Mystic Circle

An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

www.ellorascave.com

Mystic Circle ISBN 9781419914638 ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. Mystic Circle Copyright © 2008 Bronwyn Green Edited by Helen Woodall. Cover art by Syneca. Electronic book Publication January 2008 With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502. Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000. (http://www.fbi.gov/ipr/) This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

MYSTIC CIRCLE

Bronwyn Green

Dedication/Acknowledgement For Lieutenant Mark Ostapowicz, Sergeant John Dorer and Field Training Officer Gretchen Galloway—you guys rock and I can’t thank you enough for all you’ve taught me. Thank you also to all of the GRPD for putting your lives on the line every, single day. In memory of Officer Robert “Bobby” Kozminski who was killed in the line of duty. End of Watch July 8, 2007. I’d also like to thank the FNMS—Chel, Jen, Cheryl, Marti and Mary as well as The Torrid Tartlets—Brynn, Carol and Lacey. Thank you also to my wonderful editor Helen, and to Matt, Mom, Cait, Manda, Margaret, Julie, Roxanne and Shannon—I’m the luckiest person in the world to count you all among my friends.

Disclaimer The author would like to thank Lieutenant Mark Ostapowicz of the Grand Rapids Police Department for his explanation of the intricacies of Exigent Circumstances Search Warrant Exceptions. Any mistakes I’ve made or liberties I’ve taken are completely my own.

Trademarks Acknowledgement The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction: Crown Victoria: Ford Motor Company Exxon: Exxon Mobil Corporation Greenpeace: Stichting Greenpeace Council Psychic Friends Network: Pikesville Pictures Inc. Ritalin: CIBA Limited Corporation Styrofoam: The Dow Chemical Company Tupperware: Dart Industries Inc. Valium: Hoffman-La Roche Incorporated

Two of Cups In the Tarot, the Two of Cups is one of the cards with the narrowest interpretation. It’s a card of love and harmony, seduction and passion, the bringing together of opposites as well as trust and cooperation. As with all of the cards in the deck, the Two of Cups has shadow aspects. These include separation, mistrust, instability, betrayal, isolation, bitterness and loss of love. In Mystic Circle, Detective Jack Duritz embodies many of the shadow aspects of the Two of Cups. He’s cynical, isolated and headed for a lifetime of loneliness until he meets Becca Hamilton. Unfortunately, she’s also the prime suspect in a series of grisly murders. Finding the killer will require Jack to trust Becca and find a willingness inside himself to believe the unbelievable if they are to avoid becoming victims themselves. If they can see beyond their differences, they can defeat the killer before he steals the happily ever after promised to them in the cards.

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Prologue I’m in hell. Becca Hamilton scanned the crowded reception hall trying to catch a glimpse of her brother, Patrick. Absolute, unmitigated hell. She shifted, trying to get comfortable in the ghastly bridesmaid dress her new sister-in-law, Nikki, had foisted on her. Becca shifted again, covertly adjusting the bodice of the salmon-colored nightmare. Could she get away with leaving the reception this early? She sighed. They hadn’t even cut the cake yet and she couldn’t miss the required dance with all of the attendants— Nikki would have a cow and Becca would never hear the end of it. A glass of wine appeared on the table in front of her. Surprised, she glanced up to see the roughly handsome man she’d noticed hanging out with Nikki’s less than savory family members earlier. The man grinned sheepishly and ran his fingers though his shaggy hair. “Hi. I’m Jack.” His dark smoky voice slid through her making her wonder how he’d sound when he was aroused. Goddess willing, she’d never find out. Horrible things happened to the men she had relationships with. It was practically a curse. She pushed the thought away and focused on Jack. “You looked like you could use a drink,” he continued. “Thank you.” She smiled. “Actually, I think that’s exactly what I need right about now.” She took a sip as he sat down next to her. “I’m Becca, by the way.” “Friend of the bride?” he asked watching her with an intensity that belied the casual way he asked the question. She shook her head. “Sister of the groom.” He laughed. “No wonder you look so gloomy.”

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“Is it that obvious?” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “Don’t worry. Nikki will never notice.” He winked. “It’s all about her, you know.” Laughing, she relaxed took another sip and studied Jack. Dark brown hair, dark eyes—hard to tell in this lighting but she thought they might be brown too. He had a neatly trimmed goatee and a small silver earring. High, compelling cheekbones were broken only by a small, crescent-shaped scar on the left side of his face. His lips were firm and sensual but her eyes were drawn back to the scar. She firmly resisted the urge to reach out and run her fingers across it. “How about you?” she asked breaking the suddenly mounting tension. “How do you know the happy couple?” He shrugged. “Family friend—bride’s side.” There was something about him that made her want to lean closer, breathe him in, taste him but she ruthlessly shoved it away. The last thing she needed was to get involved with anyone who had anything to do with Nikki’s drug-dealing brothers. There was something about his energy that was just…off. She’d do well to stay as far away from Jack as possible. He didn’t have the same loser vibe that Nikki’s brothers did but something wasn’t quite right. She just couldn’t put her finger on it. Unfortunately, it didn’t stop her body from reacting to his nearness. Nor did it stop her from wishing he was closer—skin to skin—buried inside her. Leaning forward, he stared into her eyes and took her hand. She really needed to get out of here before she jumped this poor guy. From the look in his eyes it probably would be a mutual jumping but she needed to leave before she found out for sure. Something big bumped into her chair, shoving her forward. “Jack, what the hell are you doing? Trying to steal my date?” Becca stifled a groan. Nate Donally, Nikki’s older brother and groomsman, who by his stench and lack of fine motor skills, was drunk off his ass. There was no way in hell

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she’d be dating him so she was betting it was time for the bridal party dance. Was it too much to hope that they’d forgotten about her? Apparently so. She glanced at Jack and rolled her eyes. “Looks like I’m up. It was really nice to meet you.” She lifted her hand in a wave as Nate pulled her out to the dance floor. “Thanks for the drink,” she called. Nate clumsily swung her into his arms, holding her entirely too close. His erection pressed insistently against her. She’d really hit the jackpot with him tonight…drunk and horny. She pushed away from him in an attempt to loosen his hold. “Where’re you goin’?” “I’m not your date and I’m sure as hell not your girlfriend so get your hands off my ass before I break them.” He looked at her through bleary bloodshot eyes. “Man, I guess Nikki was right. You are a lesbo.” He was serious. “Yes, Nate. Clearly that must be it. I have no interest in you so therefore I must be gay. You figured it out.” At least the jackass put his hands at her waist where they belonged and took a healthy step back from her. “So, you ever let anybody watch?” Becca stopped dead and stared at him. “Cause, man that would be so hot.” She was going to hit him. She was going to repeatedly punch him in the face and ruin her brother’s wedding. Her hand clenched into a fist and she narrowed her eyes deciding where to place the first shot. A shadow appeared over Nate’s shoulder. Jack. “Hey there, sport, there’s a blonde over by the bar looking for you. Why don’t you let me take over here?” “Really? Cool.”

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Nate stumbled off in the direction of the bar and Jack pulled Becca seamlessly into his arms. Settling her hands on Jack’s broad shoulders, she glanced beyond Nate’s retreating figure. “There aren’t any blondes over there.” Jack grinned and she felt it all the way to her toes. “Yeah but think about how long it’ll take him to figure it out.” Laughter bubbled out of her but faded just as quickly. The expression in his eyes darkened. “I’m sorry. I know the guy’s an asshole but I can’t really say I blame him for wanting to touch you. I’ve wanted to since you walked up the aisle at the church.” “Oh.” It was the only relatively coherent response she could manage. “I’d like to kiss you, Becca.” Her breath caught in her chest. “Oh.” Hyperaware of his body, she followed his lead as they danced. Jack didn’t hold her as tightly as Nate had but she was aware of every inch of him. Restless energy coiled within him. He reminded her of wolves she’d once seen out west. They were beautiful but best viewed from the safety of her locked car. She met his intense gaze and wondered if wolves’ prey felt the same kind of wild, fluttering reaction that raced through her veins. She had a feeling she was about to become dinner. “Are you going to? Kiss me, I mean?” He pulled her infinitesimally closer. “Are you going to let me?” She shouldn’t. She should tell him no and run like hell. But it wasn’t like she was going to get into a relationship with this man. She’d be leaving tomorrow and would never see him again. How much damage could one little kiss do? Having lost the capacity for speech, she nodded.

