respond. She swallowed hard, nodded and hurried downstairs. Once alone with the bathroom door closed, she gripped the sides of the sink and let out a long sigh. She wanted to believe him, and not just to assuage her wounded ego or because he was damned good in bed. She liked being with him. His company. His humor. Just what do you see for the two of you? Domestic bliss? He’s seven years younger. How long until he wants a family of his own? How long until he’s shopping for a younger model to give him all the things you can’t? Her stomach twisted, and she pushed away from the sink. She couldn’t deal with all of this now. Her skin itched beneath the layers of grime, and her scalp crawled. She wanted to get clean and get a decent night’s sleep. She pushed back the blue shower curtain and turned on the faucets. While she waited for the water to heat, she tugged off her clothes and dropped them into a heap on the floor. A light knock sounded on the door, and she started. Relax, it’s Des. She pressed a hand to her chest, willing her pounding heart to slow. “Yeah?” The door opened and Des stood in the threshold. “Are you hungry at all? Can I make you something…?” “What are you doing?” she snapped, scrambling for a towel from the shelf and wrapping the rough terrycloth around herself. When she faced him, his features were taut, his brows pulled together in a deep frown.

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“Did he do that to you?” Des strode into the bathroom, his presence massive in the small space. She backed up, but the edge of the sink hit her backside, preventing her from moving farther away. “What? Who? You know, I’m naked here.” “Believe me, I noticed.” Wry humor dripped from his voice. His mouth twitched, but the intensity in his eyes did not ease. He pushed open her towel and she sucked in a breath, her face warming. Not that he noticed. The thin scratches running the length of her belly, dotted with tiny, hardened beads of blood had his full attention. “Did Tic do this?” “No,” she said on an exasperated sigh, pushing her towel back in place “I did it, when I was jumping the wall into the cistern. It’s a few scratches, no big deal. Can you get out now, so I can shower?” He stared at the closed towel for a long moment before finally nodding. “All right. Are you hungry?” She should be. Between yesterday’s bombshell and this mess with Tic, she’d barely eaten more than a yogurt and half a turkey sandwich, but she was too damned tired to manage anything else tonight. “No, I’m okay.” Des nodded and left. By the time Shayne had showered and dressed for bed, she could barely keep her eyes open. She climbed the stairs to the loft. Her legs weighed heavily, as though they were encased in cement. When she reached the top, Des was stretched across the sofa, absently scratching Bigwig between his tattered ears and watching television. The cat, curled in a ball on Des’s lap, purred loudly, like a badly-tuned engine. “Where am I sleeping?” she asked. “The bed.” He shifted the cat, which yowled in protest, set him aside and stood. “But first let me put this on your stomach.” He grabbed a thin tube of

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ointment off the coffee table and held it up for her to see. “Now, I’m not as well stocked as your first aid kit, but this works and it’s ouchless.” “That’s probably because it’s for kids. I’ll put it on tomorrow. Right now, I want to go to sleep.” He took her hand and pulled her toward the bed. “Lie down and I’ll do it.” She should do it herself, or at the very least protest. But she couldn’t work up the energy. She flopped onto the bed, and the moment her head sank into the soft pillow her eyes closed. Des’s spicy scent, imprinted on his bedding, teased her nose. Her muscles softened like warm wax. The mattress next to her hip dipped, and she managed to force her eyes open long enough to see Des kneeling next to her and pushing her shirt up. Cool air swept over her skin, goose bumps stippling her flesh. Her lids drooped closed. Gently, Des dabbed on the ointment with his fingertip. And as advertised, the cool cream tingled on her skin, but didn’t sting. “It really is ouchless,” she murmured. He snorted. “You may want to mention that to your dad the next time he restocks your first aid kit. Done.” She cracked an eye as he pulled her shirt down to cover her belly. His hair fell into his face and hid his expression. She reached out and pushed the thick strands back. “I want to believe you. That’s why it’s hard for me to.” He nodded and turned to meet her gaze. “I meant what I said before. I will never, ever lie to you again.” Her heart warmed in her chest. “Where are you sleeping?” “The couch.” He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. “I don’t want to put you out of your bed.” He shot her a wry grin. “Don’t worry, my couch is a hell of a lot more comfortable than the front seat of my car.”

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“I want you to sleep here with me.” You’re making a huge mistake, that horrible voice in her head shouted. But she didn’t care. “Would you?” He leaned down and caught her mouth in a soft kiss. “Okay.” Shayne woke to the smoky scent of bacon and a dull rumble in her stomach. She was starving. She pushed back the heavy quilt and sat up. Warm sunlight spilled through the gabled windows, falling on her boxes piled up by Des’s desk. She shook her head and smiled as she stood and crossed the room. The man was nothing, if not determined. Not that it mattered now. She’d spent the night with Des’s hard frame wrapped around her. She would spend her few remaining days with him. She nipped at the corner of her lip and peeled back the tape holding one of the boxes closed. Her decision was not merely based on an emotional, knee-jerk reaction either. Though she wished she didn’t sound so defensive—even if it was just to herself. Staying here with Des made more sense than staying alone at a hotel. Until the police arrested Tic, she didn’t want to be caught on her own again. Des knew Tic, knew what the man was capable of, and Des knew better than anyone what his family’s next move would be to get rid of her. And, apparently, Heddra Grey was willing to do her worst—or Tic’s worst, as the case may be. The woman must be desperate to stop Shayne from writing the book. As she bent and lifted a stack of files from the box, she froze, a frown tightening her features. Why was the woman so desperate to stop Shayne? Merely to protect her daughter’s memory, or could there be something more? Shayne dropped into Des’s chair and set the files on his desk. According to Annie Mumner, Heddra had been terrorizing Gwen and her family for months to force her daughter back in line. Was it that big a stretch to imagine the woman

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was capable of something more? What if Gwen and Christian were the victims of a scare tactic gone wrong? But why would Robert confess? Absently, Shayne tapped her fingernail on the top file. Robert’s confession was always the stumbling block. Though, the fact he’d been murdered too, after claiming to be innocent, seemed like a pretty big coincidence. She dropped onto the floor next to the boxes, reading her handwritten labels scrawled in black Magic Marker across the sides. When she found the one she was looking for, she peeled back the tape and picked through the contents until she found the oversized envelope. “Hey.” At the sound of Des’s voice, she started and lifted her gaze. He stood at the top of the stairs dressed in a pair of worn blue jeans and nothing else. “I made breakfast,” he said. “Omelets. What’s that?” She bit the inside of her cheek and hesitated. Should she tell him? He wouldn’t like the idea of her toying with the possibility his father had been innocent, but if she was going to demand complete honesty from him, she couldn’t very well keep anything from him. “I started thinking about how desperate your grandmother is to keep me from writing this book, and Robert’s claim that he was innocent.” Des’s expression remained bland. “You believe him now?” “I’m not sure. Hiring a psychopath to do God knows what to me seems like a pretty strong reaction for someone who’s only concerned about her daughter’s memory. And Robert was murdered.” “Heddi will do whatever it takes to get her way. Besides, you said yourself Robert could have been killed for any reason.”

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“I know what I said, and I haven’t necessarily changed my mind, but something about all of this doesn’t make sense.” He nodded at the stairs. “Let’s eat before it gets cold. And bring the envelope.” Des sat opposite Shayne, flipping through the stack of papers from Robert’s envelope. He lifted his gaze to her as she popped another mouthful of egg into her mouth and washed it down with a swig of coffee. She looked beautiful, sitting across from him with the sun’s yellow rays playing across her sleepmussed hair and golden skin. Like she belonged here, with him. Things could have been so different today had Tic found her yesterday. Fear’s icy grip wrenched his insides, and he dropped his gaze to the pile of papers in his hand. The words blurred meaninglessly before him. He’d awakened more than once during the night, panic nearly choking him, only to ease at the sight of her curled into his side, the heat of her body radiating into his. “What’s wrong?” Shayne asked. “I don’t know what Robert was trying to tell you with all of this.” No point in mentioning Tic. He didn’t want to hear she wasn’t his concern or responsibility again. Until Tic was behind bars, or she went home, Des would do whatever it took to keep her safe. “I don’t know either,” she told him around a mouthful of bacon. “I’m still not sure. Everything he gave me described the common traits in men who commit familicide. Controlling, narcissistic, they view their families as possessions rather than individuals. What’s interesting—and maybe this was the point Robert was trying to make—no one I’ve spoken to ever described him that way. Your grandmother, on the other hand…”

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She didn’t finish. She didn’t need to. He could have told her all of those traits applied to the woman who had made his life a living hell. “I see where you’re going with this, and it makes sense on one level, but why would Robert confess?” “I don’t know, that’s the one part I can’t reconcile.” She eyed the half-eaten omelet and bacon still on his plate. “You’re not eating. Let’s stop talking about this until later and finish breakfast.” He’d caught the hesitation in her expression when he’d first asked about the envelope upstairs. No matter how talking about his father’s possible innocence turned his stomach, he didn’t want her to think she had to keep anything from him. He was sure she would never put something in print that wasn’t the absolute truth, never use half-baked theories to forward her career. He trusted her, and he wanted her to trust him. “I’m fine.” He popped a piece of bacon into his mouth to prove his point. The crispy meat tasted like cardboard. “I can’t believe Heddi murdered my mother. She talks about her like she was the Second Coming, and she hates Robert. I mean hates him. It’s not an act, she blames him for killing her daughter.” Shayne nipped at her lip, considering what he said. “When your mother married your father, your grandmother lost control of her daughter for the first time ever. She would probably hold Robert responsible. Even if she caused your mother’s death, she might believe Robert forced her actions.” “Maybe.” He shrugged, still not convinced. “But I think you’re reaching.” “A neighbor implied Heddra had been terrorizing your family and that your mother and Robert were planning to leave town. If she’d learned about their plan, that might have pushed her over the edge. Or maybe, Gwen and Christian’s deaths were part of a scare tactic gone wrong.”

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“I might buy the last part. Kate mentioned something to me about Heddi’s making life difficult for my mother and Robert, but that still doesn’t explain why the man confessed.” “I know. That’s the sticking point, isn’t it? What if he confessed to protect someone?” Des snorted. “Well, that rules out Heddi. I doubt he’d have gone to jail for her. What you said about her makes sense, but so does the possibility my mother was going to leave Robert and go back to her old life. Didn’t you say something about her seeing another man?” Shayne nodded. “I did, but I can’t find anything to even hint she was. Both your uncle and Gwen’s first husband made the implication, but neither had any proof the story was true. And anyone else I’ve spoken to claims your parents were very happy together, or at least appeared that way.” Giving up any pretense of finishing his breakfast, Des stood and gathered the plates. “Do you really think Robert didn’t do it?” “I don’t know, but he’s dead and Heddi is determined to see me shut down. And who are those bodies I found yesterday? Are they tied to this mess? I feel like I’m missing something.” Shayne got to her feet and joined him at the counter as he filled the sink with hot, sudsy water. “It’s too bad Vivian outed me. I might have been able to pump them for more information.” Shayne froze gripping the dish towel hanging over the oven handle, her gently arched brows pulling together. When she turned with the towel still gripped in her hand, the worn material slipped soundlessly from the handle. “What if we could convince them you were still on their side?” His stomach jumped. “Why would I want to do that?”

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“We could feed her small bits of information, just what we want her to know. Hell, it wouldn’t even have to be the absolute truth. You can gauge her reaction and we might be able to get a better idea of whether or not we’re on the right track.” Doing anything to stick it to Heddi made him happy, but poking at the old bitch was akin to poking an angry bear. God only knew what she’d do if she felt cornered. “There’s no way they’d believe I was willing to help them again. Yesterday, I had it out with Kate and told her if anything happened to you, I’d…let’s just say I made it clear whose side I’m on.” “That’s not necessarily a bad thing. After last night, and knowing you care about me, they might be more likely to believe you’d be willing to help them if they promised to keep Tic away.” His insides churned. “I do care about you, Shayne. Heddi’s dangerous when she doesn’t feel threatened. If you’re right, and she was somehow involved in what happened to him, you could be painting an even bigger target on yourself.” She stepped forward and gripped his arm. “Don’t you want to know the truth?” Did he? What if the man he’d despised his entire life was innocent? The blood in his head trickled slowly to his shoes, leaving him a little dizzy. “I’m not sure.” The words scraped from his throat in a raspy whisper. “Then we leave it.” She turned, reached into the sink pulled out a plate and started to dry it. “Will you write your book?” “I’ll finish the research. If what I learn still points to Anderson as the killer, then yes. But if it doesn’t, I’ll move on to another project.” And they’d both be left wondering. Could he go through the rest of his life never knowing?

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“While I’m with Heddi, I want you to stay here. Keep the door locked and don’t go anywhere on your own until the police tell you they’ve picked up Tic.” She should be all right alone in his apartment. With Rose spying from her back window nearly 24-7, it was like having his own alarm system. “Are you sure you want to do this?” She watched him, gentle compassion bright in her gaze. He nodded. “Yeah, I have to know, or I’ll always wonder.” Des hesitated outside Heddi’s front door, his stomach knotted. What if he was about to make a fucked-up situation infinitely worse? So far, he’d found his maybe-murderer father with his head bashed in, his grandmother had set loose a psychopath on the woman he loved and he was toying with the idea Heddi might have murdered his mother, after all. How much worse could things get? He lifted his fist and pounded on the heavy oak. The door opened and Hudson’s hulking frame filled the space. “She’s waiting for you in the library.” Des nodded, moved past the huge man and started down the hall. His skin prickled beneath Hudson’s glare. The man was probably as eager to toss his ass out as Des was to leave. He swallowed hard. How should he play this, angry or desperate? What would the old woman be most likely to believe? Maybe a combination of both. He walked into the library and found Heddi buried beneath a pile of blankets on the chaise. That skeletal grin stretched across her face as her black eyes fixed on him. “Have you come to tell me all the ways you’re going to embarrass this family? Kate told me about your threats.” So Kate had told her about his threat should anything happen to Shayne. And Heddi must have already heard about Shayne’s run-in with Tic. Not surprising. Avery probably couldn’t wait to let her know. Des wouldn’t be at all

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surprised if Shayne’s camera went missing from the evidence room, or the pictures of Tic’s trashing her car were mysteriously erased. Heddi would also know Des had picked Shayne up from the station. “I may have overreacted,” he ground out, as if he had to force each word from his mouth. Under normal circumstances he would have. “I want to know if our agreement is completely dead.” Heddi’s grin widened, exposing more short, yellowed teeth, and she let out a rusty cackle. “But I thought you cared for this woman.” He swallowed hard, and shifted his gaze to the river. Heavy gray clouds had blotted out the sunshine from earlier this morning. The black waters looked like slow-chugging tar. “I don’t want her hurt.” “Do you expect me to believe she would trust you with anything?” He turned and met her gaze, careful to keep his expression blank. “She and I had a conversation over breakfast the details of which you would find very interesting. Is our deal dead or not?” Her black eyes gleamed. “Tell me.” “Call off Tic.” “Done.” “How can I trust you?” “Won’t you take me at my word?” Her saccharine tone, filled with malicious humor, made his skin crawl. God, he hated her. “I don’t think so.” “Seems we’re at an impasse.” She leaned forward, her grin turning feral. “But I’m the one holding the cards. If you want your writer safe, you’ll tell me what she knows.” His heart stuttered in his chest, fear’s bony fingers curling in his gut. But his growing fear had little to do with Heddi’s attempt to appear menacing. In her

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day, she’d been imposing, vicious and strong. The sound of her footsteps in the hall had made him cringe in terror as a child, but that woman had long been abandoned to the shriveled husk before him. No, the swell of fear building inside him had nothing to do with the threat Heddi posed to him and everything to do with the possibility Shayne had been right. He eased into the chair next to Heddi’s, keeping his gaze locked with hers. “Not quite. I have the trump card. I have what you want.” Her lips pursed, her eyes narrowed, and any trace of humor slid from her features. She never liked to be bested, but she hated having it rubbed in her face even more. Des struggled to quell the dark pleasure burning inside him. “Tell me,” she demanded, furious. “I don’t think so,” he said, unable to stop the hard smirk from pulling at his mouth. “You see, we both have some issues with trust that need to be ironed out first. You don’t trust me to do the job, and I don’t trust you at all. This is what I’m going to do. I’ll give you a little now, and if you can behave, I’ll tell you the rest later.” “You dare bargain with me?” Despite the illness turning her body frail, her booming voice filled the room. Cancer might be wreaking havoc with her insides, but even the disease might have bitten off more than it could chew with Heddi. Pure mean would keep her alive. Des didn’t move, merely continued to watch her with his bland expression fixed in place. “Yup.” Her eyes burned like tiny black coals as she stared at him unblinkingly. He didn’t flinch. “I’ll pay Tic off, and if you succeed, you will be free of your sister’s debt.” Des nodded. “Shayne is beginning to question Robert’s guilt. She even has couple of potential suspects.”