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Jack slid his hand into her hair and cradled the back of her head, tilting her face upward. “I’m pretty sure I’m going to hell,” he murmured against her lips, sending an eruption of tingles through her belly. “Yeah? Why is that?” she asked, loving the barely there caress of his mouth. “If I remember Sister Rosine’s lectures right,” he said, kissing the corner of her mouth, “it’s a mortal sin to have carnal fantasies during mass.” She nipped at his lower lip. “Carnal fantasies, huh?” “Very carnal.” He pulled her closer and covered her mouth with his own. The tingle in her belly became a flutter. His lips were warm and firm and downright decadent against hers. With the tip of his tongue, he traced the seam of her lips teasing her mouth open. Sighing, she granted him access as he explored her warmth. Goddess, the man could kiss. He skimmed a hand up the side of her neck and brushed a thumb across her cheekbone while he plundered her mouth. Somehow, he’d danced them over to the darkest corner of the room which was a good thing. She didn’t want to imagine how pissy Nikki would be if she made a spectacle of herself on Nikki’s special, special day. Jack backed her into the wall. The heated length of his erection pushed against her stomach and he pressed open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck, following a heated path to her ear. He trailed the tip of his tongue around the shell of her ear, carefully avoiding her earrings. His warm breath skated over her skin and she shivered. “All I could think about was peeling this ugly-ass dress off you and seeing if your nipples are the same pretty red as your lips.” Her breath caught in her throat. She should pull away—leave before it was too late. His hands skimmed over the bare skin exposed by the hideous dress and he drew her closer. It felt so good to be pressed against his body. When was the last time she’d let herself get this close to a man? Probably right before she realized what a curse she was to relationships.

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Jack dragged his fingertips over the back of her skull, flooding her with shivers. What was she worried about? He wasn’t in danger of some horrible accident because they weren’t going to have a relationship. This guy had one-night stand written all over him. And for once in her life, she was about to take advantage of that. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she pulled him closer and took a deep breath, grateful for the courage-bolstering wine. “Wanna go find out?” she asked hoping the butterflies dive-bombing her belly weren’t evident in her voice. A slow, sexy grin spread across his face but faded just as quickly as he turned to look where Nate and Nikki’s other two brothers huddled talking. Judging from the choppy arm movements and the furtive glances toward the back door it was an intense conversation. Swearing under his breath, Jack dropped his forehead to Becca’s. “I have to take care of something.” He fished a key card out of his pants pocket and pressed it into her hand. Closing her fingers around it, he said, “Room 2008. Wait for me?” Giving her a quick, bruising kiss, he crossed the room and dropped his arms over Nate and one of the other brother’s shoulders and immediately fell into conversation with them. She watched him, releasing her death grip on the key card. Trying to ignore the needy desire he’d roused in her body, she tried to think clearly and rationally. This was the Universe’s way of telling her that sleeping with Jack was a huge mistake. Hell, he could be an axe murderer. Of course, she knew he wasn’t. Reading people’s energy was one of the things she was best at. While his didn’t feel inherently bad, it did feel off somehow. She leaned against the wall and watched him a few moments longer. She knew without a doubt that he’d be amazing in bed. Sensuality rolled off him in waves and his kisses were positively addictive. No, spending more time with him would make her want things she couldn’t have. Besides, she really didn’t want to get involved with someone who might be mixed up in illegal activities with Nikki’s family. She wished she could have convinced Patrick of the same thing but he was determined to marry the 11

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woman he loved no matter what. Checking to make sure Jack was still occupied she grabbed her purse and left his key at the front desk.

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Chapter One He breathed deeply, luxuriating in his increased power. The heady scent of death clung to his skin and clothes. He could still taste the life of the third offering on his lips. He retrieved the woman’s necklace from the shelf. Wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb, he anointed her crucifix with her blood. He’d chosen it because she’d worn it nearly all the time. It was filled with her energy. Ironic that the pendant symbolized new life from death. In the same way, his life, his abilities, had been augmented by spilling her blood. Her death brought him closer to perfection. Closer to that which he’d been denied. It was a shame, really, that the other sacrifices he’d attempted while learning the method to soul absorption had been in vain. He hadn’t fully understood the key. Until now. This time around he’d had no trouble collecting the souls of his sacrifices. Reverently, he replaced the necklace around his neck with a bloodstained pentacle and crystal. Only two more to go. In the meanwhile, he needed to revitalize the shields around his home. It wouldn’t do to be discovered before he’d made use of the fifth and final offering. A wry smile curved his lips. After that, it wouldn’t matter if he were exposed. There would be no one strong enough to stop him. Dipping his finger in the wounds of his latest sacrifice, he retraced the protective symbols over his doors and windows with painstaking accuracy. Only one thing remained. Returning the body. Mother always said he should put things back where he found them.

*****

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C’mon sweetheart, turn around. Jack Duritz studied the grainy, security footage. I need a face to go with that gorgeous body of yours. The woman shoved her hand through her short, spiky hair and paced as far as the payphone cord allowed. Water beaded on her skin and her clothing appeared damp as if she’d run through a sprinkler or gotten dressed wet. Barefoot, she wore only a thin camisole and shorts. One skinny strap slipped and bared her shoulder. Jack peered more closely. Was she in her pajamas? Turning abruptly, she stared straight at him. Gotcha. A flash of recognition scraped across the nape of his neck. Becca Hamilton. The woman from the last vice case he’d worked before transferring to the detective unit. The woman who’d distracted him so badly, he’d nearly blown the investigation. The woman he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about for the last two years. Her hair was shorter and her huge gray eyes emanated anxiety rather than the amused arousal he remembered every time he couldn’t sleep—which was pretty much every fucking night. He rewound the tape needing to reassure himself it was her. Even though the footage was black and white, he remembered the exact shade of her eyes as well as the hue of her pale, creamy skin. It glowed almost white on the poor quality videotape, a sharp contrast to her dark hair. He let the tape continue to play. Her movements were quick and jerky as if she feared being caught. Her posture changed as the call continued. She froze. Tension vibrated from her long, willowy body and she pushed her hand through her hair again. On the monitor she hung up the receiver, glanced around furtively and walked out of the frame. He hit rewind. “You find what you need, Jack?” Sid, proprietor of Sid’s Market, called as he walked from the counter to the office where Jack reviewed the surveillance video. “I think so.” The time on the tape matched up with the time dispatch had received the call. He tapped the screen. “Have you seen this woman before?”

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The other man peered over Jack’s shoulder. “Sure, sure. That’s Becca.” He paused as if thinking. “Hamilton. I think that’s her last name. She works at that crazy, little New Age store down on the corner of Lake Drive and Bridge. Sweet kid. Likes the humus and vegetable plate.” Jack hid his grin. If you ate more than once at Sid’s, he knew what you liked. “Think she’d be there now?” Sid nodded. “Can’t imagine she wouldn’t be.” Concern dulled his smile. “She’s not in any trouble, is she?” “I just need to ask her a few questions.” The truth was, he didn’t know what to think. Last night, she’d dialed 9-1-1 with details of an assault. By the time the officers found the victim, the assault had become murder. “Here.” Sid thrust two Tupperware containers at him. “Since you’re headed down there, you can bring the girls their lunch.” Jack glanced at the plastic bowls. “Run out of to-go boxes?” “Becca doesn’t want to pollute the environment and take up space in landfills.” Sid shook his head and gestured toward the garbage can. “She refuses to throw away nonbiodegradable materials, so she provides her own containers.” He shrugged. “She says there’s no such place as ‘away’.” Jack groaned inwardly. Great. A tree-hugging-landfill-hating-dirt-lover. The tip-off should have been the New Age store. This day was just getting better and better. He hadn’t remembered her being particularly hippie-like. Of course, she had been wearing the ugliest bridesmaid dress known to mankind and he’d been far more interested in getting it off her than finding out about her political leanings. But it could be worse, he conceded. It hadn’t taken much effort to track down the address where the call had originated. And even though she’d tried to be an anonymous source, the discreet security camera outside Sid’s prevented that.

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Sid stepped closer and lowered his voice. “Becca’s a good kid. I don’t want to see her getting hurt.” “I don’t want to see that either,” Jack murmured. But he also didn’t want to see another women carved up like the one last night. If Becca knew something, she’d have to spill it. His platitude seemed to satisfy the shop owner. The other man nodded and waved, sliding behind the counter where his early lunch crowd waited. The bells jangled above Jack’s head as he left the restaurant. He lifted the lid on one of the bowls he carried. Some kind of smelly paste with cucumbers and tomatoes on the side. She was going to eat this? He snapped the container shut, wishing he hadn’t looked. The heat of the summer day hadn’t yet reached its zenith but the jacket he wore to cover his shoulder holster had become uncomfortably warm. He hoped Little Miss Greenpeace didn’t have an issue with the ozone layer and air-conditioning. Still, the drive along Bridge Street was pleasant. Trendy skate grunge shops and piercing parlors existed affably with diners and antique stores that had been there forever. A group of teenage boys lounged outside Vidiots, a used videogame store. They eyed him as he parked. When he stopped outside the Mystic Circle bookstore, they stared openly. Ignoring them, he studied the window display. Tarot cards lay spread on colorful, exotic fabric. Books about fairies and auras crowded one corner while ethnic-looking instruments filled the other. A huge, gray cat glared at him through the glass. Jack’s nose itched already. He turned toward the entrance. A bookshelf loaded with sale books and trinkets held open the door. No air-conditioning. He pushed through the wooden beads hanging in the entryway and sighed. He’d reek like bad incense for the rest of the day. 16

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“Welcome to the Mystic Circle. I’m Moon Blossom. How can I help you today?” It was apparent that the young woman attempted to project a serene image but he suspected she’d been off her Ritalin for a little too long. “I’m here to see Becca Hamilton.” The hyperactive sprite bounded behind the counter and opened an oversized ledger, shoving a cloud of long, pale blonde hair from her face. “Do you have an appointment?” “For what?” Moon Blossom’s peaceful expression faltered. “A reading.” At his lack of response, she prompted, “Tarot cards? Runes?” “It’s personal.” Her gaze roved up and down his body. “Really?” Why did she sound so shocked? Wasn’t he Becca’s type? He’d sure as hell seemed to be her type that night at the wedding reception. Maybe he should have tracked her down afterward. Of course, he’d highly doubted she’d be really eager to get it on with the guy responsible for putting her little brother in jail. Why did he even care? She was the only lead in a murder investigation. Clearly, he needed more sleep. Not that he could plan on that happening any time soon. He thrust the plastic bowls full of goop at Moon Blossom. “These are from Sid.” “You’re a delivery guy?” She relieved him of the food and put it in a mini-fridge behind her. “That’s not really very personal.” She stared at him as if she were trying to read his mind. Good luck, kiddo. There was nothing rattling around in there that he wanted to share. “So. Is she available?” The sprite leaned toward him conspiratorially. “Gods, yes. I can’t remember the last time she had a lover, let alone a date. Between you and me, she’s far too tense, if you

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know what I mean.” She tapped her lips with her fingertip, studying him, considering. “Maybe you can help her out with that.” Jack cleared his throat, far more interested in Becca’s lack of a sex life than he should be. He needed to talk to her not sleep with her. Well, he needed that too but he wasn’t about to compromise another investigation because of her. “Actually, I meant is she free, now? I need to speak with her.” “Oh…right. My bad.” The girl squinted at the clock across the room. “She’ll be done with her class in about fifteen minutes if you want to wait.” He nodded. “I’ll just look around.” He wondered about the class but talking to Moonbeam-Flower-whatever was taxing the small amount of patience he had left. He’d just wait. Walking around the perimeter of the room, he scrutinized the merchandise. Antique tables were scattered strategically around the main room. Incense, perfume oils, more Tarot cards, candles, books, pottery, jewelry, goddess sculptures… It looked like the place had the market cornered on New Age paraphernalia. He wandered to stand in front of the CD display and studied the titles. Music for Faeries. “Don’t go there, Jack” he muttered under his breath. Celtic Tribal Drumming. His head hurt already. Mother Earth Sings. Okay. Time to look at something else. Worn floor planking creaked under his feet. The ancient ceiling fans kept the lack of air-conditioning from being too stifling but sweat still pooled at the base of his spine. He rotated his shoulder and adjusted his holster. A flash of short, black hair and a pale expanse of skin drew his attention to the back of the shop. He sighed. More beads. Through the clacking doorway, soft music drifted. It wasn’t anything he’d listen to on his own but it wasn’t entirely awful either. He moved closer. Six people stretched in what looked to be pain-inducing positions, while a woman spoke, guiding them through the motions. He’d bet anything this was yoga. Becca stood

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in front of the others with her back to him. She stiffened as if she sensed him watching her but she didn’t turn. She wore some sort of stretchy, red camisole thing and matching snug fitting leggings that bared her belly. The color accentuated her fair skin and dark hair. Didn’t she ever go out in the sun? Maybe she was one of those freaks who thought she was a vampire. Nah. He couldn’t imagine psychological vampirism and yoga in the same package. That would have to go against a law of physics or something. He also couldn’t imagine it from the vibrant woman who’d caught his attention so thoroughly during the Donally case. Her low, throaty voice slid up his spine and the temperature in the room increased by about ten degrees. He’d forgotten how her voice had the ability to wrap around him and stiffen his cock in nothing flat. “Downward facing dog,” she announced. “Melt your heart and breathe…” Melt your heart? What the fuck? He shook his head. Yoga. What a crock of shit. “Extend your awareness…breathe,” she continued. With slow, precise movement, she bent at the waist and walked her hands forward on the floor until she resembled a dog stretching. He knew he should look away from her sweetly rounded ass sticking up in the air but it was all he could do not to walk in there and skim his hand over her. He discreetly shifted his jeans. Watching Becca, his awareness was extended just about as far as it could go. He almost rethought his crock of shit assessment as he stared at her gorgeous, sculpted body. Almost. Her class imitated the pose, some better than others. One of her pupils stared at him as if Jack was moving into his territory. Interesting. The guy’s unruly blond dreadlocks were tied in a ponytail and small wire-rim glasses hid his eyes. He appeared to be the kind of guy his sister, Callie, lovingly referred to as a sensitive-ponytail-boy. Still, Jack could sense the animosity. The students lay flat on the floor while Becca described a peaceful forest scene. He supposed it was some sort of relaxation thing. One of those guided meditation exercises 19