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Heddi leaned forward, practically salivating. “Who?” “You.”

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“The second most-common perpetrators of family murder are adolescent males.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds Heddi leapt from the chair as if something sharp had poked her backside. A rage-filled shriek tore free from her lips. She snatched the cup from the table and winged it across the room. Des ducked as the china exploded off the bookshelf behind him. “What is it? What’s happened?” Hudson’s hulking frame filled the doorway. As if her temper tantrum had sapped her strength, Heddi collapsed onto the chaise. She looked shrunken and ancient, already dead. She raised a trembling, bony hand and waved Hudson away. “Go.” Her voice was whispery. The big man moved back, but no doubt hovered nearby, listening to every word that passed between him and his grandmother. “You have to stop her, Des. I will not allow Robert Anderson to be known as anything but the killer he was.” “When Shayne interviewed him, he claimed he was innocent. Why would he do that after serving twenty-five years in prison?” “How would I know how his sick mind worked? When he confessed, it was the only time in his pathetic life he did right by my daughter. She was brilliant, and she could have been so much more than just another woman with three screaming brats clinging to her legs. He took everything she could have been and destroyed it when he planted you inside her womb like a cancer.” Tears welled,

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turned her eyes glassy and trickled down her papery cheeks. “Robert Anderson might have been the one to murder my daughter, but you stole her life.” The vehemence in her words caught Des like a sucker punch to the gut, thrusting the air from his lungs. Oh, he’d known she hated him. She hadn’t exactly hidden her feelings when he’d been a child growing up in this hellhole. But all these years he’d assumed her hatred stemmed from his being the son of the man who’d killed her daughter. He had no idea she viewed him as the catalyst. The reason her daughter was dead. Des cleared his throat. “That may be, but more than one person has told Shayne you were responsible for vandalizing their home and Robert’s business.” Her lips curled back from her teeth. “And this is why that bitch thinks I killed my daughter? I would never have hurt my Gwen. Your father killed her because she was leaving him. She was coming back to me, to the life she should have been living. She was coming home.” If Heddi was telling the truth, she didn’t have a reason to kill his mother. Robert, on the other hand, had every reason. “When push came to shove,” Heddi continued, stabbing a bony finger at him, “your father couldn’t provide for his family, and when Gwen finally came to that realization, she had no choice but to come home.” “And vandalizing his business and their house no doubt helped hammer home that particular point.” She tilted her head and flashed him a faintly coy smile. In her younger days, the expression would have been coquettish, but in her present state it was horrifying. “True, but I needn’t have wasted my money. In the end, her useless first husband did the work for me. I warned her when she married Warren his kind were all the same. Like vermin picking through your garbage. Once they get a taste, they always come back.”

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Des frowned. Maybe the implications his mother had been with someone else were true. “He wanted to get back together?” “No, he wanted more money. She needed to pay him off, or he’d sue her for custody of the children. She came to me for help, and I agreed, provided she’d leave Robert. But that bastard would have rather seen her dead than let me win. At least, I can go to my grave knowing he’s dead—and I hope hell is hot.” She shouldn’t hope too hard, she’d be there soon enough. “Did you kill him?” She leaned heavily against the back of the chaise and closed her eyes. “I can hardly stand and walk across the room.” Des rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean. Did you have the job done?” “I thought about it. From the moment I learned what had happened to my Gwen. I would have loved nothing more than to wipe any trace of that man’s existence from the planet.” Himself included, no doubt. “But I didn’t get where I am today by making foolish decisions. I wouldn’t risk all I have by arranging his demise.” She opened her eyes, her black gaze locking with his. “Whoever did do it has my eternal gratitude, though. Now, you said that woman had other suspects in mind.” Des shot her a knowing smile. In truth, he and Shayne hadn’t discussed anyone else, but letting Heddi think there were others might keep her honest— for a while, at least. “I’ll tell you more when I’m sure you’re keeping your word.” Her eyes narrowed and she sat up a little. “Don’t play games with me, Desmond. I can make things go very badly for you.” Christ, like he hadn’t heard that before. He nearly rolled his eyes, but stopped himself. “I’ll throw you one more bone, but that’s it for now. Shayne is

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also exploring the possibility my mother was involved with another man when Robert murdered her.” “And where would she have gotten that idea?” Heddi’s bony fingers curled into the thick blankets on the chaise. “Cal Warren.” His uncle, as well, but Des wouldn’t sell out Ian. She nodded slowly, her thin lips pursed tightly together. “I’ll deal with him.” Shit, he should have kept his mouth shut. He hoped he hadn’t cost Shayne a source. He’d have to tell her what he’d done. What if she thought he’d done it on purpose, that he was still helping his grandmother put a stop to her book? Their new trust was shaky. It wouldn’t take much to shatter it. “Don’t do anything. After the damage Vivian did, getting Shayne to trust me again wasn’t easy. The last thing I need is for you to screw that up.” “If you think I’m going to sit back and let that stupid girl slander my daughter, imply I had something to do with her death while that murdering bastard, Anderson, was railroaded, you’re in for an unpleasant surprise.” “For Shayne to do all that, she’d have to finish the book. I’ll see she doesn’t.” “And how do you plan to do that?” He shot Heddi a pointed stare. “You actually believe you’ll be able to stop her from writing this book by sleeping with her?” She let out a dry cackle. “Look how easily I was able to regain her trust. I’m sure Rose informed you she spent the night with me last night.” “She did. And Kate informed me you’re quite fond of the writer. So much so, you threatened me.” She leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “Which I didn’t care for.” “That’s why I’m helping you, to keep Shayne safe.” She sniffed and waved her hand. “What else do you have to tell me?”

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“I think that’s enough for now.” When Heddi opened her mouth to argue, he cut her off. “Don’t worry. By the end of the week Shayne will be gone and the book forgotten.” “You better be right.” Heddi leaned back against the chaise, and turned her head to the window. “If you double-cross me, I’ll make you pay. And I’ll do it through your writer.” Shayne sat on Des’s sofa, computer balanced on her lap and fingers flying over the keyboard. She should have been at work on her book—and in a way she was—making a list of people who might have killed Gwen and why. Heddi was still her best suspect. Unfortunately, she still couldn’t come up with a reason why Robert confessed. If she could figure out why the man admitted to a crime he didn’t commit, served twenty-five years without even trying to appeal the verdict, she might be able to figure out who killed Gwen and Christian. Unless, of course, Robert was guilty all along, and she was a sucker for buying his story. She sighed, and tapped her finger on the edge of the keyboard. But Robert Anderson was dead, murdered. Coincidence? She couldn’t be sure, and she’d rather rule the possibility out before continuing on with her book. Why would someone be willing to go to jail for a quarter of a century for something he didn’t do? Guilt? While he may not have killed his wife and stepson, perhaps Robert believed their deaths were his fault. That didn’t sound right. Granted, she’d only spoken to the man once, but he hadn’t struck her as the martyr type. Especially if Heddra Grey was the killer. Could he have been trying to protect someone? Maybe, but who?

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The most obvious choice seemed his own child, and perhaps his stepdaughter. Julia may have seen the killer. Could Robert have gone to prison to somehow protect her? And if Heddra was the murderer, his confession put both children in the woman’s hands. Of course, Des wasn’t his only son. Shayne sat up a little, slow dawning rolling over her like a wave. He had Sam, the son from his first marriage who was about twelve when the murders occurred. If Robert and Gwen planned to move on with their new family, could Sam have been angry enough to kill? He might have seen Gwen as the catalyst for his parents’ divorce, the woman who had taken his father from him. And Christian, who was close to the same age as Sam, the son who’d replaced him. But would Robert have confessed to protect his son? Possibly. He might have even felt some responsibility for his son’s actions. Shayne dug her Day-Timer and cell phone out of her purse. After a few minutes of scanning the pages of her organizer for the right number, she dialed. The electronic ring sounded in her ear, then Sam Anderson’s low voice instructed her to leave a message. Voice mail. Figures. She didn’t like her odds that the man would actually bother to call her back, but what choice did she have? “Mr. Anderson, this is Shayne Reynolds. We spoke the other day. I have some follow-up questions and a few details I’d like to clarify. These are things we could take care of over the phone when you have a free moment. If you could give me a call back, I’d appreciate it.” She rattled off her number, then snapped her phone closed. Hopefully, he’d call her back, but after meeting the man in person, she had her doubts.

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The lock in the door downstairs rattled, and Shayne tensed. Her heart rate kicked up. It’s Des. Still, she strained her ears, listening for Tic’s mirth-filled voice. “Des?” she called. “Yeah, it’s me.” The low timbre of his voice chased away her swelling anxiety. She let out a slow breath. Paranoia was not a state she enjoyed. “You okay?” Des asked as he emerged from the stairway. “Your voice sounds funny.” “I’m fine, just overreacting. I heard from the police earlier. They still haven’t picked up Tic. They went to his house, and his truck was there, but they couldn’t find any trace of him. They figure he’s laying low. One of his pals is probably hiding him. They did manage to find his friend, Norton.” Des slipped his hands into his jeans pockets and nodded, his gaze distant as if his mind was somewhere else. His skin looked pale beneath the reddish-brown stubble on his cheeks and chin. He hadn’t shaved before going to see his grandmother. “That’s good. Norton has no backbone without Tic. If he knows where Tic is, he’ll tell the police.” “Maybe. He’s denying anyone paid the two of them to come after me, even though I overheard them talking about it.” Des snorted and flopped onto the sofa. “Yeah, well, he might be willing to roll on Tic, especially with the pictures to prove it, but he won’t mess with Heddi.” Shayne sat next to him, struggling to gauge his expression. “How did it go with her?” “As expected.” He shrugged. “I think she believed me when I told her I wanted to stick with our deal.” His flat tone fed her growing unease. “That’s good, isn’t it?”

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“She knows I care about you. When she realizes I played her, she’s going to go after you to get to me.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. “I hope we’re not making a mistake.” “Me too.” But she wasn’t concerned about herself. After all, she doubted there was much Heddra Grey could do to her once she left Dark Water. Unfortunately, Des would be stuck here alone to face the woman’s wrath. But what could she do about that? Her only options were to give up the book like the woman wanted, or pay off Des’s debt, which she couldn’t afford. At least not yet. In a few weeks, she’d have the money from her condo. Using those funds to pay off Des’s grandmother would mean having to live in her parents’ basement a while longer, but that didn’t matter. She couldn’t leave Des here to face Heddra Grey alone. Absently, she took Des’s hand in hers. He gave her fingers a squeeze and cracked an eye. “I don’t think she had anything to do with killing my mother or Christian.” She listened as he relayed his entire conversation with his grandmother, and by the time he’d finished, she was starting to agree with him. Besides her own conclusions about Robert’s willingness to confess, if Heddi was telling the truth, she had no motive. Shayne stood and started to pace. “That’s interesting about Cal Warren’s trying to shake your mother down for more money. That means half the crap he fed me during our interview was bullshit.” Des snorted. “Are you surprised?” “No, not really. You know, he might have even known about Gwen and Robert’s plans to leave. If your mother had planned to disappear, maybe she’d gone to Warren to ask him to give up his rights to the children, which he would only do for a price.” She stopped pacing. “I wonder if he ever got the money.”

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“What difference does it make?” “If Heddi had paid him, Gwen could have planned to leave with Robert, anyway. And as you said yourself, Heddi doesn’t like to be double-crossed.” Des sighed and sat forward. “Why is it so hard for you to believe Robert killed them?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. His murder wraps everything up too neatly. I feel like there’s a piece missing here. If we find it, everything will make sense. Maybe I could convince Warren to see me again.” “Couldn’t you just call him?” “I could, but I need to pick up my rental car, anyway,” she told him. “Besides, I’d like to see his expression when I tell him I know he lied.”

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Chapter Twenty-Two

“Most fathers will do anything to protect their children. This, unfortunately, was not the case for Christian and Julia Warren.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds “Ever notice how these houses all look the same? Sure they’re big, but they have zero character.” Shayne shot Des a quick glance as they climbed Cal Warren’s front steps. An odd flutter tickled her chest. She’d thought the same thing the last time she’d been here. “Why not have a flashing neon sign that says ‘look how much money we have’?” Des continued. “Actually, a sign might be more subtle than the house.” She snorted. “Just a little.” She pressed the button for the bell and waited. The sun glared down from the blue sky, but a chill wind kept the air cool. Still, a thin sheen of perspiration coated her skin, unease tightening her stomach into knots. Warren was not going to be pleased when she told him she knew he was full of crap. Nor, when he saw that she’d brought Robert Anderson’s son with her. She hadn’t even bothered to try and convince Des not to come. Besides his refusal to leave her side until Tic was apprehended, he was as entrenched in this search for the truth as she was. More so, maybe. This was his family. His past. The door swung inward and Warren filled the opening. Dressed in a pair of casual khaki pants and a navy golf shirt, the man still appeared stiff and austere.

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His bright gaze shifted from her to Des and back to her. His thick gray brows drew together, a deep line grooving the flesh between them. “What is this?” he asked, his voice flat, a hard scowl etched in his face. He recognized Des and he wasn’t at all happy to see him. She’d have to talk fast, or Warren wouldn’t let them past the front door. “Mr. Warren, thank you for agreeing to meet with me again. This is Des Anderson, he’s been helping me with my research. We only have a few questions to go over. May we come in?” Warren’s grip on the edge of the door tightened as if he was about to slam it shut, his attention fixed on Des. Des merely stared back, a faint smirk twisting his mouth. Did Des know him too? Had they met before? He was Julia’s father. It stood to reason they had. But there was a vibe stretching between them, a nearly tangible animosity. Finally, Warren tore his gaze from Des and offered her a beaming smile that didn’t come close to reaching his hard eyes. “Of course,” he said. “I’m happy to help in any way I can.” Des snorted beside her, but didn’t say anything else. When she glanced his way, he rolled his eyes. They followed Warren to his study off the foyer. He sat behind his desk and she and Des settled into the chairs opposite him. “I hope you don’t mind if I record our conversation?” Shayne asked, pulling her tape player and notepad from her bag. “You remember me,” Warren said. Shayne frowned and looked up, but Warren’s attention was fixed on Des. “Yeah, I remember you.” Des’s voice sounded strained despite his unreadable expression. His fingers curled tightly around the arms of the chair. His knuckles whitened. He was pissed, and fighting a losing battle for control.

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“She’s my daughter and I had every right to see her,” Warren snapped, more than a little defensive. Des shrugged. “It’s odd you never visited Julia any of the other times she was in the hospital, and that you used my uncle’s name to do it.” “I had visited her before, as a matter of fact. That was the first time you saw me. I may not be winning any father-of-the-year awards, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t worry about her and the things she did to herself.” Warren jabbed a finger at him, punctuating his point. “Why not give your real name? Why take off when I tried to talk to you if you’re such a devoted fucking father?” Des sneered, any attempt at civility vanishing. “You’re Anderson’s boy? You of all people should know what your grandmother is like. I didn’t want Heddi to know I’d seen Julia. It was better for Julia that way.” Des stood and slapped his palms against Warren’s desktop. “Don’t give me some bullshit excuse like you cared for her. She was worse after she saw you. What did you say to her?” Warren stood and glared back. “You do know why she tried to kill herself, don’t you? Because she’d learned your father was getting out, and she was terrified of what he might do to her. She believed she was only safe as long as he was in prison.” The situation was spinning out of control fast, but Shayne didn’t have a clue how to stop it. She stood and pressed her hand against Des’s back. The warmth from his skin seeped through the thin T-shirt. He straightened and reached for her hand, his fingers tangling with hers. A sliver of relief moved through her, loosening the knots in her stomach. At least, he remembered she was there.

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“What did you say to her?” Des’s eyes shone like mercury, the fury in his voice laced with pain. “You look like him, you know? Especially now, when you’re angry and about ready to lose it. I could never understand how Julia could stand the sight of you.” Des’s jaw knotted. “What. Did. You. Say. To. Her?” “I begged her to stop hurting herself, told her Anderson wasn’t worth it. I promised her the man wouldn’t hurt her and she needn’t be afraid.” Warren slumped back in his chair, his shoulders sagging in defeat. “I’d like you both to leave now.” Damn it, they hadn’t asked him about the money yet, and after this he likely wouldn’t agree to see them again. “I know you weren’t honest with me when I saw you last. Heddra Grey told Des you were extorting money from Gwen in order for her to gain custody of your children. Did you know she and Robert had planned to leave Dark Water?” Warren stood, that hard polished veneer back in place. “I have nothing else to say to you. Get out or I’ll call the police.” “Tell me,” Des ground out. “You care about your daughter so much? Give us both the truth.” Warren stared stonily at Des, his stiff expression impossible to read. Shayne held her breath, waiting for Warren to grab the phone from his desk and make good on his threat. “Heddi’s telling the truth. I wanted Gwen to give me more money. I threatened to go back to court to seek full custody. With all the trouble Heddi was causing for Gwen and Anderson, I might have even stood a chance.” “Did she tell you she and Robert were leaving Dark Water?” Shayne asked again.

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Warren barely spared her a glance before returning his attention to Des. “Yes, I knew about their plan. What better time to hit her up for more money.” “Did you get paid?” Des asked, standing rigidly, the tension humming through his body almost palpable. “I did, and I relinquished my rights. Once Gwen was dead, I had no legal recourse with which to take Julia. I suppose I could have tried to go back to court, but I wouldn’t have had a leg to stand on. I know you don’t think I care about Julia—” “You’re right I don’t think you give a rat’s ass about her. You traded access to your children for cash, but I guess it wasn’t that big a deal since you didn’t have much to do with them anyway.” Derision dripped from Des’s every word. He turned to Shayne. “Let’s get out of here.” Shayne woke slowly, wrapped in a warm cocoon of blankets. Even with the windows closed the hiss of the wind rushing through the trees outside reached her ears in the quiet surroundings. She stretched and opened her eyes, her gaze landing on Des, wearing only a towel, his attention fixed on something on his desk. A rush of wet heat shot to her core. God, he looked good, his hair messy and damp. The towel slung low on his hips, leaving his sculpted chest and stomach for her to admire. Or gawk at, as the case may be. She frowned. What exactly was he looking at so intently? Her notes. Her stomach clenched. Was he reading them so he could hurry and contact his grandmother before she awoke? She let out a slow breath. She either trusted him, or she didn’t. And if she planned to go with the former, she couldn’t jump to conclusions every time he went anywhere near her work.

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“Hey,” she said softly. He lifted his gaze to hers, and winced a little. “Sorry, did I wake you?” “No, not at all.” She sat up on the bed. “What are you looking at?” “I guess I should have waited for you to wake up and asked if it was okay, but I was thinking about what Warren said, and I wondered if I did look like him? Anderson, I mean.” Des flipped the photograph in his hand, showing Shayne. The image of Robert, Gwen and all three children smiled at her, a Christmas tree glowing in the background. Nice. There she’d been mentally accusing the poor guy, and he was only trying to pick through the mess of his family. A mess she’d helped stir up. “You’ve never seen his picture?” He set the photo down, jerked a shoulder and started toward her. “A few black-and-white newspaper photos. Heddi wasn’t exactly going to hang his likeness around the house.” “No, I guess not.” She had to make a conscious effort to keep her gaze on his face, and not let her eyes travel down his body to where the towel dipped teasingly below his belly button. “I don’t have many pictures of him, I’m afraid. That one came from Robert’s Aunt Jean. Whatever family photos your parents had are gone.” Des sat on the edge of the bed, and Shayne scooted over to make room for him. The clean, fresh scent, with a hint of spice, from his soap and shampoo teased her nose. He smelled good. “Do you think I look like him?” Des asked. The low tenor of his voice shivered over her skin. She had to clear her throat before she spoke, her mouth suddenly inexplicably dry. “Parts of you.” He held her gaze, his eyes dark as pewter. “Which parts?”

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“You’re fairer than he was. His skin was more olive, his hair was darker brown and curly.” Absently, she reached out to touch Des’s hair, running her fingers through the damp strands, then she traced the ridge of cheekbone beneath his eye. “You have his eyes, though. Same shape, same color. Your mother’s nose.” She trailed her fingertip down the straight narrow bridge, before moving to the cheek. “The dimples are his.” Des shot her a wry smile and the groove appeared beneath her finger like magic. “And his mouth.” She followed the outline of his lips, the thinner line of the upper, the slight pout of the lower. He caught her hand, his gaze locked on hers. Her breath stilled. Anticipation tingled over her skin. Without looking away he brought her finger to his mouth, pressing his lips to her flesh. Wet heat rushed between her legs, need leaving her achy. Her skin turned hot and itchy beneath her clothes, and she wanted to peel them off. To shove his towel away and feel his smooth flesh moving against hers. To feel his familiar weight settle between her legs. He released her hand, and she let her fingers explore the hard contours of his chest, then lower over the solid ridges of his belly. With a low growl, Des bent his head, capturing her lips with his. She opened for him, his tongue sweeping her mouth in hungry exploration. He tasted sweet and familiar, faintly of mint. Without thinking or breaking the kiss, Shayne shifted, straddling his lap. She rubbed the dull ache at her core against the bulge of his erection straining against the towel. He groaned and tilted his head back, his hips pushing up in time with the rhythm she set. His hands moved quickly, tugging her T-shirt over her head, then cupping each bared breast. He pinched her sensitive nipples. She gasped and jolted beneath his touch, the pleasure-pain shooting directly to the hot throb between her legs.

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The thin layers of fabric between them filled her with frustration. She wanted to lose her pants and open his towel, but she couldn’t bring herself to pull away from the kiss or Des’s clever fingers. His arms wrapped around her, crushing her tightly to his chest as he fell back against the mattress. His lips still hungrily fed from her while his hands frantically pulled at her pants. “Too many clothes,” he murmured between kisses. She wriggled and shimmied in an effort to help, but even together they couldn’t be rid of the aggravating fabric. Finally, Shayne tore her mouth away from his. Des’s groan, low in the back of his throat, lit her every nerve ending. “I’ll do it,” she told him, getting to her feet and sliding the thin cotton down her legs until she was completely naked. Des pushed himself up a little on his elbows, his silvery stare moving over her body from head to foot and back up again. The naked hunger in his expression sent waves of heat rolling into her limbs. She reached down, pulled open the towel. His erection stood proud and thick from the tuft of brown hair. The throbbing at her core beat in time to the pounding of her heart. She let her hands move over his lean body. God, she’d never get enough of touching him. Her fingertips glided over his smooth, hot flesh, grazing his small, tight nipples. He let out a short hiss. Her hands drifted downward, over the hardened ridges of his stomach muscles. He sucked in a breath, his belly pulling back from her touch. Her breath turned ragged as she continued her explorations over his narrow hips, the side of her thumb grazing the tip of his penis. He groaned and arched up. “Oh yeah, Shayne. Touch me. Please.” Wet heat welled between her legs at the thready pleading in his voice. A sense of primal, feminine power filled her. She wrapped her hand around his

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girth, his flesh hard and hot in her grip. Molten silk over steel. She slid her hand from the base of his shaft to the tip in a long, slow stroke, then back down again. He quivered beneath her touch. She continued on, slowly increasing the pace. His hips jutted back and forth to the rhythm she set, his fingers curling into the bedspread and disappearing into the wrinkled folds. He closed his eyes, the lines of his face taut as if he struggled for control. She’d brought him here to the edge. Made him tremble with need. Hunger gnawed at her insides. She dipped her head, dragged the length of his penis with the tip of her tongue. “Shit,” Des hissed. She lifted her gaze, met his steely eyes and shot him a grin, then traced the ridge of his head with her tongue. He sucked in a quick breath, but she barely heard him. The spicy scent of the soap from his shower, the salty flavor of his skin teased her senses. She opened her mouth and took him inside. Des groaned, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head as the wet heat of Shayne’s mouth wrapped around his dick. The elbows lifting him slightly gave out and he collapsed back onto the mattress. But Shayne didn’t lose pace. She kept working him with her mouth, sucking, her tongue massaging the underside of his cock, driving him half out of his mind. He grabbed both sides of her head, fingers tangling in her soft hair. His hips undulated beneath her, moving in time to the pace she set. Her own hand, still fisted around him, slid up and down, trailing the wet path left by her mouth. He grunted and started to move faster, pushing deeper, his control slipping away. His balls began to tighten, his whole body trembled. Christ, he was ready to explode.

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Gathering what little strength and sanity he had left, he pulled her head back, tearing her mouth from his cock. “What?” she gasped, her eyes hungry. “I want to come inside you.” He slid his hand down her damp skin, beneath her arms and pulled her up over his body. She straddled his hips, gripped his dick and slid down, taking him inside. He groaned, arching up, driving himself as deep as he could. She wrapped around him, slick and hot and so damned tight. She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and she began to move, rocking back and forth. Her breasts swayed. His mouth watered. He slid his hands up her body, cupped both swollen mounds, running his thumbs over the tight nipples. She gasped, her hips jerked and she tightened around his shaft. She was close. So was he. With one hand he gripped her hip, while the other slipped a finger into her folds and found her clit. He pressed and rubbed the tiny nub. “Des!” Shayne’s body went still and rigid, her core tightened and convulsed around him. “I love…” He gripped her hips with both hands and drove up, thrusting deeply and fast. “…the way you look when you come.” Nerves tightened in his balls and at the base of his cock. He exploded inside her. Closing his eyes, blood roaring in his head, he emptied himself. Drained and spent, he sagged into the mattress. Shayne collapsed against his chest. Her soft, ragged breath tickled across his damp skin. He lifted his heavy arms and wrapped them around her, absently stroking her hair with one hand.

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He liked her draped over him, her languid body melted against his. A perfect fit. Warm contentment expanded in his chest. She tilted her head up, and shot him a smug smile. “You look pretty good yourself.” He frowned, confused. “What?” Her smile stretched wider. “When you come. You look pretty good yourself.” He chuckled, leaned down and caught her mouth with his. What he’d intended as a quick kiss, deepened into something more. That warm contentment dissolved, leaving a dull ache. He lifted his head and looked into her face. All traces of humor had vanished. Her dark eyes met his, deep and fathomless. The words escaped his lips before he could stop them. “I love you.”

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“Julia had no idea how her very existence threatened her mother’s killer, or how precarious her situation had become.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds “I love you.” Des’s words, barely more than a whisper, penetrated the contented fog wrapped around Shayne’s brain. Instantly, her heart warmed and swelled, until icy panic washed over her. He couldn’t. He shouldn’t. And God knew, whatever he was feeling in the afterglow of damned good sex wouldn’t last. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” She sat up and slid off him, gathering the covers to her chest as she glanced around for her clothes. His mouth curled into his usual cocky grin and a flash of irritation streaked through her. Trust him to declare his love for her, then treat the whole thing like a joke. “Why not?” he asked, still smirking. “It’s the truth, and I promised to never lie to you again. Why do you always do that?” She frowned. “Do what?” “Cover up whenever we’re about to argue.” “Because when there’s something important to talk about it’s best to eliminate distractions. Maybe you should consider covering up.” He didn’t, of course. Instead, he rolled onto his side, propped up his head with one hand and looked up at her, his grin stretching. “Do you find me distracting?”

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She forced her gaze to his face, crushing the blankets to her chest. “You know, Des, you can’t say something like that, then laugh it off.” “You mean that I love you?” His grin didn’t waver, but something glinted in his eyes. She didn’t speak, merely pinned him with a pointed stare. “Maybe I’m hiding how your response has…” he hesitated as if searching for the right word, “…wounded me.” Shit. Had she hurt him? She certainly hadn’t meant to. But he needed to be realistic. They both did. “Des,” she began, choosing her words carefully. “I care about you too, a lot. But we need to face the fact what’s between us has nowhere to go.” “You don’t believe we could be together like a normal couple. I know the issue of Heddi’s interfering, and dealing with Julia’s ongoing drama, probably isn’t very appealing, but—” “I don’t care about any of that.” Though, the idea of having a permanent connection to Heddra Grey was more than a little terrifying. Still, for Des she would have no issue putting up with the woman. What was she thinking? She and Des in a permanent capacity would never happen, so dealing with his grandmother was a nonissue. “You’re seven years younger than me. Where do you think what’s between us could go? Marriage? A family?” The last word nearly stuck in her throat. She covered her mouth and coughed a little. Des blew out an impatient sigh and rolled onto his back. “Not this again. It’s only seven years. And would being married to me be so bad?” “Of course not.” She tucked her hair behind her ear, and tried to push the cozy images of life with Des out of her head. After all, no matter how good things might start, she knew how they’d end. Been there. Done that. “I have no

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intention of marrying anyone again, ever. And you know I could never give you a family.” He sat up, his brow drawn tight. “I don’t care about having children.” “You say that now, but by the time you’re my age you could change your mind.” And the idea of Des looking at her with the same impatient resentment as Travis turned her stomach. Those insecurities and inadequacies rose inside her, leaving a bitter taste on her tongue. Never again would she live that way. Not even for Des. “Damn it, you’re condescending,” he snapped, eyes bright with anger, all traces of humor gone from his face. “Don’t compare me to your asshole ex. I don’t want you because I have an agenda, I just want you.” Her eyes stung and her throat ached. How easy it would have been to give in, let go, and believe him. She didn’t doubt he meant it, at least for now. But he was young, and things changed. She couldn’t go through another divorce, especially from a man she cared more for than she ever had Travis. Impatiently, she wiped at the hot dampness welling in her eyes, cleared the lump in her throat. “I won’t live like that, feeling like there’s something wrong with me. I can’t be that woman again.” “No one’s asking you to.” He closed the distance between them, cupped the sides of her face with both hands. “You say you’re all right with knowing you won’t have children. Why is it so difficult to believe someone else could be as well?” She didn’t have an answer for him. How could she explain the terror coursing through her at the idea of leaving herself open to someone, to him, and risking the chance she’d wind up back where she started? The last months of her marriage followed by the divorce had been like running through a never-ending

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emotional gauntlet. She’d made it through this time—battered, bruised and exhausted—but she didn’t know if she could survive it a second time. “I should shower and get dressed,” she murmured, easing out from his grip, then scurrying away like the coward she was. By the time Shayne emerged from Des’s small bathroom, she knew she’d made the right decision refusing to pursue something permanent between them. She’d meant what she’d said when she’d told him she had no intention of marrying again. While lathering beneath the steaming spray, images of a life with Des had filled her head. Waking up wrapped in his arms, coming home to him after a long day, spending rainy Sunday afternoons curled up together on the couch watching movies. The scenarios flitting before her mind’s eyes warmed her more than the hot water pelting her skin. But they were fantasies. Real life had a way of eroding the daydreams, chipping away at the best of intentions. She walked into the kitchen, her gaze landing on Des leaning against the counter, a mug cupped in his hands, one corner of his mouth lifting in a faint half grin. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to give up.” Tiny fissures cut through her resolve like cracks in thin ice. She squared her shoulders and opened her mouth to speak, but the electronic pulse of her cell phone cut her off. Des’s grin widened. “Saved by the bell.” Shayne managed to dig her phone from her purse before it stopped ringing. She glanced at the display as she lifted the phone to her ear. The number looked vaguely familiar, but she couldn’t quite place it. She hit Talk. “Hello?” “What other questions did you have?” Sam Anderson asked, sounding less than thrilled to be speaking to her again.