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Callie liked. His eyes drifted shut. It was soothing. If he could listen to Becca, he might actually be able to beat the insomnia. On second thought, the sound of her low, sexy voice whispering in his ear would just make him hard. And there’d still be no sleep. He backed from the doorway as the class ended. No one seemed in a hurry to leave. Particularly, the sensitive-ponytail-boy. He hovered around Becca like a lapdog waiting for treats. Organic, cruelty-free treats, no doubt. Jack watched her from a distance. Still talking, she slipped behind an old-fashioned partition. After a moment, she draped the red shirt and pants over the top of the screen. Was she naked back there? Ponytail-boy glared at him. Was he her boyfriend? Maybe this was the kind of guy she preferred. If so, Moon Blossom’s reaction to him made sense. Jesus! He scrubbed his hand over his face. Why did he even care? So he almost banged her at a wedding reception—big deal. He glared back at the other man and moved to a spinning rack of cards and bumper stickers. Reduce, Reuse, Recycle, Restore. Yep. Saw that one coming. All Soil is Sacred. Oh, come on. At Exxon we help Jesus walk on water. He snorted, stifling a laugh. He gave the rack another turn and checked his watch. In few minutes he’d go back there whether she was dressed or not. He needed answers. The distinctive clacking of beads sounded behind him and he peered around the display. The afternoon sun shone through the windows behind her making her gauzy skirt nearly transparent. God, her legs were long. His eyes traveled upward. He tried to school his expression to that of bored nonchalance. It was difficult, considering all she wore to cover her breasts and belly was some sort of tie-dyed handkerchief with strings. Ponytail-boy stared too. Obviously not noticing him, Becca approached the counter to talk with her assistant. A soft jingling sounded as she walked. He scanned her body. Several bracelets encircled one slender wrist clinking as she moved. Head bent, she leaned on the scarred wood and spoke to the girl in a low murmur. He saw a flash of silver in her mouth as 20

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she laughed. Christ, she’d gotten her tongue pierced. He couldn’t help but imagine that warm, steel ball caressing his cock. Pushing the image away he focused on the case. He couldn’t let her distract him again. For the briefest of moments, he considered stepping down from the investigation and giving the case to someone else but dismissed the thought. He wanted this guy. He wanted to be the one to put him away and he needed to find out what Becca knew in order to do that. The long line of her back was entirely bare, except for the ties hanging from the nape of her neck and the set that secured the scrap of fabric around the middle of her back. The rest was smooth, silky-looking skin. There were no bruises or lacerations that he could see. If she’d been involved in the abduction and assault, she hadn’t gotten close enough to receive any defensive wounds. He hoped he didn’t have to arrest her while she was wearing this glorified napkin. He couldn’t imagine it would stay on very long in the tank. Sometimes the girls in holding got a little rough. He couldn’t help but notice how the thin fabric hugged her small but perfect, breasts. Okay. He needed to get a grip. And fast. She was a potential suspect in a murder and he was practically fantasizing about her. Maybe he was getting some sort of buzz from the incense fumes.

Becca leaned across the counter toward her frantically gesturing assistant. “So what’s the story on Mr. Tall Dark and Disgruntled over there?” Glancing in the direction Moon pointed, she saw the man who’d haunted her dreams for the past two years. More times than she’d cared to count, she’d woken with her skin too sensitive to touch and her body aching for completion. It was more than the simple need for sexual release. It was a need for him. And that scared her. A tingle of awareness shot through her body and pooled low in her abdomen. She turned back to her assistant who’d crossed her arms over her chest raised her eyebrows. “He said it was personal.” 21

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Despite the heat of the day, Becca shivered but not because she was cold. She couldn’t believe it. Jack. Here. At Mystic Circle. She watched him surreptitiously as she talked to Moon. The goatee and earring were gone. Now the shadow of a dark beard covered his cheeks and chin. He looked as though he hadn’t shaved or slept for several days. He also looked annoyed as he walked toward her. She wanted nothing more than to drag him upstairs to her apartment and finish what they’d started so long ago. Before he reached her, her last straggling student approached. “I got tickets to the art exhibit at the Eyecons Gallery,” Evan said. “I’d really like to take you to dinner and the exhibit this weekend.” She tried not to sigh audibly. How many times had she turned him down? He really needed a hobby that didn’t involve fawning over her. He was a nice enough guy but so not her type. “Thanks for the offer, Evan but I really can’t. You’re my student.” He started to open his mouth to interject. She laid her hand on his arm. “But even if you weren’t,” she began. “You still wouldn’t go out with me,” he finished for her. “I’m sorry. You’re a sweetheart but no.” He stared at her for a moment more before nodding toward Jack. “See you next week, then,” Evan said as he headed toward the door. Jack leaned closer and she felt his hot breath at her ear. “What are you gonna do next—give puppies treats and then kick them?” He sounded pissed. What the hell was his problem? She turned to face him and the lust she felt earlier rushed back full force. “Good to see you too, Jack.” The smile faded from his face. “You might not feel that way after you find out why I’m here.” He pulled a worn, leather case from his back pocket and flipped it open.

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Certainty dropped like a stone to the pit of her stomach. She knew why he was there. Somehow he was connected to the vision she’d seen last night. He was here because of the phone call she’d made. So much for remaining anonymous. She swallowed hard, refusing to run, even though her body was poised for flight. Becca glanced down. An Oakdale police badge glinted in the late morning light. His ID read Detective Jack Duritz. “I need to ask you a few questions. Is there someplace we can speak privately?” The events of the last two years suddenly clicked into place and she glared at him. “You were undercover when we met,” she said flatly. He nodded and replaced his badge. “Vice.” “You’re the reason my brother went to jail.” “The Donallys and your brother’s poor taste in women is why he went to jail.” He wasn’t entirely wrong. Patrick knew his wife’s family was dealing drugs and he got mixed up with them anyway—even taking the fall for Nikki. And she’d thanked him by annulling the marriage right after he was sentenced. Becca scowled at Jack again before glancing toward the counter. “Moon, I’ll be in the office for a while. The order from Dryad Books is due in today. You’ll need to sign for it but call me if you need anything else.” Her assistant looked puzzled but nodded. Conscious of Jack’s gaze on her, Becca turned and led him through the meditation room into the tiny office. She should have known she’d never be able to remain anonymous. But it wasn’t like she had a choice. It also hadn’t made a difference. The woman she’d seen in her dream was just as dead as Holly and Ethan. She’d failed this poor woman just like she’d failed her baby sister and her first boyfriend. It took every ounce of self-restraint she possessed not to slam the door in Jack’s face as he followed her. Motioning him toward the desk chair, she sank onto the huge pillow

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that dominated the floor. She might as well get comfy if she was going to be interrogated. “So,” she began as soon as he was seated. “Was inviting me to your room that night part of the investigation? Were you planning to do some sort of search and seizure?” He rubbed his eye with the heel of his hand. “Becca, it wasn’t like that.” “Really? Because from here, that’s exactly what it looks like it was.” Before he could respond she held up her hand. “Never mind that. That’s not why you’re here, is it? Let’s get this over with so we can both get on with our day.” It wasn’t enough that this was the guy who’d help put her brother behind bars but he’d also taken advantage of her. Of course, she’d been completely willing at the time and that knowledge stuck in her throat like a piece of dry bread. He took off his leather coat and her eyes were immediately drawn to the shoulder holster and the gun. She ignored the way his black t-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders and chest and focused instead on his face. She’d remembered him differently. He wasn’t handsome. Not really. The line of his mouth was too hard as were his eyes. She didn’t know how such a warm shade of brown could seem so cold and remote. Especially, since she’d seen them filled with laughter and heated passion as he’d pinned her to the wall and kissed her senseless. “What do you want, Jack?”

Jack looked around the closet Becca called an office. Another catchy phrase had been stitched with bright colored thread on a piece of fabric hanging above her desk. Well-behaved women rarely make history. The words were surrounded by equally colorful flowers, moons, stars and symbols—some of which he didn’t recognize. A pentagram caught his attention. The reversed sign had been carved into the chest of last night’s victim. The look of stark terror frozen on her face would haunt him for the rest of his life.