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Shayne blinked. She hadn’t expected him to return her call. “Just a few follow-up questions. Is there any way I could meet with you again.” She’d much rather speak to him in person so she could see his expressions and body language, especially when she asked about Gwen and the murders. “I’m at the shop, but I don’t have a lot of time—” “That’s fine,” Shayne cut in quickly. She didn’t want to risk his changing his mind. “I won’t keep you. I should be there in about a half hour.” She hung up before giving the man a chance to respond. “Who was that?” Des asked, standing next to her. “Your brother, and possibly the man Robert went to prison for.” Des had always known he had another brother in the same vague way he knew he had a father in prison. He’d read about Robert’s first wife in some article years ago. He’d been around twelve, and both curious and horrified about the man who’d fathered him. Still, he’d never been curious enough to seek out any of his Anderson relatives, including his brother. He had enough to handle with the family he did know, and wasn’t about to invite more hassles into his life. At least, until now. On the drive over to the garage, Shayne had explained why she considered Sam a strong contender for being the killer of his mother and brother. Des wasn’t convinced a twelve-year-old boy could get away with a crime like that, but if Anderson confessed to a crime he didn’t commit, he’d be far more likely to do so for his son than for Heddi. Sam stared at him from the far side of the dim garage, eyes the same shade as his own bouncing from Des to Shayne. “What’s he doing here?” Interesting. Sam knew who he was, but had Des bumped into him on the street he would have had no idea he and this man shared a father. He waited for

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some sense of familial connection. Nothing. The man across from him was a stranger, nothing more. “He’s helping me with some research,” Shayne replied as she maneuvered past a rusted Jeep parked in one of the bays. Sam’s brow rose and he snorted. “Is that what you call it?” Anger flared at the innuendo, and Des opened his mouth to tell Sam to shut the hell up, but Shayne cut him off. “I appreciate your agreeing to see me again. Do you mind if I tape this?” She set her recorder on the workbench against the wall, then dug her notebook from her bag. Sam shrugged and folded his arms over his chest, waiting for Shayne to begin. “When we spoke last, you mentioned your father’s wanting you to go live with him and Gwen,” Shayne said, her head bent and her gaze focused on the notepad in front of her. Sam leaned back against the cinder block wall. “That’s right.” “Did you know he and Gwen were planning on leaving town?” Sam’s eyes narrowed. “He might have said something about it. So what?” “That was part of the reason he wanted you with him, wasn’t it? Your mother was wrapped up with a new relationship, leaving you alone too much, and your father was leaving town.” Shayne looked up and met his gaze. “Were you angry when he told you?” “I didn’t give a shit. He’d been busy with his new family for the past three years. I was used to not having him around, and I sure as hell didn’t want to be a part of his Brady Bunch.” Shayne nodded and scribbled in her notebook. “What were you doing the night of the murders?”

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“Why? You better not be thinking of trying to make it look like I had something to do with what happened.” Scowling, Sam pushed away from the wall and took a step toward Shayne. Des shifted between them. Sam snorted, his nostrils flaring. “Back off, Junior. You don’t actually think you can beat me in my own place.” Des didn’t budge. After spending the last six weeks dealing with Tic and his thugs, his brother might get the surprise of a lifetime. “Take another step and we’ll find out.” “The testosterone is getting a little thick in here,” Shayne said, gently shouldering her way in front of Des. She turned her attention to Sam. “I’m trying to establish what family members were doing on the night of the murder. I’m asking everyone.” Sam hesitated, studying Shayne’s face with narrowed eyes, probably trying to decide if he believed her or not. “No. Get out. I’m done answering your questions.” “You told me your father read to you when you were a child? Did he have any favorites?” Des frowned and looked down at Shayne. Where the hell had that question come from? “Get her out of here,” Sam said, turning his attention to Des. Des gently gripped her elbow. “Let’s go.” “Was it Watership Down?” Shayne asked. Sam blinked as if surprised. But the man couldn’t possibly be as surprised as Des. Why would she even ask that? The book had been Julia’s favorite, not Anderson’s. “Yeah,” Sam said, nodding slowly. “He used to read it to me all the time.”

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“You should have told me what you suspected about the book,” Des said. His insides still ached like he’d been kicked in the gut. Shayne glanced away from the road, her eyes dark with compassion. “I would have, but the idea only occurred to me while I was reading through his notes. I’m sorry I sprung it on you like that.” Des raked his fingers through his hair, barely noting the passing trees and old houses as Shayne steered toward his apartment. “It doesn’t make sense. How could Julia find comfort in a book the man who killed her mother and brother used to read to her?” “I wish I had an answer for you,” she said, this time she kept her gaze fixed on the road. Shayne probably did have an answer for him. He just didn’t want to hear it. “You think this proves he didn’t do it.” She shook her head. “No, the book doesn’t prove anything, unfortunately. But I agree with you. I can’t imagine your sister would still love that book if she’d seen Anderson kill your mother and Christian.” Des blew out a long sigh. “Christ, the more we dig, the more convoluted…” The words died on his lips and unease crept up his spine as Shayne turned into the gravel driveway and behind a silver Volvo. “What fresh hell is this?” “Whose car is that?” she asked. “Ian’s.” His uncle never stopped by his apartment. Something had to be wrong for the man to sit in his car waiting for him. Shayne had barely brought the vehicle to a halt, when Des opened the door and stepped out. Ian’s car door opened and he slid from behind the wheel. The sight of his uncle’s pale face did little to reassure him. “What’s wrong?” Des asked, closing the distance between them. Ian hesitated, as if choosing his words carefully. “It’s about Julia.”

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Des’s heart rate kicked up. “Did you hear from her?” “The police contacted Heddi this morning. They identified one of the skeletons Ms. Reynolds found.” Ian looked away, cleared his throat. When he met Des’s gaze, his eyes were watery. Des’s stomach slid to his feet, cold and oily. “It was Julia’s body.” “No, it’s a mistake,” Des said, shaking his head. Vaguely, Shayne’s gentle touch against his back pierced his muddled thoughts. Without thinking, he reached back, took her hand in his and held on tightly. “She’s somewhere in the Caribbean. She called to tell me she was leaving.” Ian stepped forward, clasped Des’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, but there’s no mistake. The police had her DNA on file from the last time she’d disappeared. The other skeleton is likely Kevin. They never even made it out of Dark Water.” Ian’s words barely penetrated the dull hum inside Des’s head. Julia couldn’t be dead. Yet on some level it actually made sense. So many months passing without hearing from her. And hadn’t a part of him always believed he’d come home to this very news? His stomach churned sickly. He let go of Shayne’s hand. “I’ve got to see Heddi. I need to know what’s happening, what’s being done.” “Don’t go to Heddi,” Ian said quickly. “Come with me. I’m on my way to speak to the police now. They can probably answer your questions better than her, anyway.” “Yeah, okay.” Des nodded slowly and rubbed the back of his hand over his mouth. He turned to Shayne, her expression stricken. “I have to go. Wait here, okay? The police still haven’t found Tic.” “Okay,” she said, her voice raspy. Shayne watched Des leave with his uncle, and a dull ache squeezed her throat. A gulf had formed between them, a chasm growing wider by the moment. Six hours ago, he’d claimed to love her, and the

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words had filled her with panic. Perversely, she’d give anything to hear him say it again. For Julia’s body to already be reduced to skeletal remains, she must have been down there a while. Probably since back in March, when everyone assumed she’d left for the islands. Shortly after agreeing to speak to Shayne. The significance of the timing hadn’t been lost on Shayne. Surely, it hadn’t been lost on Des either. Did he blame her? Was he right to? Had she unknowingly been the catalyst for that poor girl’s death? She swallowed the thick lump in her throat. When she’d first toyed with writing about the Grey-Anderson murders all those months ago, the case had seemed so cut and dry, but nothing was what it seemed. She blew out a sigh and went inside. Bigwig trotted down the stairs, meowing a loud greeting. Absently, she tossed her purse and keys onto the table, then poured dried food into one of his bowls and added fresh water to the other. He purred loudly as he gobbled his Kibbles, and she flopped into one of the kitchen chairs. It didn’t make sense for Anderson to murder his stepdaughter after his release from prison—with or without Shayne’s book. He’d already confessed to the crime, served his time. But if someone else had killed Gwen and her son, the possibility Julia was a witness combined with renewed interest in the case could have left the real murderer threatened. She stood, grabbed her purse and car keys, and started for the door. The idea that her actions had somehow brought about Julia’s death turned her stomach. She couldn’t sit back and wait to hear from Des. If Des couldn’t forgive her, she’d understand, but in the meantime, she could at least set him free.

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Shayne drove up the long driveway to Heddra Grey’s Georgian manor. Surrounded by thick forest on all sides, the house looked out of place, as if it had been accidentally dropped into the middle of the woods. She tried to envision Des living within those austere walls, along with his traumatized sister, and couldn’t. Shayne parked out front, slid from the car and strode across the flagstone to the door. She still hadn’t worked out how in the hell she was going to convince Mrs. Grey to see her. Hopefully, she’d come up with something in the next few minutes. She pounded on the heavy oak and waited. After a minute, the door swung open and a short, stocky woman filled the opening. “What is it?” the woman demanded. A dark blue uniform clung to her stout frame. She must work for the family. A maid or housekeeper, maybe. Shayne squared her shoulders doing her best to appear both professional and authoritative. She wished she had changed out of her jeans and into something more professional before she’d left. “I’m here to see Heddra Grey.” Deep grooves creased the woman’s broad forehead. Her thick eyebrows drew together until her tiny mud-brown eyes nearly vanished within the loose folds of her face. “Mrs. Grey is not entertaining. Good day.” She started to close the door, but Shayne darted forward and held it open with her forearm. “Where is she?” “Step back, or I will have you removed.” The woman grunted, leaning hard on the door to close it in Shayne’s face. Hell, Shayne would never be able to convince this horrible little troll to let her in. With a deep breath, she pushed hard and slipped into the foyer.

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“You can’t come in here,” the woman screeched, her eyes widening with an almost humorous mix of shock and outrage. “You’re trespassing.” Shayne ignored her, hurrying down the hall and glancing into each room as she passed. Heddra had to be there somewhere. Instead, of chasing after her, the housekeeper-maid ran ahead of her calling for Hudson. Damn it, she’d have to hurry. She found the old woman in a solarium at the back of the house. The late afternoon sun poured through the glass walls, casting a golden shimmer over everything in the room. Even the small wrinkled woman, smothered beneath layers of blankets on the chaise. Tiny, black eyes stared out from a heavily-lined face like those dolls made from shriveled apples. This was Heddra Gray? Shayne stood stunned for a moment. She’d been expecting a veritable dragon woman, not the tiny, wrinkled Muppet before her. Coming face-to-face with the old woman was a little like finding out the monster in the closet was actually just clothes on a hanger. A bit of a letdown, really. “The writer,” the old woman said, a sly smile lifting the corners of her mouth. “You’ve a lot more nerve than I gave you credit for.” You have no idea. You’re about to see just how much you underestimated me. “I hope you don’t mind my stopping by unannounced. May I sit down?” “No.” That smile never wavered, but her eyes glinted like black glass. “I don’t see people without first inviting them, and I don’t entertain in this room.” Shayne lowered herself into the chair next to the chaise, and shot the old woman a hard smile all her own. “I’m not looking to be entertained.” Heddra’s lips thinned, she sat stiffly, obviously furious. “What are you looking for?” Dark pleasure welled inside Shayne. She was getting to the old woman, and she liked it. “I came here to tell you the book is dead. I’m not going to be writing

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it.” Speaking the words out loud filled Shayne with a sense of relief. “You have no choice now, but to let Des go.” “Did he romance you? Seduce you?” A feral smile split the old woman’s face, and she let out a low cackle. “I admit, I never considered Des would be able to play the role of seducer when he agreed to our arrangement, but I suppose there was little he wouldn’t do to get what he wanted.” Shayne leaned over and took the woman’s hands in her own. She had to fight not to crush her brittle bones to dust. “Oh, Heddi,” she said with a slight laugh. “We played you. Des didn’t tell you anything we didn’t want you to know.” Heddra snatched her hands back. “You little bitch. Do you think you mean anything to me? You’re nothing. Now, leave.” “Not quite yet.” Shayne flashed the woman a tight smile. “Before I go, I want the truth. I want to know why you murdered your daughter, and how you convinced Robert Anderson to confess.” “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Heddra leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Her hot breath stunk of sickness, and Shayne’s stomach lurched. “But if you put such slanderous lies in your book, I will destroy you.” “I already told you, there’s no book, but I’ll be damned if you take this secret to your grave. Your grandson should know the truth about his father, you owe him that much.” And more. Shayne gripped the arms of the chair until her knuckles ached, but she had to do something to keep from strangling the old bitch. “Desmond knows the truth about his father already. Weak. Murdering. Trash.”

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“How exactly did it happen? Did Hudson make a mistake while he was terrorizing Gwen and her family? Did he go too far? Or had you had enough of your daughter’s disloyalty and finally put her in her place?” A mix of rage and pain flashed in those gleaming onyx eyes. “I never hurt my daughter. She was coming home. That bastard couldn’t bear the thought of my winning, so he killed her.” The naked hate in the woman’s furious outburst gave Shayne pause. Was this what Des saw that made him doubt his grandmother’s involvement? The rage contorting her expression, the undisguised vehemence in her tone—all appeared genuine. Maybe Heddra Grey was telling the truth. Still, Shayne pushed on. She needed to know for certain. “How did you convince Robert to confess? Threaten Gwen’s daughter and his son?” Heddi settled back in her chaise, her indifferent façade back in place, and let out a creaky chuckle. “You have a very active imagination. Perhaps you should consider transitioning into writing fiction.” “How could you do it?” Shayne continued to probe, searching for a reaction. “Murder your own daughter, then spend the next twenty-five years mentally torturing Julia and Des?” At the mention of his name Heddra smiled slowly and predatorily. A chill swept through Shayne like a February wind, despite the woman’s frailty. “Is that where all of this righteous indignation comes from? I underestimated that boy. Not only did he stop you, but you actually believe giving up the book was your idea. How amusing.” “I’m not writing this book because I don’t write about open murder cases. As far as I’m concerned, your daughter’s killer was never brought to justice. She sits in her sunroom all alone, waiting for her own death. Did you kill your granddaughter when you discovered she planned to speak to me? Were you

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worried the only living witness might reveal exactly what she saw that night? Or was stealing the money what finally made you eliminate Julia?” Heddi let out an impatient huff. “What do you mean eliminate Julia? She’s down in the islands, doing God knows what. Though, she should be emerging soon.” Her voice took on wry tone. “That money won’t last forever.” Shayne blinked. Heddi had no idea about the grisly discovery of her granddaughter. Could she have forgotten? She was old and ill, probably on a lot of painkillers. Maybe her mind was starting to slip. “The bodies in the cistern of your daughter’s house,” Shayne said. “The police called this morning and told you one of the skeletons was Julia. You sent Ian to the station to find out what’s being done.” Heddra cocked her head slightly, her nostrils flared. “Does that condescending tone of yours have anything to do with some misplaced belief I’m losing my mind?” Heat stung Shayne’s cheeks. There was no way to answer the woman’s question without embarrassing them both so Shayne opted to ignore it. “Your son came to Des’s this afternoon. He said you told him Julia was dead.” “I did no such thing.” Heddra tapped the rattan arm of her chaise, her bony finger thudding against the hollow wood. “Ian said that?” Shayne nodded, her stomach sliding to her feet. Unease washed through her like an icy wave. Why would the man lie about his niece? Had he hoped to stop Des from helping with Shayne’s book? Or had his motives been far more sinister? “I’m sorry, Mrs. Grey,” the little woman in the uniform said, panting in the doorway. “I can’t find Hudson anywhere. Shall I call the police and have her removed?” “Did you page him, Deirdre?” the old woman snapped.

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“Yes. Three times. He’s not answering.” Shayne barely listened to the exchange between the two women. Something was wrong. She didn’t know what exactly, but she had to speak to Des. Either his sister was still alive, or Ian was the one who’d left her body in the cistern to rot. The world could shift on a dime. Des stared out the passenger window. The wall of trees sped past in a blur of green speckled with red and gold. The numbness encasing his brain was starting to dissolve like thin ice under a spring sun as his mind desperately tried to wrap around the idea his sister was dead. Sorrow, regret and relief swirled in his gut leaving him nauseous. Relief? What the hell kind of person was he? Julia was his sister, for God’s sake. All he had left of his family. Still, he couldn’t shake the odd sense of peace washing over him. He didn’t have to wait for the other shoe to drop, because it already had. Julia was dead. He squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his forehead to the cool glass. He’d failed her. All his efforts to protect her, to help her, didn’t matter. In the end, he’d lost the battle. “I’m sorry, Des,” Ian said, his quiet voice thick with compassion. “For everything.” Ian was sorry? If Des’s stomach hadn’t been churning sickly, if his chest didn’t ache the way it did, he might have laughed. Why the hell should Ian be sorry? What had happened to Julia hadn’t been his fault. He forced his eyes open, sat up and frowned. “I thought we were going into town?” “We are,” Ian said, steering up the narrow drive between the thick mass of trees. “I need to make a quick stop. There’s a buyer interested in the Matheson

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place, and I’ll be showing it later this afternoon. I want to check if it’s clean and ready to be seen.” The tiny cabin Shayne had rented appeared as the car emerged from the forest. Less than a week had passed since showing her this place. He’d been furious, and determined to protect Julia from her, when he’d found out who she really was. But Julia had been already dead, rotting in the same house she’d watched her mother and brother die in. Christ, had that house merely been a convenient place to dump her body, or had she been alive when she’d been taken there? He couldn’t even begin to imagine the fear, the horror she’d felt being dragged into that place. Dying within those walls. Why would Anderson have killed her? He’d already served his time. Des swallowed the bile creeping up the back of his throat. That man’s blood flowed through his veins. The genes of a sick, deranged killer made up his own. No wonder Shayne wanted nothing to do with him after all this was over. Ian stopped the car, and Des sank lower in his seat. He hoped his uncle would hurry and finish whatever he needed to do. He wanted to get to the police. After all, he had about a million questions for them. “Come on,” Ian said, opening the car door. “I need your help. The sooner we finish up here, the sooner we can go.” Des rolled his eyes. He popped open the door and started for the cabin. As he climbed the short flight of steps to the deck, his phone started to buzz inside his jacket. He shouldered the screen door open, reached for his cell with one hand and unlocked the door with the other. As he slid the phone from his pocket, he pushed wide the heavy oak door. Shayne’s number flashed on the screen, and a tiny bolt of panic punctured the fog encasing his mind. Was she okay?

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“You have no idea how much I’ve been looking forward to this, you little shit.” The deep voice dragged Des’s attention from the cell. He looked up, and barely had time to register Warren standing just inside the cabin, arm cocked, before the man’s fist plowed into his face. His head snapped back, his phone went flying. Brilliant agony exploded as his nose crunched. Blood flooded his nasal passages, dripped down the back of his throat, filling his mouth with the meaty, iron flavor. He stumbled on the top step before free-falling and landing flat on his back. The impact thrust the air from his lungs. His head struck something hard, then there was nothing at all.

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“Investigators considered many motives for the murders of Gwendolyn Grey-Anderson and her son. Jealousy, betrayal, rage—unfortunately no one took into account oldfashioned greed, and a murderer went unpunished for more than two decades.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds “What are you doing? Whom are you phoning? I asked you a question.” Heddra Grey’s sharp words pricked at Shayne’s last nerve like stinging bees. She stood and pressed a finger to her free ear in an effort to drown out the older woman’s voice while holding her phone to the other. The ringing stopped with a click, and Des’s voice instructed her to leave a message. Crap. “Hi, it’s me,” she said, after the beep. “I need to speak to you about your sister. Please phone me back. It’s important.” She hit End and looked down at the phone, willing it to ring. Icy knots twisted her belly. There could be a number of reasons Des wasn’t answering his phone. He might be busy, or maybe he left his cell in the car, or maybe he believed she was responsible for his sister dying and he didn’t want to talk to her. Yet she couldn’t shake the feeling something was very wrong. She whirled around to face the old woman. “Why would your son lie to us about something like that?” Heddra’s lips thinned until they all but disappeared. “I couldn’t say. Was that Desmond you were calling?”

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Shayne nodded only half-listening. What could Ian gain by telling Des that his sister was dead? Had he wanted Des to go somewhere with him? Maybe get him out of the house and leave her vulnerable to Tic? That was a distinct possibility. “He didn’t answer?” Heddra asked. “What?” Shayne asked, her tone sharp. Why couldn’t the woman stop pestering her with stupid questions? “No, I left a message on his voice mail. Did you send Ian to get Des out of the apartment to give Tic another shot at me?” The old woman blew out a sigh and reached for the cup and saucer on the table beside her. “This is the second time you’ve insulted my intelligence. I don’t appreciate it.” Shayne rolled her eyes. Like she cared if she offended the old harridan or not. “Mrs. Grey, shall I call the police?” Deirdre asked, still standing in the doorway and wringing her stubby fingers. “Not just yet, I think,” Heddra said, lifting the cup to her lips and sipping noisily. When she lowered it, the china clinked on the matched saucer. “I’m curious about my son’s behavior as well. Call him and tell him I wish to see him immediately.” Could Ian have killed Gwen? Why? Because she was coming home, giving up her husband and returning to her mother’s side. Returning to take charge of her mother’s empire…or at least that’s what he believed. He had no idea Gwen and Robert had planned to leave Dark Water. “Of course, madam,” Deirdre said. “Wait, don’t.” Shayne lifted her hand. “Des is with him. We don’t want to let on we know something is wrong.”

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“She may have a point,” Heddra agreed. “But keep paging Hudson. We may need his help.” The digital pulse of her phone cut through the quiet. Shayne jumped. She glanced at the screen where Des’s number flashed, and let out a slow breath, her muscles turning soft. She pressed the phone to her ear. “Thank God. I was worried about you. Listen, I’m—” “No, you listen,” a deep, muffled voice cut in. Definitely male, but beyond that unrecognizable. “I’m going to give you a series of instructions and you’re going to follow them to the letter. If you don’t, we’ll kill him.” “Des?” she asked, stupidly still processing what he was saying. We. He’d used the word we—whoever was calling wasn’t working alone. “You have twenty minutes to bring us every piece of information you have about Gwendolyn Grey.” He rattled off an address she didn’t recognize. “If you do as you’re told, I’ll let you both live. If you don’t, or if you do something stupid like call the police, I’ll kill him. Twenty minutes. Or his blood will be on your hands too.” The line clicked and the dial tone buzzed in her ear. Shayne pressed End. Her heart hammered in her chest. She couldn’t lose Des, not like this. God help her, what if he was already dead? Her knees trembled, threatening to buckle. She grabbed the back of the nearest chair to steady herself. “Was that Desmond?” Heddra demanded. Shayne shook her head. “I don’t know who that was. I think he was trying to disguise his voice.” If it was Ian, the man was no criminal genius—she’d watched Des leave with him. “Whoever he was, he’s not working alone.” “Well, what did he want?”

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“My notes. He wants everything I have about your daughter’s murder, and if I don’t bring it to him, he’ll kill Des,” she spoke the last on a whisper, pressing her fingers to her mouth. She couldn’t let that happen. She wouldn’t. She had to do something. “Call the police,” Heddra said, waving one skeletal hand as though she were swatting away a fly. “No. He has Des, and he threatened to kill him if we call the police.” Those black eyes narrowed and Heddra jabbed a bony finger at her. “You can’t possibly be considering doing what he asked. You must realize you’ll be killed too. And if Ian murdered my Gwen, by God I will see him punished.” Even if it means her grandson dies. Shayne swallowed down her slowbuilding anger. If she wanted to get Des and herself out of this mess alive, she might need the old woman’s help. “Ian doesn’t know I’m here, that I know he lied about Julia.” Heddra blew out an impatient sigh. “What’s your point?” “I’m going to get what he asked for—” “Nonsense. Desmond is probably already dead, and Ian will only kill you too. You’re being foolish. I’ll send for the police.” At the idea of never seeing Des again, Shayne’s heart clenched, her throat squeezed tight. No, she refused to believe he was gone. She had to pull herself together. “Give me a half hour’s head start, then call the police.” Heddra tilted her head, and pursed her lips. “You’re being foolhardy, letting sentiment cloud your decisions. Where does he want you to meet him?” Shayne told her the address. “That’s Tic’s place. Are you sure you don’t want to call the police?” Could Tic be the other half of we? She swallowed hard, ignoring the ice flooding her veins.

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“A half hour,” Shayne said. “Besides, look at it this way, after all these years there may not be enough evidence to tie Ian to Gwendolyn’s murder. If he kills Des and me, the chances of his being sent to prison are a hell of lot better.” Heddra smiled. “Good point.” Des remained still, his eyes slit so he could watch his captors without either of them realizing he was awake. Sticks and pine needles jabbed his cheek, and something hard dug into his hip, but he didn’t dare move. He didn’t want to give himself away. With his hands and feet trussed up behind him, his only hope of survival was surprise. His nose, crusted with dried blood, ached—probably broken—and a shrill throb beat at the back of his head where he’d hit something sharp. A rock, maybe. His face and neck were sticky with blood. That had been a hell of a sucker punch Warren had landed on him. If he ever got the chance, he’d pound that fucker’s face in. Des shifted and tried to tug his hands free of the bindings, but the ropes tightened, biting into his wrists and ankles. Nausea swept through him, and he clenched his teeth, swallowing back the hot bile bubbling up the back of his throat. He couldn’t let himself puke, or he risked alerting the two dark figures on the far side of the clearing that he was awake. He was in a hell of a spot, and damned if he could figure out how to get out of this mess. As the sun dipped toward the horizon, the forest interior darkened, turning gray and shadowy. Despite the gloom, and having been dumped in a heap at the edge of the woods, Des recognized Tic’s house—the peeling paint and sagging roof. As the minutes ticked by, Des waited for the man to appear, but he didn’t.

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Only Warren and his uncle stood thirty feet to his right, muttering quietly to each other. Ian. There had to be a mistake. His uncle wouldn’t be doing this on his own. He must have been acting under orders from Heddi. How did Warren fit in? Des had no idea, and he sure as hell didn’t have time to figure it out now. He had to get out of here. Ian moved closer, holding something to his ear. Des closed his eyes, forced his body to relax and struggled to keep his breathing even. “…instructions…to the letter.” Ian was on the phone. Des strained to hear more. “…twenty minutes to…Des…I’ll kill him.” Bait, they were using him as bait, but for who? You know who. Shayne. His stomach clenched, bringing with it another wave of dizzying nausea. He gritted his teeth, clammy sweat springing to his skin. He had to get loose. He had to keep them away from Shayne. Ian stopped next to him and Des held his breath. The pounding of his heart reverberated through his body. Surely, Ian would hear it. “Twenty minutes.” The icy mirth in his uncle’s voice chilled his blood. He’d never heard Ian speak that way to anyone. “Or his blood will be on your hands.” “She’s on her way. Dig,” Ian shouted over his shoulder. “He still out?” Warren called. Ian chuckled, hard and humorless. “Yeah, he’s out. He hit that rock so hard, he probably won’t wake up until next week.” A sharp pang sliced through Des. Christ, Ian sounded so damned pleased with himself. So damned pleased to be doing away with Des. The crunch of Ian’s footfalls on the dry leaves and pine needles moved toward the metallic scrape of a shovel in dirt. Des cracked his eyes, peering at the

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two men, one digging a pit, the other standing next to it. Not a pit. A grave. They were digging a grave…and not just for him. He had to get free, get to Shayne, before they did. He wriggled his hands in the ropes, trying to slide them free. Instead, the knots tightened, pulling his feet closer to his back. Frustration built like a geyser ready to burst. Shit, shit shit! How the hell would he get out of this? “When will you shoot him?” Warren asked, panting a little. Des froze straining to listen. “Not yet,” Ian said. “She may need reassurance he’s alive to get her close enough to grab. Actually, it may be smarter not to shoot either of them. Someone could hear gun shots. Tied up, they won’t be able to dig their way out.” Buried alive? No thanks. But how the hell could he get away trussed up like a goddamned turkey? Shayne parked at the side of the road, cut the engine and waited in her seat as the headlights dimmed. The sun had slipped behind the horizon, leaving the sky streaked turquoise and indigo, and the woods dark. Forest stretched up on either side of the narrow road like fortress walls. For a moment, Shayne couldn’t move. She could barely breathe. Silence closed in around her as thick and oppressive as the trees outside. What the hell was she doing? She should go to the police, let them save Des and stop Ian. But if she did, she risked the chance his uncle would kill him. She couldn’t let that happen. At least this way, Ian would think he was in control and she could stall him until the police arrived. As plans went, it was pretty weak. But it was the only one she had.

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Fear and guilt tangled inside her, tying her stomach into knots. This was her fault. Des was in this mess because of her book, and if Ian was telling the truth about Julia, she was dead because of her too. Shayne swiped her trembling hands down her face, drew in a deep breath and snatched her Leatherman from the passenger’s seat beside her. One of the few items in her car to survive Tic’s assault, she’d grabbed it when she’d picked up her notes from Des’s apartment. The tool, which was like a Swiss Army knife on steroids, was the best she could find to use as a weapon besides a knife from Des’s kitchen. And the tire iron from the trunk of her rental car. She popped open the door and stepped out into the chilly night. The earthy smell of damp leaves filled her nose. The cold air brought a wave of goose bumps to her skin. She slipped the Leatherman into the back pocket of her jeans. Her father had given it to her when her divorce had become final, telling her she’d have to take care of things for herself now that she didn’t have a man in her life. Though she was fairly certain he didn’t have in mind facing down killers holding the man she loved hostage. Please, let me get us both out of this. She reached into the backseat of the car and grabbed the tire iron. The wind whispered through the leaves like tiny ghostly voices. She slid the thin metal up the arm of her jacket, cupping the curled end in her hand. No need to advertise she planned to fight back, and hopefully Ian wouldn’t notice how stiff and straight her right arm was. She eased the car door closed so as not to make a sound, then crept into the dark woods. She walked as quietly as she could, wincing every time a twig snapped beneath her weight. The canopy of leaves above her blocked the last of the dying light, turning the woods murky. She kept the driveway, a slightly brighter break in the trees, in view so she would at least know she was headed in

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the right direction. But in the deepening twilight, the marginal difference was fading fast. She should have searched Des’s apartment for a flashlight. Though, it wasn’t like she would have been able to use it. The light would have given away her approach. Right now, the only things she had on her side were the element of surprise, a couple of makeshift weapons and Heddra Grey’s promise to wait to call the police. Not terribly reassuring. No sirens yet. Maybe the woman would keep her word. Or maybe she’d masterminded the entire plan. No, Heddra had appeared genuinely furious at the idea her son had been the one to murder her daughter. Still, even if she could count on Heddra, Shayne’s odds of getting both her and Des out of this mess alive weren’t good. The distinct scrape and clang of a shovel reached her ears. Her breath caught. She froze midstep, straining to hear more. Low voices, unintelligible, but definitely male. Carefully, she tiptoed closer. The trees thinned and through the tangled branches, Shayne could discern the outline of a small, sagging house in the distance and the silhouette of two men about fifty feet to her right. She held her breath, heart pounding in her ears. One man dug while the other watched. “Hurry the hell up,” the smaller shadow ground out. Ian, she recognized his voice. “It doesn’t have to be deep, just wide. After all, it’s better for us if they’re found. Not right away, but in the spring, maybe.” The digging man grunted, but didn’t slow his pace. Her blood ran cold. She didn’t need more of an explanation for what they were digging and why. Des. Where was Des? Oh God, was she already too late?

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She scanned the area, her gaze landing on a wriggling heap to her left. That had to be him. And he was alive. She let out a slow breath, then moved away, staying close to the edge of trees hugging the clearing. Despite, the care she took tiptoeing as she walked, dead leaves and pine needles crunched beneath the rubber soles of her sneakers. Fortunately, Ian and his pal’s muttered conversation drowned out her footsteps. As she drew closer, the wiggling lump went still. She slipped from the trees and crouched down beside him. Des was hog-tied, and even in the growing darkness she could make out the crusted blood on his face and clumped in his hair. A dull ache thickened in her throat. “What did they do to you?” she whispered, gently brushing her fingers through his hair. His eyes popped open, sheer horror gripping his features. “Shayne, get the hell out of here. Run.” “Not without you.” She glanced at the men still digging. She didn’t know how long she had until they stopped and checked on Des, or started looking for her, but hopefully she’d have enough time to untie him and get him to the car before they even knew he was gone. She dug the Leatherman from her pocket, searched through the implements until she found a serrated blade. “I mean it,” Des ground out. “That’s a grave they’re digging, they plan to bury us alive.” She swallowed hard, but stayed focused on sawing through the rope. “Then shut up so they don’t notice me.” He gasped as the added pressure drew the ropes tighter. “Sorry,” she whispered, sawing faster. She didn’t want to cause him more pain, but she had to work quickly.