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Becca cleared her throat. He suspected it was a polite reminder to start talking. “Sorry. I was just admiring your…” He waved his hand in the general direction of the picture. “Sampler,” she supplied. “My friend made it for me.” Jack didn’t miss the flash of pain that clouded her huge, gray eyes. Curiosity and concern floated to the surface but he shoved them under and concentrated on the investigation. Becca was the key, even if she was surrounded by all of this bullshit New Age crap. “You’re not here for a reading or to discuss embroidery.” She wrapped her arms around her knees and rested her chin on them. “You think all of this is bullshit New Age crap, so let’s get this inquisition on the road. I’ve got a business to run.” Jack blinked. What were the odds she’d use the exact words he’d thought? “You think loudly,” she volunteered, holding him motionless with her clear gaze. “You’re telling me you can read my mind?” Irritation burrowed beneath his skin. How stupid did she think he was? She sighed. “Look, your aura sucks. I can see that from here. You’re trying to keep a tight rein on your emotions. It’s not working. They’re leaking out and I can feel them. It’s as simple as that.” “Right.” Anger burned in his chest but he conceded that his body language and attitude were likely a dead giveaway to his thoughts. She’d just gotten lucky when she guessed the wording. She shrugged and pursed her full lips. “Whatever. Let’s just move on to the reason you’re here.” “C’mon, Shirley MacLaine. I thought for sure you’d be able to tell me that.” Implying that his only potential witness was a crackpot wasn’t the height of professionalism. Nor was it typical behavior but everything about this woman raised his hackles. His father would have never treated a suspect this way. Thank God the old

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man wasn’t alive to see this. And whose fault is that? Jack pushed aside memories better left buried and focused on Becca. He didn’t remember her being into this Psychic Friends Network shit two years ago. Of course, he hadn’t really bothered to notice anything outside the fact that she was hot and he wanted her with a hunger that surpassed anything else he’d ever felt. He still couldn’t believe he’d nearly compromised a yearlong investigation like he had. She tilted her head back and stared at the ceiling. “I don’t know anything about that poor woman, other than what I told the 9-1-1 operator last night.” It didn’t take a great leap of logic to deduce his reason for being here but a chill raced across his scalp anyway. Schooling his features to blandness, he opened his notebook. “How do you know Sharon Delong?” “Who?” He clenched his teeth, fighting the urge to grind them. “The victim of the assault you reported last night.” She tightened her arms around her knees. “I don’t.” “How—” “Look,” she cut him off. “I’ll tell you everything I know. Then, I imagine you’ll invite me downtown.” She held his gaze, her voice steady. “Let’s just skip the part where you’re a jerk.” “Okay, witchypoo. Do your thing. Cast your spell and tell me what I need to know.” God, he was a bastard today. Who was he kidding? Today wasn’t any different. She narrowed her eyes. “Antagonistic. Let’s skip that part too.” “Sorry,” he murmured, almost contrite. The sculpted muscles of her arms and shoulders tightened with tension. She dropped her gaze, seeming unnerved by his apology. Defeat tugged at the corners of her mouth. He cleared his throat. “Go ahead and tell me what happened.”

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“I couldn’t sleep last night,” she began. “So I ran a bath.” He tried to force the image of her lying back in a tub, droplets of water beaded on her breasts from his mind. Absently fiddling with a silver locket that dangled between her breasts, she glanced at him quizzically—as if she knew his thoughts. Yeah, right. “I know you’re going to think I’m crazy,” she blurted. “But I’m telling you the truth.” His pen hovered above the notepad. “Go ahead.” She took a breath as if sucking in courage. “I lit some candles.” He closed his eyes, haunted by the thought candlelight shimmering on her damp breasts. “Anyway, I kind of zoned out, just staring at the flames reflected in the water. And I saw it.” Her voice broke and she swallowed hard. He waited for her to continue. Unless she said she saw the abduction of Sharon Delong through her bathroom window, she was lying. “I saw a man dragging a tall, blonde woman out of her house. She broke a glass pane in her front door as she was trying to hang on and cut herself.” The coroner had pulled tiny shards of glass from the victim’s right hand. Jack rubbed the back of his neck, warding off the tickle of unease that crept over his skin. “He tied her hands and put a black cloth over her head. Then he shoved her in a van.” Jack glanced at Becca. Her eyes were closed and tears seeped down her cheeks. A pang of regret prodded him but he fought the stupid urge to comfort her. “I saw street signs as they traveled but then they got blurry. The van stopped in front of a white two-story house. I got out of the tub and tried to call the police but my phone was dead.” She winced apologetically. “I always forget to put it on the charger. I threw on some clothes and ran down to the payphone outside of Sid’s Market.”

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“That’s your story?” Her eyes flew open and she pinned him with her shiny gaze. “It’s the truth.” He shook his head. “The only way you could possibly have these details is if you participated.” She shot to her feet. “I would never harm anyone. I certainly wouldn’t torture a person and carve into her flesh.” Bingo. He had her. “You didn’t mention that little detail earlier.” “I saw it while I was waiting for someone to pick up the phone. I saw her tied to…something…and then he cut her.” “Who is he?” Jack asked. “I have no idea.” He tried a different tack. “What did he look like?” She shook her head helplessly. “I don’t know. His features were blurred out like the street signs. It was as if he’d warded himself.” “Warded.” “It’s the metaphysical equivalent of being in disguise. I think he shielded himself somehow.” “With a magic spell?” Jack couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice. Becca looked away, her lips compressed as if she refused to say anything else. She slung a huge patchwork bag over her shoulder and pushed her feet into a pair of sandals near the desk. Studying her, he rose and slipped his jacket on. The corners of her mouth turned downward and resignation dulled her eyes. Remorse pummeled him. What the hell was he feeling guilty about? It didn’t matter that this woman seemed fragile and lost. Defeated. He wasn’t about to feel sorry for her. She’d just sat here and lied to him about one of the more brutal murders he’d ever seen. 28

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She cleared her throat. “I’m guessing this is the part where you take me downtown.” No question about that. He just needed to figure out how he wanted to play this. Be her friend, stop and get her some coffee, coax her into confiding in him? Or scare it out of her? Sighing, he pinched the bridge of his nose, in an attempt to stave off the throbbing behind his eyes. He didn’t have the patience to play nice. The scent of spilled blood still lingered in his nostrils and the victim’s expression of unmitigated terror was seared onto his brain. Becca stared at him expectantly, then turned around. She placed her wrists together behind her back, offering herself to him. Her shoulders straightened as she awaited her fate. She looked like goddamn Joan of Arc headed for the stake. Guilt sucker-punched him for the second time that morning. “You’ll need to leave your purse.” She let it slip to the floor and resumed her position. Cursing inwardly, he circled a slender wrist with his fingers. Her skin slid softly beneath his roughened hand and he paused. She met his gaze. Hope flared in those dove gray eyes. Even when the cold clank of the handcuffs crushed it, she refused to look away from him.

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Chapter Two Becca swallowed her sigh. For a brief moment, she’d seen something flicker in his eyes. She’d hoped he’d trust her to accompany him to the police station of her own volition. The handcuff’s latch clicked, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet office. At least, they weren’t cold. Removed from his back pocket, they were intimately warmed by his body heat. Pulled at an unnatural angle, her arms ached and her breasts were thrust forward. Starting to panic at being restrained, she tugged at the cuffs and the metal dug into her wrists. “Don’t,” he murmured, laying his hand on her wrists, ceasing her movement. “You’ll hurt yourself.” “What do you care?” Closing her eyes, she took several deep breaths and forced herself to relax. She was telling the truth. She hadn’t done anything wrong. A tendril of doubt curled through her. Maybe she shouldn’t have bothered calling the police. It hadn’t made a difference in the end. The woman she’d seen in her vision had still suffered and died a horrible death. Becca pushed the misgiving away. This wouldn’t end like last time. Notifying the authorities had been the right thing to do. Of course, the last time she’d done the right thing, she’d been jailed, accused of being an accessory to murder. Unexpected tears burned her eyelids and the pain of losing her best friend, Cara hit her again. Becca blinked away the evidence of tears. She would not let this man see her cry. Straightening her shoulders, she started toward the door. Jack made it there first. She took a steadying breath as he opened the door. With his large, warm hand at the small of her back, he guided her from the office. His body heat seeped into her skin and for a crazy moment, she felt the urge to seek shelter in his arms. 30

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That was stupid, she chided herself. He was taking her in for questioning. Possibly to throw her in jail. And she wanted comfort from this guy? What was wrong with her? Shifting, she felt an almost electric current where their bodies touched, as if power shimmered beneath her skin. He pulled his hand away as if he’d been burned or touched something repulsive. Either he felt the weird energy arcing between them, or he was disgusted by her. Finally making eye contact, he gripped her elbow and glowered. That answered her question. As they entered the main room, her assistant glanced up, her brow creased in confusion. “Becca? What’s going on?” Becca took a deep breath. “I’m going downtown with the detective. I’m sure I’ll be back in while.” She hoped. “Can you call Mrs. Rosenberg and reschedule her reading?” Moon darted from behind the counter and blocked their path. “Why are you in handcuffs? I’ll call Temperance.” She reached across the counter and snatched the phone hastily pushing buttons. “No. Moon, listen,” she snapped. Goddess, the last thing she needed was her boss rushing in. “She’s on maternity leave—don’t you dare call her!” “But—” “Don’t. Can you handle closing if I’m not back before eight?” The girl’s eyes widened with worry. “Yes, but—” “If you get slammed, see if Raven or Morgan can come in.” “But—” “If I’m not back by close, lock up like normal, leave the money for me and I’ll take it to the bank later. I don’t want you doing a bank drop after dark.” “But—” Becca forced a smile. “It’s a misunderstanding. It’ll be okay.” Jack pulled her toward the door his hand hot on her skin. “We need to get moving,” he said gruffly before releasing her elbow.

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Glaring at him, she shook off his grip and turned back to Moon, willing Jack to keep quiet. “I don’t want you here alone, tonight.” She nodded her head toward Vidiots, next door. “Get one of the guys to hang out with you. Okay?” “Okay. But—“ “I should be back in a bit.” Thankfully, the phone rang as Moon was about to protest again. Becca gave the girl what she hoped looked like a normal smile and exited the store into the muggy heat of the day. A tingle of awareness mixed with odd comfort at Jack’s presence. She had no idea why his nearness should feel at all comforting but it did. It was ridiculous. He didn’t believe a word she’d said, had handcuffed her and was bringing her to the police station. He’d lied to her, tried to seduce her—not that he’d had to try very hard—hell, he’d put her brother in jail and still he felt like a source of comfort. Maybe she was so stressed out that this man she barely knew was better than the unknown. It wasn’t completely unknown, she corrected herself. With her arms shackled behind her back, she’d been shoved in the back of a patrol car the night Cara had been murdered. Stained with her friend’s blood and shivering from the subzero temperatures, she’d ridden to the police department without a coat and without any real understanding of where she was going or why. At least, this time, she wouldn’t have to explain her presence at a crime scene. Cold sweat trickled from her nape to between her shoulder blades as she remembered Cara’s sightless blue eyes, staring at her in accusation. The questions that had tormented her for the last seven years echoed in her ears. Why hadn’t she gotten there sooner? Why hadn’t she convinced Cara to cancel her date? Why didn’t the campus police respond the first time she’d called? Now there were new questions. Why was she having deadly premonitions again? Now? After all this time? It made a twisted sort of sense that she’d foreseen the deaths of family and friends but why this complete stranger? What was the connection? Holly

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was her sister. Ethan was her high-school boyfriend and Cara her college roommate and friend. Who was Sharon Delong to her? Startled from her thoughts by Jack’s hand around her upper arm, she swung to look at him. He’d stopped next to an unmarked police car—a dark blue Crown Victoria. He studied her with those unblinking, brown eyes as if he knew every secret she hid and judged her for each one of them. Without taking his gaze from hers, he opened the back door and nodded toward the vehicle. “Get in.” Their walk hadn’t roused any latent cordiality. Awkwardly, she tried to ease into the seat. Her bound wrists threw off her balance and she stumbled. Jack caught her around the waist. Her cheek pressed against the soft shirt that covered the hard planes of his chest. For a paralyzing moment, her blood echoed the beat of his heart and she closed her eyes. Remembered snippets of dreams played in her head like a badly developed film reel. She saw him, dark against her pristine sheets. Waiting. She felt his heated skin under her lips. Saw his eyes nearly black with desire as he dragged her up his body. Just as suddenly, she saw him covered with blood, reaching for her. Shaken, she jerked from his arms and scrambled as best she could into the car. Despite the stifling heat of the day, goose bumps sprouted over her skin. He’d be hurt because of her. She knew it as surely as she knew her name. She also knew he wouldn’t believe her if she tried to tell him.

Through the rearview mirror, Jack studied the woman he’d taken into custody. She stared at him from the back seat. A moment ago, her eyes had widened in fear but now, he saw only sadness emanating from their storm-gray depths. Under normal circumstances, he’d assume she was worried about her fate. But these weren’t normal circumstances and Becca Hamilton wasn’t a normal suspect.

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Disgust wormed through his gut. He hadn’t needed to cuff her. She’d been willing to accompany him to the station. At this point, she wasn’t a flight risk, nor was she violent or posing a threat to him. Jack sighed. He’d done it to throw her off kilter. It was meant to be a physical reminder as to how much trouble she could be in if she didn’t tell him what she knew. He was just doing his job, damn it. So, why did he feel like the Big Bad Wolf terrorizing Little Red Riding Hood? Shaking it off, he turned the key in the ignition and radioed dispatch. “Duritz, here.” “Go ahead,” came the staticky voice. Jack checked the dashboard clock. “It’s twelve thirty seven p.m. I’m at the corner of Bridge and Lake Drive. Odometer reads 5,974.3. Female in custody. Transporting for questioning.” From the rearview mirror, he saw Becca glance at him in surprise as he replaced the mic and pulled into traffic. He supposed he could have explained that the exchange she’d just heard was for her protection. Well and his. Protocol required that he call in any transport. Rather than take chances with false accusations or unscrupulous individuals, officers timed their trips, reported their mileage and had the information verified once they reached the station. He didn’t imagine Becca was the kind of woman to pull something like that. Sharon Delong’s mutilated features rose in his memory. But he also wouldn’t have figured that Little Miss Greenpeace would stand by and allow someone else to be hurt. She had called 9-1-1, he reminded himself. But it hadn’t been enough. He’d seen Sharon’s husband as he watched his wife’s remains zipped into a body bag. The phone call had been nowhere near enough. Jack rubbed his hand across his bleary eyes and replayed the events of the last twelve hours. He’d been ready to go home and sleep for about three days straight when the uniforms had radioed for assistance. When he’d arrived on the scene, he’d found a 34