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The rope frayed, the loose strands tickling her knuckles as she dragged the blade back and forth. “Shayne, please,” Des whispered. “I’m almost through. Watch them. Let me know if they stop.” “No. Get the hell—” The clang of a shovel banging over the ground jerked her attention to the two men and silenced Des. Caught. The word screamed in her head while her heart fluttered wildly in her chest. With her stomach somewhere around her shoes, she waited. “She’s taking too long. She should have been here by now,” the larger man said, his voice a deep growl. Warren working with Ian? She would never have guessed. Shayne bent her head and sawed furiously. “I bet she’s gone to the police. We should just kill him and get the hell out of here. We can get her later,” Warren muttered. “Stick to the plan.” Ian’s voice was bright with humor. “She didn’t go to the police. She’ll be here.” The knot gave way, and she unwound the rope from around Des’s wrists and ankles. He let out a low breath, wincing as he straightened his limbs. “I can’t run yet,” he said, easing onto his back. “My legs and arms are numb. Go, I’ll catch up.” “Not without you,” she told him, keeping her gaze trained on Warren and Ian. “You can’t be sure she’ll come, or that she won’t go to the cops,” Warren said, climbing out of the pit. “Let’s kill him now.”

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“I told you, we need him alive in case we need to flush her out,” Ian said, throwing up his arms, the humor in his tone giving way to impatience. “Trust me, she’ll be here and she won’t risk going to the police.” “Go!” Des flexed his arms and fingers. “They haven’t spotted me,” she hissed. “Stay quiet and they won’t.” “How can you be sure?” Warren snapped, taking a menacing step toward Ian. With any luck, they’d turn on each other. “Because she’s in love with him.” “She’s in love with him?” Warren exploded. “That’s your guarantee? I should have known you’d fuck this up. Where is she? Huh? Where the fuck is she if she loves him so goddamned much?” “Right over there.” Ian said, swinging his arm out to point directly at her. His invisible gaze pinned her where she crouched. Des clumsily grabbed at her, trying to shove her away. “Run. Go. Now!” Shayne stood, gripping the Leatherman in one hand and let the cool metal of the tire iron slide down her arm, gripping the end and keeping the bar tucked behind her leg. “That would be a very bad idea, Ms. Reynolds,” Ian said, perhaps assuming she was getting ready to make a break for it. “At least, if you ever want to see Des alive again.” “Don’t listen to them. It’s bullshit,” Des shouted. “They’re going to kill us no matter what.” Not if she could help it. Shayne didn’t blink, she kept her gaze on them as they slowly made their way closer. How could she take them both out? One she might have been able to handle on her own, but two? She didn’t like those odds.

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“I brought you what you want. All of my notes and research material are in my car.” She jerked her head in the direction from which she’d come. “Everything is there. Even my Day- Timer and all my contacts.” “Thank you, Ms. Reynolds.” Ian flashed a wide smile, hauntingly bright in the darkness. “You’ve been very accommodating. You’re not surprised to see me, are you?” “No, I know why you killed your sister.” Maybe if she got him talking she could stall long enough for the police to get there. “You found out she was leaving Robert, and you would never be able to take control of your mother’s companies.” He chuckled softly, menacingly. Goose bumps raced over her skin. “I think Cal overestimated you. Perhaps you’re not as dangerous as he gave you credit for. Doesn’t the fact he’s here tell you I knew Gwen and Robert were leaving town together?” The man had a point. “Why did you kill her?” “Because here or away, it wouldn’t matter. My mother had disowned my sister for nearly three years, but she would have still handed it all back to her in the blink of an eye. Even with Gwen gone, Heddi would have waited for her to come back. I was tired of waiting for what should have been mine, and getting rid of Gwen for real would give me exactly what I wanted.” “You murdered your sister and your nephew, and all you got for your trouble was a broken-down realty company,” Des mocked. “Nice job.” Something in Ian’s eyes flashed. “I’ll have everything once that old bitch is dead.” “No, Kate will.” “I can manage my daughter.”

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Des opened his mouth to argue, but Shayne cut him off. “You killed your sister, believing Heddra would have no choice but to accept your help running her companies. You just didn’t count on how little your mother trusted you. It must have been frustrating to watch your mother continue to manage everything herself until your daughter came of age.” Ian’s mouth curved into a feral smile. Shayne’s blood turned to ice. She’d pushed too far. “You think you’re so clever,” Ian sneered, taking a step toward her and Des. Des tensed at her feet. Her pulse raced. How much longer until the police arrived. Minutes? Seconds? Not at all? “Not really…” Shayne’s voice faded in her dry throat. She cleared it and tried again. “Why is Warren involved? Wouldn’t killing Gwen put an end to the money he could extort from her whenever he threatened to go after the children again?” “It was never about the money, I wanted the companies. That’s why I married Gwen in the first place.” “But you didn’t get anything for your efforts,” Shayne said. “Why are you helping him now?” Warren winked. “Damage control.” “Always the writer looking for a story, huh?” Ian set his hands on his hips and shook his head slowly. “Haven’t you figured it out yet? You’re not going to be around to write your book. If you’re lucky, maybe someday someone will write one about you.” The irony clearly pleased him, his smile widened. “Enough,” Warren said. “Let’s finish this.” Warren lunged forward and Des tensed again, but Ian stepped in between. “Now, now, it seems only fair these two should know why they’re about to

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spend eternity buried in Tic Johnson’s yard. You’ve both been very accommodating where Tic’s concerned. No one will be surprised he killed you, with so much animosity between you all.” Shayne’s heart pounded in her chest. “Except Tic. He might be surprised, and not too happy at being set up for murder.” Both Warren and Ian grinned as if Shayne had said something very funny. “He’s not going to complain where he is,” Ian said, still grinning. “We were much more careful disposing of his body than we will be with the two of you. When you’re found, people will think he killed you and took off. No one will guess he’s dead too. The brilliant part about all of this is we were going to use this plan originally. Let Tic, that mean old bastard, take the fall for Gwen’s death. After all, everyone knew he’d been making their life hell that year on Heddi’s order, but Anderson fell under suspicion right away, and we had Des and Julia to keep him in line.” Shayne adjusted her grip on the Leatherman. “Why didn’t Anderson tell the police you killed them?” Ian’s brow furrowed. “He couldn’t prove it was us. Heddi was convinced he’d killed them, so were the police. Even with circumstantial evidence, he was going to jail, and wouldn’t be able to protect his children while fighting to clear his name. I explained if he didn’t go along quietly, I would finish what we started, and take out Julia and you too, Des.” “I guess after an eight-year-old managed to outwit you and escape, you had to make a few amendments to your plan,” Shayne said unable to hide her derision. Warren snorted, and the smarmy smile slipped from Ian’s face. “She didn’t escape. Do you think a kid could get away from both of us? We got to her before she even had you out of your high chair.” Ian nodded at Des,

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but Des merely held Ian’s gaze, his expression blank. “She didn’t actually see me shoot her mother and Christian. We told her a monster killed them, and if she said she saw us at the house, the monster would come for her, and for Des. She believed us, but as she grew older she began to realize why we’d really been there that night. She stayed quiet, though—lucky for her. Besides, who would believe a basket case like her when Robert had already confessed? And as added insurance, I kept you close to me, Des. She wouldn’t say anything that would risk my hurting you.” “That’s why you would have me stay with you sometimes, even interfere with Heddi,” Des said, his voice oddly calm, hiding the pain he had to be feeling at having his uncle betray him this way. “To control my sister, to keep her quiet.” Ian chuckled, clearly delighting in at last having someone to reveal all that he had done. “That’s right. I also wanted you to feel you could confide in me. If Julia ever talked, I wanted you to come to me with whatever she told you. And you would have. We were quite close, weren’t we?” “Why kill Christian if you spared the other two?” Shayne asked, drawing the man’s attention again. She had to keep him talking, just a little longer. “Because he was older and harder to control?” “Killing the children hadn’t been part of the plan. Cal was supposed to keep them away until I got clear. He would even claim he saw Tic hurrying from the house with the gun. But Christian heard the noise and came running out. I had to kill him.” Shayne jerked her attention to Cal staring stoically back at her. “My God, how could you have let him murder your own son?” The man’s expression hardened, but he didn’t reply. Ian slapped Warren’s shoulder, smiled ruefully and shook his head. “Make no mistake, he wasn’t happy with me, but we were in too deep to go back or turn on each other. I let

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Cal talk me out of killing Julia and Des, though. He convinced me they were both too young to cause us any trouble. But he was wrong, and the time’s come to correct our oversight.” “Oversight? That’s what Julia was to you?” Des ground out, a hard glare fixed on Warren. “You didn’t visit her at the hospital out of some sad sense of paternal concern, you were there messing with her head. Threatening her, scaring her, forcing her to keep your sick secret. How could you do that to your own daughter?” “You think you knew her?” Warren’s eyes squinted, and he leaned closer to Des. “You think she was some sweet, tormented girl? You have no idea who she was. You asked me what I said to her in the hospital, but you should have asked what she said to me. She decided to blackmail us. We knew about the money she was stealing. It was a payoff to keep her mouth shut. She didn’t care about what we’d done so long as she could make a little money off it.” “You found out she was going to talk to me, and you killed her.” Shayne’s stomach churned. God help her, Julia’s death had been her fault. Ian’s smile widened. “That little bitch was going to double-cross us, tell you everything, then take the money and run. But she’s not an issue anymore, and soon you won’t be either.” Shayne’s heart jumped, her body tensed. Time was running out. “I’m sorry, Des,” Ian said with the sincerity of a used car salesman, “but I can’t protect you. You’re not a child anymore.” “No, I’m not.” Des sprang from the ground and leaped at Warren.

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Chapter Twenty-Five

“Their mother’s blatant preference for Gwen created a strong animosity between siblings, but no one could have guessed how deeply Ian’s hatred ran.” —excerpt from Blood and Bone by Shayne Reynolds For a second Shayne could only gape as Des clung to Warren’s back like a deranged child struggling for a piggyback ride. They teetered sideways, and Warren fell with a thud. Des scrambled on top and struck him with two sharp jabs to the face. Warren’s nose crunched and turned to red mush. Ian made a grab for Des, and Shayne’s paralysis broke. She thrust the Leatherman into his thigh. He yowled, and before she could yank the blade out again, he caught her across the cheek with the back of his hand sending her stumbling back. Her face throbbed, but she didn’t have time to think about the pain. Ian wrenched the blade from his leg. His eyes blazing and his expression furious, he charged her with her own weapon. She swung the tire iron wide, caught him across the shoulder. The metal reverberated in her hands, sending a sharp pang up her arms. He let out another howl and dropped the Leatherman. She swung the tire iron again, and he held out his hand as if to catch the bar. Instead, a sickening crack filled the air and Ian screamed. Collapsing to his knees, he cradled his crooked hand to his chest. Shayne wheeled around as Warren gripped Des and shoved him off his chest. Des scrambled to his feet, poised to leap at him again. Shayne raised the tire iron, and took a step forward.

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“Enough,” Warren shouted, but his broken nose sounded clogged like he had a bad cold and the word came out enup. He drew a gun from his waistband and leveled it at Des’s head. For an instant, Shayne’s heart ceased to beat. Everyone froze. Silence stretched between them. Even the forest seemed to hold its breath. “Put that down.” Warren nodded at the tire iron. She released the metal and it hit the ground with a dull clang. They’d lost. Now, Warren would blow a hole in each of their heads and dump them into the pit. At best, the police might arrive in time to catch Warren and Ian burying them. “When I say now—” Des’s voice jerked her from her thoughts. She turned her head and met his bright gaze. His body tense, he looked far from ready to stop fighting,“—run. Go to the police.” Oh God, Des was going to rush him, and probably wind up dead in the process. She couldn’t leave him. She couldn’t let him die. “I’ll kill him,” Warren said. The gun trembled in his hand. “You’ll kill him, anyway,” she whispered. The truth of her own words gripped her throat. “Do something!” Warren exploded. Something tugged at her pant leg. Shayne looked down to see Ian trying grab her with one hand, the other, bent at a strange angle at the wrist, tucked against his chest. He lifted his face and peered up at her with hate-filled eyes, his lips disappearing into a sneer. She stepped away from him easily. “Ready?” Des asked without looking away from Warren. No! She wasn’t ready. Not to run and leave him to die. There had to be another way. “I’ll kill you, then I’ll blow her away too.”

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“Freeze. Drop your weapon.” Shayne whirled at the sound of another voice. Avery stood at the edge the trees, gun drawn and leveled at Warren. Her knees turned to jelly, and she nearly crumpled to the ground. She’d never thought the day would come when she’d be glad to see that man, but she’d never been happier to see anyone in her life. “No,” Warren snarled, his voice turning almost shrill. He kept the gun trained on Des. “Should have killed you when I had the chance.” “It’s done. Drop. Your. Weapon.” More officers emerged from the woods into the clearing, guns aimed at him. Ian let out a keening moan. Warren’s mouth curled into a sneer. “This is all because of you, bitch. When he’s dead you remember that.” Oh Christ, he was going to kill Des anyway. “Don’t—” Shayne started, but two nearly simultaneous explosions cut through the night, drowning her out. Des’s shoulder jerked sideways, turning him so he faced her. His features pulled into a tight wince. Brilliant red formed a misshaped circle on his sleeve, spreading and darkening. He collapsed to the ground. “No, no, no,” she muttered, as she ran. She dropped to her knees at his side. Des lay still, eyes squeezed tightly, face ashen, hand pressed to his shoulder. Blood seeped between his fingers. “Des,” she half-sobbed, “please be okay.” “I am,” he murmured through gritted teeth. “Just a graze. My head is killing me, though. Warren?” She looked over to where the man had been standing. He now lay still and lifeless on the forest floor, an officer bent over him.

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“I think he’s dead.” She turned to look for Ian. He remained crouched with his hand curled into his chest, three officers surrounding him. An ambulance rolled up the dirt drive red and blue lights swinging across the clearing. Thank God. “Paramedics are here,” Avery said, crouching beside Des and examining the jagged tear in his arm. “You’ll live, I think.” Shayne pressed a trembling hand to her mouth as if to physically hold at bay the sob building in her throat. Des opened his eyes and fixed his gaze on Shayne. “I know. I’m not going anywhere.” Des leaned back against the brick-like pillow of his hospital bed and winced, shrill agony shooting through his skull. For the most part, the painkillers the nurse had given him earlier had done wonders to block the sharp pounding in his head and the burn in his shoulder, but if anything came in contact with his injuries, a fresh wave of pain flooded his system. He’d have to sleep on his side tonight…if he slept at all. He didn’t think it too likely. Every time he closed his eyes, his head would fill with images of Warren and Ian slowly descending upon him and Shayne. What if the numbness in his arms hadn’t faded in time? If the police hadn’t arrived when they did? The possibilities turned his stomach and left him cold. With a muttered curse, he shifted on the uncomfortable mattress. He wanted to go home. To see Shayne in the flesh, and know she was safe, with him. But the doctor had insisted he stay at least one night in the hospital. Having had his nose broken, head smashed and arm shot—even if it was just a graze—didn’t give him a whole lot of room to argue. “Hey.”