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rookie puking in the bushes outside the Delong residence. Following the sound of conversation, Jack entered the living room. The woman’s body was nude, her limbs carefully positioned with her hands splayed on her belly, as if framing the symbols and letters carved on her torso. She hadn’t been killed in the house. The killer had abducted her from there and returned her when he was finished. A piece of skin was missing from her forehead. The symbols marring her flesh were all unfamiliar, except for the pentagram. It was similar to the one he’d seen on the picture in Becca’s office. Except the one on her picture was upright. The one on Sharon Delong was reversed. He knew enough about symbology to realize there was a world of difference between the two. But Becca was his only lead. He had to work with what he had. He glanced at her in the mirror. Her fragility seemed at odds with the stoic demeanor she maintained. If he hadn’t felt the tension vibrating through her, he would assume that she was as composed as she appeared. As unobtrusively as possible, he studied her. Serene and untouchable, she reminded him of the stained-glass saints and angels in the church his dad had taken him to as a kid. She had the same long neck and perfect, porcelain skin but the saints never had multiple silver hoops dangling from their ears or a pierced tongue. And they sure as hell didn’t have mouths made for sin. Full and tempting, her lips appeared naturally red against her pale flesh. The memory of her soft, warm mouth against his teased him and he couldn’t help but remember her taste. Jack sighed. He needed to get a grip. Fast. While he fantasized about kissing a witness and potential suspect, some freak had gotten away with butchering a woman and needed to pay. Worse, he sensed that the murderer wouldn’t stop at one victim. And no matter how much Becca denied her guilt, his gut told him she was the key. Maneuvering the unmarked patrol car into the parking garage beneath the station, he put it in park and retrieved the microphone. 35

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“Duritz, here,” he announced to dispatch. “Go ahead.” “Number 403 in the motor pool. Twelve forty-nine p.m. Odometer reads 5,979.7.” Jack turned off the ignition and draped his arms over the steering wheel. God, he was tired. When was the last time he’d slept? Really slept? The rustle of fabric and the soft jangle of metal drew his attention. He turned. Becca watched him intently. Long, sooty lashes framed wide eyes that now appeared more dove gray than stormy. A deep charcoal line ringed the pale irises accentuating the color variation. In the shadowed interior of the car, he noticed that her face was free of makeup and she carried the spicy, exotic scent of her shop. Strangely, on her it smelled good. Enticing. He wanted to bury his face in her neck and breathe her in. He wanted to forget everything. The death. The pain. The emptiness that consumed him. “Are you okay?” she asked, radiating concern. He snorted in disbelief. Was she for real? She was facing possible arrest on a murder charge and she was worried about his welfare? Didn’t she realize how serious this was? She’d be eaten alive in the interview room. Great. Now he was worrying about her. What was his problem? He needed to forget their involvement no matter how brief and unfulfilling and focus on the case. She was more than likely involved in a brutal murder, he reminded himself. He shoved the sympathy aside. “What’s the matter?” he taunted. “Do you sense a hole in my energy field or something?” Her eyes narrowed, darkening to the shade of roiling thunderclouds. “Yeah,” she snapped. “It’s almost as big as the one in your heart.” She turned from him and stared at the concrete pillar in front of the car.

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The constant emptiness that battered him grew a little stronger at her withdrawal. Something close to regret surfaced as a shadow fell across the car. Jack stiffened and glanced through the window. His guard was farther down than he’d let it in years. Lost in recrimination as he was, a knife-wielding circus clown could have waltzed up to the car and he wouldn’t have noticed until it was too late. Maybe his sister, Callie, was right. Maybe he did have some sort of death wish. Getting out of the vehicle, he nodded at the other officer making her way to her patrol car. Pulling the back door open, he leaned in to help Becca out and tried not to breathe in her spicy scent. Turning, she slid her long, graceful legs from the car. He placed his hand under her elbow to help her up but she jerked away. “I can manage, detective,” she said coldly as she lurched to her feet. With an exaggerated flourish, he motioned toward the inner door. “This way, Madame Zora.” Jack led her into the tiny service elevator, not missing the way she pressed her lips together as they started to ascend. He entertained the thought of pushing the emergency stop button and coaxing her lips apart with his own. He couldn’t believe this was the same woman who’d clung to him like he was all she’d ever needed. He glanced at her again. With her hands cuffed behind her back, her breasts were pushed forward like an invitation. He dragged his hand through his hair. He needed to stop thinking of her in that context and focus on the current situation.

Becca’s stomach lurched violently as the elevator climbed upward. Jack turned away from her and watched the glowing numbers change. He could pretend indifference all he wanted but she could feel his frustration over their unfinished encounter, just as strongly as she felt her own. She could also feel his disgust. He really thought she was involved in that poor woman’s murder.

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Feeling like she was being led to her execution, she walked at his side and tried to ignore the way her palms had begun sweating. She forced one foot in front of the other, despite the wobbly feeling shimmying down her legs. He stepped in front of her to run his key card through the security reader and she couldn’t help but think of the night he’d given her the key card to his hotel room. Boy had things changed since then. Cara would have told her to focus on the positive in the situation. The only positive thing she’d seen was Jack’s nicely shaped ass when he’d stepped in front of her. Somehow, she didn’t think asking him to keep his back to her so she could enjoy the view was going to win her any points. Her shoulders throbbed and she shifted, trying to alleviate the pain. Her wrists ached where the metal bit into her skin. A burly detective wearing a gun holster and a powder-blue shirt took a gulp of his coffee and winked at her as he opened the door to which she’d been led. “You’re not trying to slip those cuffs, are you?” In spite of her predicament, she found herself fighting a smile. A few years earlier, a teenager in the next town over had done that and managed to steal a police car. She’d led officers on a high-speed chase, totaling several patrol cars in the process. Becca sighed inwardly and glanced at Jack. Even if she could elude Mr. Personality and grab a car, she had nowhere to run to. Besides, she scolded herself. She had no reason to run. She hadn’t done anything wrong. “Turn around,” Jack ordered. His words were short and clipped, laced with professionalism. She extended her bound wrists toward him. Cupping her hands in one of his, he unlatched the locks, freeing her from the handcuffs. The pad of his thumb brushed over the sore flesh around her wrist bone. He released her suddenly and she heard the muffled clank as he shoved the restraints into his back pocket. The warmth of his skin stayed with her. An almost phantom touch. His measuring gaze focused on her before he turned and walked from the room, closing the door behind him.

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She wondered what he’d been thinking. For the first time since they’d met, she couldn’t sense his feelings. He’d been broadcasting loud and clear. Now, he was completely closed off. Her spirits sank a little lower with the realization. The other detective motioned for her to take a chair at the battered cafeteria-style table in an otherwise empty room, before stepping into the hall and closing the door behind him. Gratefully, Becca sank onto the chair, feeling as though her legs were no longer able to hold her weight. The cold metal of the folding seat seeped through the thin fabric of her skirt and shocked the bare skin of her back. She was surprised the chair didn’t have a coating of frost on it. It felt like it had been stored in a meat locker. She tried to hide the shiver that snaked down her body. The barren room was cold and dingy-looking. The walls had been painted institutional yellow. Only the small window set in the door broke up the monotony. Through it, she could see Jack and the other detective talking. Shifting on the uncomfortable seat, she glanced around the room. Small, red lights were nearly hidden in plastic grid ceiling panels. She assumed this was where the video and audio equipment was located. Feeling trapped was bad enough. Having it recorded in living color was worse. She watched Jack and the other detective. The second man glanced at her occasionally, his expression becoming more grim by the moment. After a final nod, he entered the room and shut the door. The graying, military-style haircut atop his jowly features reminded her of the sink scrubber sitting in her dish drainer at home. Home. She tried not to think about when she’d be able to go back there. It didn’t look as if it would be anytime soon. He sat down across from her and sipped his coffee, regarding her with a marked lack of expression. That frightened her more than anything else, so far. She cleared her throat. “There’s been a terrible—” “Mistake?” he supplied. “Let’s just wait until Detective Duritz gets back. We’ll begin the interview then.” Gone were the twinkling eyes and nice guy demeanor. 39