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He turned to see Shayne standing in the doorway. She looked a mess, hair tousled, clothes stained, dark semicircles beneath her eyes standing out against her unusually pale skin. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever known, and the sight of her warmed him. “I didn’t think I’d get to see you. Visiting hours ended a while ago,” he said. She shot him a tight smile. “I know, but I slipped the nurse twenty bucks to let me in.” “Twenty bucks, huh?” Why wasn’t she coming in, and why did she look uneasy? A tiny bolt of icy panic pierced his chest. Was she here to tell him goodbye? “You should have haggled. You probably could have talked her down to at least twelve-fifty.” “I figured you were worth the full pop.” Again that nervous smile. His insides tightened. “I tried to see you sooner, but no one would let me in or tell me anything because I’m not family. Your cousin was here and must have said something to the doctor because once she left they started keeping me informed.” “How is Kate?” In the span of a few hours, he and his cousin had reversed rolls. They’d never been close, but he wouldn’t have wished his legacy on anyone. Shayne slipped her hands into the rear pockets of her jeans and rocked back and forth on her heels. “She gives new meaning to the word stoic, but I think underneath, she’s angry. Her exact words to me were, ‘I’ve always known he was a lowlife.’” Des nodded. “Ian’s been cheating on my aunt for most of their marriage, and he hasn’t exactly been subtle. Kate’s never had much respect for him. Still, this has to be hard on her.”

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“Kate asked me to tell you Heddi is letting you off the money, and she’ll be reimbursing you what you paid her.” “That makes sense, I guess.” Images of his sister and what those bastards had done to her flashed through his head. A sick ache gripped his chest. “Since Julia died the night she disappeared, Heddi probably figures she couldn’t have spent the money, and it shouldn’t be too hard to track down what Julia did with it.” Shayne nipped the corner of her lip, and pressed her hand to her chest. “I’m sorry about your sister, and for my part in what happened to her.” Her voice hitched on the last word. Des’s brows pulled together, making his head hurt. “Is that why you aren’t coming in? Because you think I blame you?” “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me. They killed Julia because of the book.” “No, they killed her because she was extorting money from them. She was getting ready to run, and Ian knew it. They let her believe she was calling the shots, but all along they were setting her up. That’s why they killed her accomplice. He probably was working with them, and once he brought them Julia, they killed him too.” “And all that happened after she agreed to speak to me about the book,” Shayne said. “How could you have possibly known what would happen?” Des held out his hand to her. “I worked for Ian, looked up to him, considered him the closest thing I had to a father. I never had the slightest inkling of what he was capable of.” Shayne took his hand and let him pull her onto the edge of the bed. Some of the tension twisting her insides eased a little. He didn’t blame her, and that was good, but a lifetime had passed since this morning. Just because he didn’t hate

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her didn’t mean he wanted a life with her either. And how exactly did you ask someone what their feelings for you were after rejecting them point-blank, then nearly getting them killed—albeit inadvertently. Without thinking, she pressed her palm to his chest, absorbing the steady beat through the thin hospital gown. She’d come so close to losing him. Her throat tightened and she struggled to push away the memory of his crumpling to the ground. “I want you to finish writing the book.” Des’s words pulled her from her thoughts. She didn’t know if she could anymore. Everything had changed. She was no longer telling a story as an observer, reporting the facts. She’d become a character, a near victim—coupled with her feelings for Des, how objective could she be? “Don’t make decisions like that right now. Give things a chance to settle first.” “I don’t need to. My father was innocent. I want the truth about what happened that night out there.” “Wait until—” “I don’t need to wait.” She sighed. “Fine, we’ll talk about it when you get out of here.” “Okay.” He nodded slowly, his gaze never leaving her face, as if he were gauging her every reaction. “Will we talk about us too?” A sliver of hope surged inside her. Her heart rate kicked up, pounding like a jackhammer against her chest. “Is there an us?” He reached up and traced the angle of her cheekbone with his fingertip. Her breath caught. “I want there to be.”

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Relief flooded her system, turning her muscles soft. She could have wept. “This morning when you brought up the idea, I need you to understand when Travis and I split up—” “Don’t compare me to him.” His expression darkened and he dropped his hand to his side. “I’m not. Well, I am a little, but I… hear me out, okay?” He nodded, raised his arms and winced, remembering his shoulder wound. Instead, he lifted his good arm, gingerly slipping his hand behind his head. He flashed her a tight, mildly annoyed smile. “I’m all ears.” Great, because she still didn’t know how to explain exactly what she felt. She drew in a deep breath. “Divorce is hard. The last months of my marriage and another year of going through the separation—it’s grueling and exhausting and it took so much out of me.” “I am not him,” Des ground out. “I know that. Because I feel ten times more for you than I ever felt for him. I love you so much, and it scares the hell out of me.” To her mortification hot tears stung her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but instead they rolled down her cheeks. “Hey.” Des’s eyes widened. The annoyance in his expression dissolved into an almost comical mix of shock and horror. He sat up and wrapped his good arm around her and pulled her tightly against him. She buried her head in his neck, losing herself in the warmth of his body, the spicy scent of his skin. “It’s okay.” “I was crazy to think I could walk away from you, from what I felt.” She struggled not to give in to the sobs gripping her body. “Twice I thought you died.” “I’m here,” Des murmured, brushing his lips against the top of her head, stroking her hair. “I’m not going anywhere.”

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Her face burned, as her tears continued to fall, soaking the collar of his hospital gown. Eventually, they tapered off. She pulled back and stood. “I’m not normally a cryer,” she said, grabbing a handful of tissues from the box on the table next to his bed. She wiped her face and blew her nose. “It’s just a tension release after the day we’ve had.” When she turned back to look at him, Des was grinning, dimples grooving his cheeks. “I didn’t mind. I kind of liked having you close.” “Oh, yeah?” She dropped onto the edge of his bed. “Yeah.” He slid his hand up her arm, sat forward and cupped the back of her head. “I love you too.” Before she could respond, he captured her mouth with his, drawing on her lips in a slow, deep kiss that shot straight to her core. She moaned softly, leaned into him. What are you doing? The man has been beaten up and shot, and you’re making out with him in his hospital bed? What is wrong with you? “I’m sorry.” She pulled back. Her ragged breathing made her voice sound soft. She could almost taste the frantic beat of her pulse. “I shouldn’t have done that after what you’ve been through.” “Just so you know,” Des said, leveling a pointed stare at her. “I will never have been through too much for that.” She shot him her own wry grin. “Never say never. You shouldn’t tempt fate. You’re sure you’re okay knowing we’ll never have a family together?” “Yes,” he said on an exasperated sigh. “You keep worrying about not being able to have children, but I’m the one who’s not much of a catch. A lousy real estate agent and an unemployed web designer—you could do better.”

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She brushed his hair back from his forehead, still grinning like a lovesick schoolgirl. But she couldn’t help herself, she was just so damned happy. “You’re who I want.” He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. “Me too.”

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Epilogue

Shayne pulled into the driveway of the red brick two-story. The late afternoon sun cast a golden hue over the thick lawn and pale purple blooms covering the lilac bush near the front door. She shut off the motor, and the day’s tension eased from her limbs. Home. She got out of the car, hauled her purse and computer bag from the backseat, then followed the flagstone walk to the front door. The sweet fragrance from the lilac bush tickled her nose as she grabbed the mail poking out the top of the box and went inside. Silence greeted her as she walked through the living room to the kitchen, rifling through the bank statements, flyers and bills. She dropped the mail on the table, set her bag on the kitchen chair and smiled. The sliding-glass door stood open, the spring breeze blowing the sheer, white curtain away from the screen. Shayne pulled back the drape and found Des stretched out on the hammock they’d tied between two pear trees last weekend. One hand was tucked behind his head, the other clutched a paperback novel. Bigwig sat curled on his chest. Tiny white blossoms from the trees fluttered to the ground around them. Her heart expanded, filling her with an almost silly happiness as she slipped out back. She stepped onto the deck and Des set his book aside and grinned. “You’re home early.”

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“You too,” she said, walking across the grass to the hammock. She had to put her weight on her toes so her heels wouldn’t sink into the soft ground. She should have taken them off. Too late now. “I wrapped up my meeting sooner than I thought I would. New client,” he told her. She smiled. He was back to web design, slowly building his business again, and thrilled to never again have to show another house. “We should celebrate. Room for two?” “Definitely.” Des shifted so she could slip onto the hammock beside him, displacing Bigwig. The cat stared at her balefully with his one good eye until Shayne stretched next to Des with her cheek resting on his chest. Bigwig curled up on the other side of Des and purred like a propeller plane gearing up for takeoff. “How was court?” Des asked. He always asked, but they both knew it was a pleasantry. She’d spent weeks at his uncle’s trial. He didn’t ask for details and she didn’t give them to him. The only time he’d participated was when he’d been called as a witness. “Fine. They’re getting close to wrapping up. With all the evidence, Ian doesn’t have a hope in hell of getting off.” He nodded and they lapsed into a contented silence. “Are you sure about the book,” she asked, as she did every few days. He chuckled and his lips brushed the top of her head. “Yeah, I’m sure. I want people to know my father was innocent.” He was thoughtful for a moment, fiddling with the ends of her hair. “Heddi died last night.” Shayne sat up, rocking the hammock and earning another glare from Bigwig. “And you waited this long to tell me? Are you okay?”

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He looked at her like she’d lost her mind. “I’m fine, really. I have to admit, I thought she’d hang in there until she knew Ian was behind bars.” “Even she can’t control death. When’s the funeral?” He rolled his eyes. “We’re not going. The only reason I’d visit her grave is to dance on it.” “Are you sure? What about closure?” He chuckled softly. “I’m good. Anyway, we should get going.” Fine, they’d talk about it later. “Where are we going?” “Your mom called and asked us to dinner. Both your sisters and their husbands are going to be there.” She rolled off the hammock and Des did the same. “You know, you don’t have to say yes every time she asks.” “Yeah, I do. She still blames me for taking off and getting married in Aruba.” Shayne laughed. “It’s been four months, she’s over it.” “I like going.” He shrugged. “I like your dad.” “I know. That boggles my mind. He likes you too, though.” Des grabbed her hand and pulled her tightly against him, his mouth catching hers in a frantic kiss that made her blood hot and her muscles soft. “It’s ’cause he knows I’m crazy in love with you,” Des murmured, tracing nibbling kisses along her jaw toward her ear. She shivered. “The feeling’s mutual.” He pulled back suddenly. “Hey, your mother emailed me a link for an employment agency.” Shayne rolled her eyes, heat stinging her cheeks. “Sorry, she really doesn’t understand what you do, and that neither of us has what she would consider a real job makes her extremely uneasy.”

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He laughed and linked his fingers with hers. “Just one of the family, aren’t I?” And together they walked to the house with Bigwig plodding behind them.

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About the Author

Dawn Brown’s first sojourn into storytelling began when she was nine. She would gather neighborhood kids in her garage and regale them with ghost stories, believing even then that atmosphere played an important role in a good story. Dawn has a diploma in journalism, but found herself pursuing a career in computer leasing. After the birth of her son, she gave up the corporate world to be a mom and write full time, trading in her dreary cubicle for a dreary room in the attic. Now Dawn spends her days creating dark, romantic mysteries with edgy heroes, clever heroines and villains she hopes will keep her readers sleeping with the light on. Dawn lives in Ontario, Canada, with her husband and son. Blood and Bone is Dawn’s third published title. To learn more about Dawn and her books, please visit her website www.dawnbrown.org.

Look for these titles by Dawn Brown

Now Available: Living Lies

Doing whatever it takes could get them both killed.

Living Lies

© 2008 Dawn Brown Twelve years after her sister’s disappearance, Haley Carling spends her days trying to hold what’s left of her family together, running her late father’s shop and caring for her alcoholic mother. Then her sister’s remains are uncovered in the basement of their old home, and fingers start pointing. At the Carlings. Dean Lawson, long the prime suspect in the Carling girl’s disappearance, is sure he’s got evidence proving who the killer is. He’s determined to clear his name, and he won’t let anything stand in his way. Not even his lingering attraction to Haley. Haley is just as determined to protect her family from the former town bad boy’s accusations. But now someone is stalking her, and Haley realizes Dean’s the only one she can trust. With a killer closing in, Dean wonders if he’s made the biggest mistake of his life…a mistake that could cost Haley her life. Warning: This title contains a mystery to keep you turning the pages late into the night. Enjoy the following excerpt for Living Lies: The Mountainview Motel was neither on a mountain nor did it offer a view of one, as the name implied. Little more than a row of shabby rooms slightly north of town, Haley was surprised the place managed to remain open. As she drove into the lot, she spotted Dean’s car parked in front of one of the rooms and pulled up next to it. What was she doing here, really? Hadn’t she had

enough drama for one day? Maybe, but she needed to know why he was back. Why now? With a sigh she opened the door and stepped out into the cold. The walk running the length of the motel had been shoveled, exposing weathered wood planks. She crossed to his door and knocked loudly before she changed her mind. After a moment, the door swung back and Dean filled the opening. He didn’t look at all surprised to see her. Al had probably called to warn him after she’d left. She could understand how she hadn’t recognized him. The boyishness had left his face, making his features sharper, almost predatory and, if at all possible, more attractive. Even his body seemed harder and leaner than she remembered. Her heart rate quickened, and something fluttered in her stomach. Could he really have killed Michelle? Killer or not, she would have to say something soon. She couldn’t just stand there staring like a twit all day. “I didn’t recognize you earlier,” she said. Better than silence, but only marginally. Dean leaned casually against the frame. “I figured.” “Erin recognized you.” She should have stuck with silence. “What do you want, Haley?” His voice was deep and quiet. “Why are you here?” He sighed and moved aside. “Do you want to come in?” She hesitated. If she went inside that room, would anyone ever see her again? Allister was the only person who knew where she was and she didn’t have a whole lot of faith he’d come to her rescue if she needed him to. “People know where I am,” she said at last.

Dean smirked, but said nothing as she stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “Nice place you have here, Matthew Clarke,” she said, taking in the faded beige wallpaper and gold shag carpet. An ugly oil painting of a gnarly sea captain hung over the sagging double bed. “I wanted to keep a low profile.” “I thought you would have stayed with Al.” “Have you seen Al’s apartment?” A faint smile touched his lips. “This place is a palace.” He had a point. She had seen Al’s apartment once and had gone straight home and showered. “Sit down,” he offered, gesturing to the only chair in the room. As she pulled it away from the desk, she noticed a thick envelope and file folder with bits of paper curling around the edge stacked neatly in the top corner. She would have loved to go through those pages. To see just what Dean studied on alone in a grubby motel room. “So,” she said. “Why are you here?” “Maybe I just wanted to pay my respects.” He sat on the corner of the bed, his eyes bright and his mouth still twisted in that slightly mocking smirk. “By lurking in the parking lot?” The grin vanished. “I wasn’t in the parking lot the whole time. I watched the service from the door. When I saw you get up and start to leave I decided to go.” “You came back for the memorial?” “Maybe.” He shrugged. “Or maybe you’re worried there’s something to link you to Michelle after all.” A tiny muscle twitched in his jaw. “Is that what you think?”

I don’t know what to think, and you’re not giving anything away. “I don’t think you came back here just to watch Michelle’s memorial from an open door. So why not tell me what you’re really doing here?” “What do you want me to say, Haley? That I did it? That I killed her?” “Did you?” “If I did, it wasn’t too smart to come looking for me now, was it?” His voice was quiet, but there was an edge, jagged, like a serrated blade. A tiny ember ignited within her. A slow fury growing hotter and brighter each time he spoke. “Are you threatening me?” “No,” he said on a sigh, suddenly sounding very tired. “No, I’m not.” “Why are you here?” she asked again. “I’m not ready to tell anyone yet, but when I am, I’ll tell you first.” “That’s it? That’s the best you can do?” He nodded. “Well, sorry, not good enough. Tell me why you’re back. I’m not going anywhere until you talk.” “Suit yourself.” He shrugged. “I was thinking about ordering dinner. Pizza or Chinese?” “This isn’t a joke, Dean. My sister is dead.” “I know. And I will tell you why I’ve come back, but not yet. I need to be sure of some things first.” “Fine. You have until tomorrow. If I don’t get some answers before the end of the day, there isn’t a person in this town who won’t know you’re here.” Haley stood and strode out the door, suppressing a smile at the sight of his stony stare. As she marched to the wreck parked next to his car, Dean stood in the open doorway, half shocked, half irritated, shaking his head.

She’d threatened him. It took her three tries to get her heap started, taking a little something away from her dramatic exit. But not much. As he closed the door, he could hardly believe it. Quiet little Haley, who used to watch him with those amazing eyes so long ago, had threatened him. And he didn’t doubt for a second that she meant what she said. To think, he actually felt sorry for her for a second there. He would have to get things done tonight. That was probably better anyway. The sooner he finished, the sooner he could get the hell out of this town.

A little lying and misdirection in the name of love is never wrong. Right?

Deliberate Deceptions © 2011 Leah Braemel

Hauberk Protection, Book 3 Chad Miller once had the perfect life—a beautiful baby daughter, a loving wife, a promising career with the FBI. Within a year, he’d lost everything. Making Hauberk Protection a success salvaged his career, but he’s never managed to get over the one fateful decision that spelled the end of his marriage. And the death of his child. For eight years, grief and guilt have haunted Lauren Miller’s climb up the ranks of the Light Brigade, a secret international hostage rescue team. Now she’s the target of a vengeful ex-Brigade operative who’ll stop at nothing to take her down. Even if it means taking out everyone she cares about. Including Chad. Getting him to accept her as his bodyguard? It’ll take some fast talking—and faster hands. Trapped in a remote safe house with Lauren is the last place Chad ever wanted to be. He may finally have the chance to get some answers about why she ran, but with his hard-won defenses crumbling, he’s having trouble remembering the questions. In the heat of their rekindled passion, Lauren struggles to keep her professional focus…and keep the secrets that could break his heart all over again. Warning: Angst dead-ahead! Lost love. Angst. Reunited lovers. Angst. Sex. More angst. And did I mention the angst? A box of tissues is definitely needed. But don’t worry, there’s still a Happy-Ever-After. Enjoy the following excerpt for Deliberate Deceptions:

He was so cold, so controlled. The struggle to keep her disappointment from showing challenged Lauren. Did he not feel anything for her anymore? Did he have none of the desire, none of the need that had tied them together? The desire that had flared inside her, setting her body aglow as soon as she’d seen him? The need for him hadn’t lessened over the years. If anything, he was more attractive than he’d been before. She’d always found a man with just a hint of silver at his temples sexy. How could she get him to stay? To listen to her with an open mind? She took a step closer. Please don’t let him leave. Don’t let him close the door between our rooms and shut me out completely. She toyed with the buttons of her blouse. She’d left the top two undone out of habit, but now she toyed with the next one, undoing it, then the next. The fabric parted just enough to show the lace of her chemise. He’d always preferred the fantasy of wondering what was beneath, letting his imagination take over. “Thank you for volunteering to guard me. I was surprised when they said you’d be the lead op.” She had been surprised, she realized. She’d been half expecting them to call the whole thing off. Fear that she’d screw things up even more and lose any chance for a reconciliation set in, leaving her frozen deep into her bones. “I should go.” His voice was rough but at least he hadn’t moved. “Please don’t.” She touched his forearm, letting her fingers rest on him. Heat rose through his cotton shirt, warming her. He was leaner than he’d been. Different. Yet the same. “I don’t think I could get to sleep, not after that helicopter ride.” His gaze dropped to her fingers, a frown creasing his forehead. “I’d forgotten you don’t like riding in helicopters. Was the flight bad?”

“It could have been better.” You could have been with me. “There was a bit of turbulence coming over the hills.” Or were they mountains? She still hadn’t decided. “I haven’t had much to eat. Maybe we could find the kitchen, rustle up a sandwich. Talk.” About so many things she didn’t know where to start. An explanation for why she’d left? For not contacting him? Or even where she’d been and what she’d been doing? Except neither of those were possible thanks to the Brigade’s rigid secrecy agreement. “I’ll call the kitchen and ask if they can bring something up for you. As for talking…” He scrubbed his face with his hands, breaking her contact with him. “We can talk tomorrow when we’re both fresh.” He made touching him impossible by walking to the door and standing inside his room. “When we’ve both had a chance to sleep on things.” “Stay. I don’t want to be alone tonight.” Like she’d been for so long. If she’d had any question he could still love her, the look he gave her removed any doubt. There was no trace of the predator on the hunt he’d had when they were first dating or even five minutes ago, the dominant man determined to win her. This look spoke of the depth of his love and longing. His voice, though controlled, revealed his pain and need even though it was barely above a whisper, husky as if he’d been screaming all night. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “I do.” She walked toward him, trying to be quiet, desperate not to give in to the urge to fall at his feet and prove herself to him. If she did, he might react like a wounded animal. One that could turn on her and rip her limb from limb. No doubts tonight, she told herself, afraid to speak out loud, afraid of breaking whatever force was holding them together. She undid the remaining buttons, tugged her blouse from her slacks and let it drop from her shoulders onto the floor.

His gaze dropped to the lace of her chemise where her nipples had hardened. He’d always loved her breasts, loved touching them, cupping them, kissing them. She debated pulling the chemise over her head, letting him view them unencumbered but decided the peep show might be more provocative. It felt strange to be deliberately leading him on, to have to seduce him. She shimmied out of her slacks and stepped out of them, leaving them in a heap on the floor beside her blouse. Seconds later, her thong rested on top of the pile. One moment he was clutching the door frame, the next moment she was flattened against it, his thigh between her legs, holding her in place. His voice rasped as he asked, “What’s your game, Lauren?” “I’m not playing a game, Chad.” Just doing a lousy job of seducing you. He closed his eyes for just a second before meeting her gaze again. “So it’s just sex you’re looking for? You want to fuck and that’s it? Like an itch you want to scratch?” We cared more about fucking than making sure Emily didn’t die, a tiny voice in the back of her head nagged. A voice she thought she’d long since banished. “I miss you. I miss us.” His lips hovered centimeters above hers, his breath warm on her cheek, his eyes locked on her mouth. She expected him to lean down, to take charge, to kiss her. But he didn’t. Instead he held himself in check with a rigid control, as if he were fighting a battle. And winning. “I don’t want just one night, Lauren. I want it all back again—us, the way we were. We both know that’s not going to happen.” All her doubts crumbled into dust. He wanted her still. “We don’t know that.” She tilted her chin and closed the distance between them until her lips brushed his. He didn’t move, letting her tongue slide against the seam joining

them but not allowing her entry. She wouldn’t beg but if he wouldn’t accept her kiss, she’d find another way past his defenses. Her hands flattened over his chest, seeking his shirt buttons. He didn’t move as she undid them one by one. His stomach muscles tensed when she parted the opening of his shirt and touched bare skin. She affected him, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. She was so close. If she could just convince him to let go, to give her a chance…she traced the curve of his stomach, up to his pectorals. Love me. Please. As if she’d touched a switch, his body shuddered beneath her fingers. He drew a deep breath, then his lips captured hers, taking command of the kiss. His tongue swept over her lips as if he were sampling her, preparing to feast upon her. He adjusted the angle of his head; his chin rasped over hers, the heat of the razor burn rousing a lingering reminder of their lovemaking long ago. This was what she’d remembered, what she’d dreamed of all these years. Wanted. Needed. Yet he hadn’t touched her with anything but his mouth. She wanted his hands on her, all over her, every inch of his body touching hers. His chest, his stomach, his hips. More than the hard length of his thigh holding her in place. Her hands slid around his waist in an attempt to pull him closer but he resisted her attempts. Damn it, if he wouldn’t come to her, she’d go to him. She shifted until they were chest to chest, cradling his erection against her mound, relieved to feel the proof that he wanted her as much as she needed him. The pressure against her chest increased when he captured her wrists, dragged them over her head. God yes, like that. Take me hard and fast, the way I love. Their combined breathing was heavy and harsh in the room as they stood there, panting. Waiting. The hell with waiting. She’d waited too long for this

chance, she wasn’t going to let it slip away. Holding her breath, she ground her hips against his erection. With a groan she felt to her toes, Chad dropped his head to her shoulder. His mouth sought out the spot beneath her ear, a spot he’d long ago learned connected straight to her pussy. His teeth nipped the spot, his tongue soothed the sting. Pain followed by pleasure. He repeated it. So hard and fast was out. Slow and easy was nice too. Without warning, he straightened, releasing her. Instead of backing away, his fingers combed through her hair, one hand cupping the back of her head, holding her in place. “Tell me you don’t want this.” “I can’t. I do want this.” I want to go to bed with you lying beside me, knowing you’ll be there in the morning. I want to make you understand why I had to leave, take the pain away that I caused you. I want us. The way we once were. Before. Before the photographers invaded their privacy. Before Emily’s death. If it hadn’t been for his hold on her, she would have swayed. Instead, she forced the guilt, the grief, back into their cubbyhole and slammed the door she’d created to hold them back. With a gentle pressure, he pushed her to her knees. “You know what I want.”

When all eyes are on you, there’s nowhere to run…except the truth.

Behind Blue Eyes © 2010 T.L. Schaefer

Crime-scene photographer Sara Covington hides behind her camera from the otherworldly ability that’s caused her nothing but grief her whole life. Yet denial doesn’t protect her when she runs across a serial killer with an aural signature she’s never encountered. Suddenly she’s without a job and with nowhere to turn…except to an enigmatic, sexy-as-hell detective with a disquieting talent for seeing right through her defenses. Brian Roney’s fascination with Sara compels him to bring her in on the case that ultimately gets her fired. Even though he senses her mutual attraction, something holds her back from stepping into his arms. He’s as determined to find out why she’s pushing him away as he is to keep her safe. When the killer strikes again, Sara realizes the only way to stop the madman is come clean about her painful past—and embrace the gift she has so long denied. Before the grisly trail of bodies leads right to her doorstep. Warning: A sexy alpha cop, a heroine with a past (and super spidey sense) and a maniac on the loose…what’s not to love? Enjoy the following excerpt for Behind Blue Eyes: With a weary sigh, Brian finally stood. “The uniform will stay right where he’s at until we know Burke has moved on to another city. It’s probably a waste of manpower, but we’ve got to be sure.” I walked him to the door, admitting to myself he wasn’t going to make it over the threshold. My quotient for being scared was up, and I wanted Brian

Roney…bad. Did I feel guilty about using him for my own satisfaction? Yeah, a bit, but I could guarantee he’d leave here smiling. So I took the step I’d been anticipating—and denying—since the day I met him. He leaned in for a brief kiss, and I latched on with everything inside me. He let out a surprised grunt, then returned my passion, his tongue teasing mine as his hands grasped my hips and pulled me close. I wound my arms around his neck and kissed him for all I was worth, running my fingers through the hair at his nape. “Don’t send me home, Sara,” he breathed against my lips, moved down, caressed my cheek, then the underside of my jaw with tender, hot kisses. “I’m not.” My breath hitched. My nipples pebbled against his strong, broad chest. He drew back and searched my eyes. “Are you sure?” “Damned straight.” I met his gaze as I moved a hand down, tracing the vee his shirt made. And still he hesitated. Could I be so lucky? “Stop thinking so hard about it.” I brushed my lips across his before pulling back. “You’ve got condoms, right?” He chuckled, back in his own happy space. “Let’s put it this way… I’ve had them in my pocket since the first time I laid eyes on you.” My breath caught. A girl didn’t need much more than that, now did she? I grinned and returned for a kiss…a repeat of the tease we’d shared far too often. He met me stroke for stroke, his tongue tangling with mine. The sensation lit a trail of fire that streaked across my body, bringing my nipples to an almost painful point, and low, sensual heat coiling in my core. This was going to be so very good. I stood on my tiptoes so I could meet him mouth-to-mouth, unrestrained, and it was everything I’d remembered and fantasized about on the plane, in the

hotel room. And yes, before that. He took my mouth wholly, as if kissing me could sustain him for the rest of his life. It was heady, and the moment I thought I had him pegged, he broke away and turned me so I couldn’t see him. He pulled me tight against him, and banded his arms around me from behind, his erection a long, hard promise of strength and pleasure against my back. His hands cupped my breasts, learning their weight and fullness. I melted against him, heart thumping in my chest, my breath coming in sharp little pants, and I lifted my arms, looping them around his neck, allowing him free access. His thumbs brushed across my nipples, and I gasped as pleasure streaked through me, then his hands were moving, sliding beneath my blouse. He spanned my waist, fingers ducking beneath my waistband for a scant, teasing second before they drifted up to my breasts again. I stopped breathing as his palms covered me and his mouth dropped to my nape, delivering tiny little nips that made me quiver, head to toe. “The things I want to do to you aren’t legal in most states,” he breathed in my ear, his voice low, guttural. Completely, over-the-top sexy. My body stiffened in reaction. In anticipation. No aura to overwhelm me, no reading what my partner was feeling in his gaze. This was going to be so good. I spun in his arms and met his eyes, which had gone turbulent. “Yeah? I could say the same.” I grasped his hand, leading him to my bedroom. It was the one room in my house he hadn’t seen, and I was proud of it, even if my brain was clouded by a desire so strong I was amazed I could see at all. It reflected the hidden me, decorated in scarlet and sage, eye-popping royal blue and creamy taupe. Since I’d come to Dallas, no other man had seen it; every other sexual liaison had been in neutral territory. Would he even notice? Why the hell did I care?

But notice he did, standing stock-still in the doorway, his hands settling on my waist, pulling me back against him once again. “This is the real you, isn’t it?” He leaned in to lave my ear, sending thrills through my entire body. “It’s beautiful, just like you are. I imagine what you see when you look at the world. But know how I see you. You’re vibrant, a nexus of the colors that defies anything I could describe.” His hand rested possessively on my belly and his voice had gone gravelly. “And when you come, I imagine the expression on your face because I know you’ll be coming for me.” He spun me around to face him, and the look on his face was anything but easy. It was predatory and utterly male. “Now strip. I want to see you naked.” My breath clogged in my lungs at his audacity and how much it turned me on. How could he possibly know, I marveled, even as my body overruled rational thought. I’m a take-charge kind of girl when it comes to everything else, but in the bedroom, I want a man to lead, and somehow, some way, he’d intuited that. It’d taken me years to figure it out myself, yet he knew exactly how to play me in seconds. That knowledge made me impossibly hotter, wetter. I locked gazes with him. Everything he made me feel was ours alone. No bombarding emotions, no aura to cloud my response, to anticipate his. My fingers shook as I pulled my blouse over my head, then loosened the clip at my nape. He stood mere inches from me, eyes blazing as he watched each and every move I made. My heart banged against my ribs. I stood in my bra and slacks, hair brushing against my shoulders, while he remained fully clothed, inspecting me. “You’re even better than I imagined,” he breathed. What he’d pictured, I couldn’t possibly conceive of until he began seducing me with his words. Not that he needed to.

“You’re lusher than I thought. You hide behind baggy T-shirts too often.” His hands settled on my hips. “You’re meant for tasting, for savoring all night long.” He dipped his head to my breasts. “But you don’t know that, do you, Sara?” Any reply I might have made was completely annihilated by the sensation of his tongue on my lace-covered nipples. Instead I moaned. Not in surrender, but agreement. His tongue flicked from one breast to another, his hands tightening against my hips until I was flush against him. He bowed me back as he loved my breasts, cradling me against his erection, rocking me gently until I thought I’d go insane. I began to fall into sensation and reached out blindly for something, anything to hold onto. “Shhhh,” he murmured, his breath warm and hot against my breast. “I’ve got you, Sara. Remember that.” Then he was lifting me, settling me on the bed, his mouth still teasing my nipple even as his hands deftly unfastened my slacks, sliding them to the floor along with my panties. His clever fingers teased my mons with feather-light touches as the pressure of his mouth increased and he applied his teeth. I jolted upward, into him, and felt him laugh against me. “I knew you’d be like this, you know.” His voice was rough, needy, even though he was in complete control. One big palm closed over my breast and squeezed as he dropped to his knees, his breath wafting in tiny little gusts along the inside of my thighs. His mouth covered me, tongue teasing me as one finger slid inside, then two, pumping in time to the delicious motion of his tongue.

I moaned, bowing on the bed as I grasped the bedspread in both fists as he devoured me. Pure, blinding fire flashed through me, setting every nerve ending ablaze, and I toppled. Tender fingers unlatched my front-hook bra, and I jerked as his knuckles brushed across my nipples. Over the pounding of my heart and the rush in my head, I barely heard the rasp of his zipper, the crinkle of cellophane. Then he was covering me, his mouth hot on mine, his big, wicked hands tilting my hips, and in one sleek move, he was inside me, sheathed to the hilt.