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Whatever he’d heard about her in the doorway had bulldozed over his good humor. It wasn’t surprising, really. Anyone who thought she had something to do with Sharon Delong’s murder wasn’t about to get chummy. A brief tap sounded on the door before it opened. Instead of Jack, a short, spindly guy entered carrying a carafe and several Styrofoam cups. The detective refilled his cup and gestured to the pitcher. “Coffee?” She shook her head, not trusting herself to speak at the moment. The uncomfortable silence was broken only by the sound of liquid sloshing in a cup. Finally, Jack returned. His hair was mussed as if he’d been running his fingers through it in frustration. He had a couple of thick, manila folders tucked under one arm. And if anything, he looked angrier. “You have the right to remain silent. Anything—” The rest of his words merged with the drone of the florescent lights. It wasn’t like she’d never heard it before. As Jack read her rights to her, the rest of the room seemed to fade away. Her focus had narrowed so completely, she felt like she was watching a silent film. “Do you understand the rights I’ve read to you?” “Yes.” It was little more than a gurgle of sound but it must have satisfied Jack. “Tell me about Sharon Delong,” he commanded. Let the Inquisition begin. Closing her hand around her mother’s locket for comfort, Becca repeated the details she’d given him earlier. His eyes grew harder, colder. He exchanged a glance with the other man. Without ceremony, he fanned a stack of eight by ten, color photographs across the faux-wood tabletop. Bile rose in her throat and she turned away. In her vision, she’d seen the damage to the other woman’s body as it was inflicted but the images had ceased with Sharon’s death.

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The killer had posed her body afterward, taking the time to arrange her. Thick bruises encircled her wrists, ankles and neck where she’d evidently been bound. There was also bruising from the corners of her mouth to the sides of her face. Becca guessed Sharon had been gagged. “Are you connected with any kind of cult, Ms. Hamilton?” the other man asked as he shuffled the pictures into a tidy pile. Silently, she shook her head. “What about your employees? Customers who frequent your shop?” Becca slapped her hand on the table. “The people who come to Mystic Circle are there for things like aromatherapy and yoga. Not ritual sacrifice!” “How would you know this is ritual sacrifice? You said you didn’t belong to a cult.” “I don’t. But I’m not stupid. Look at the positioning of her body—the symbols on her skin. This isn’t random.” Leveling his cold gaze at her, Jack leaned back in his chair and opened the second folder. The air froze in Becca’s lungs as he carelessly tossed computer printouts on the table. Copies of pictures she knew intimately. His lips tilted upward in a bitter parody of a smile. “Let’s talk about Cara Summers.”

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Chapter Three Black spots floated before Becca’s eyes as she stared at computer printouts of Cara. Blood matted her friend’s pale blonde hair to her head. Her flat, lifeless eyes seemed focused on the distance. That was how Becca had found her. Well, not quite. She’d still clung to life when Becca burst through the door. Her words were almost drowned out by the gurgle of air escaping her lungs but Becca had heard her say, “Shoulda listened.” Cara’s boyfriend sat crying in the corner, covered with her blood, clutching a large kitchen knife. He whispered apologies as if they were prayers. Using the apartment phone, Becca called for help. Again. By the time the authorities had arrived, her best friend was dead and her killer had disappeared into the night. She could still hear the loud rasping zipper as the emergency personnel put Cara in the body bag. “Becca!” She opened her eyes, barely aware of the wetness covering her cheeks. Her fingers laced together so tightly, her hands hurt. The grisly images lay in front of her. Each time she blinked, it was as if the crime scene photographer’s camera still flashed. Desperately, she tried to recall the sound of her friend’s voice. Instead, the only thing she heard was the squeak of Styrofoam as Jack moved his cup across the table. Becca cleared her throat. “I wasn’t involved in Cara’s murder.” Jack made a show of scanning through a stack of papers. “It says here that you alerted the authorities and were at the scene.” “It doesn’t mean that I had anything to do with it.”

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Jack crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back in his chair. She knew he tried to intimidate her. It wasn’t going to work. She wouldn’t to confess to a lie. She rubbed her arms, freezing the in the overly air-conditioned room and met his stony gaze, refusing to look away. “Cara had been trying to break up with Brian. She’d wanted to let him down gently but he wouldn’t listen. He kept insisting they could work things out. One night, she’d had enough. She called me at work and said she was going to end it with him for good.” Becca swallowed hard. “I asked her to wait so I could go to his apartment with her. I had a really bad feeling about it. I didn’t want her to go there alone.” Jack’s chocolate-brown eyes seemed colder and more remote than ever. She shivered beneath his harsh gaze. “She promised she’d wait but when I got home, she was gone. I knew she was in trouble.” “How?” he all but growled. “I just knew. Don’t you ever get a feeling or a hunch about things?” He stared at her, saying nothing. She sighed and continued. “I called the campus police and gave them Brian’s address. I ran over there as fast as I could.” The tears she’d thought she had under control flooded her eyes. “I was too late.” The other man murmured to Jack, then left the room. “That doesn’t explain your arrest later that night,” Jack continued. Becca shifted under his scrutiny. “I kind of freaked out when they took Cara to the morgue. I didn’t want her to be alone.” He glanced at the paper in front of him. “So you coldcocked the officer in charge?” “I was upset.” He leaned forward, closing the space between them. “It just doesn’t seem like the response of an innocent person.”

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Becca shot to her feet. “Well, it was. Did you bother to read the rest of the file?” “Sit down, Becca.” Sullenly, she sank into the chair. “The only thing I was charged with was assaulting an officer.” “The only thing?” “Look, I’m not proud of hitting him but that’s the only thing I’m guilty of.” He snorted. She could hear his disbelief as surely as if he’d announced it over a PA system. “She was my best friend. Why would I have wanted to hurt her?” Ignoring the question, he gathered the printouts of Cara and placed them back in the file. “You said you had a vision of Sharon Delong’s abduction. Did you have a vision about Ms. Summers too?” “No.” She sighed. “It was just a feeling.” Jack rubbed his hand across his bloodshot eyes as the other detective returned with a pitcher of water. Becca downed several glasses before she told and retold her story again. She’d repeated it so many times she’d lost track of the number and now she had a headache the size of the Grand Canyon. Closing her eyes, she rubbed her temples trying to get some kind of relief. She seriously doubted Jack would give her any aspirin—not that she was she about to ask. She opened her eyes at the sound of the door shutting and pouring water. The detective left the room and Jack had refilled her cup. “Tell me what really happened,” he said gently and took her hand. “I can help you. We’ll work out some sort of deal.” “What?” She yanked her hand from his grasp. “Look,” he said. “If you’re protecting someone, don’t. It’ll be worse for you in the end.” She shook her head, unable to believe what she was hearing. “I can’t believe you. I’ve told you everything I know. When are you going to get that through your head?”

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“Is this whole psychic bullshit story because you’re scared?” “I. Don’t. Know Anything. Else.” He leaned closer, his gaze warmer than she’d seen it all day. “I can help you—if you’ll let me.” “Then you could try actually believing me.” She swallowed past the lump that rose in her throat. “I’m telling you the truth.”

Jack sighed as his frustration taunted him with the memory of Mr. Delong’s grief. Becca hadn’t told him anything new. Anything he could use. Nothing had changed in the recitations. Every detail was identical to what she’d reported this morning in her office. Not a damned thing stood out. It was as if she was telling the truth, except he knew she couldn’t be. Inexplicably, he found himself dreading the eventuality of finding out how she was involved with the murder. Guilt prodded him at the sight of the purpling bruises that nearly circled both slender wrists. For a moment, he saw her body in place of the victim’s. Cold sweat popped out on his forehead and his stomach lurched in fear. Taking a deep breath, he willed the violent image away. She shifted in her chair and her stomach growled loudly. He checked his watch. Christ. They’d been at this for over five hours. He was starving she had to be too. So intent on getting answers, he never bothered to see if she needed anything. Like food. He’d kept her busy through both lunch and supper and she hadn’t complained. He stood up. “I’m going to get something from the vending machine. Do you want anything?” “My purse is at the store. I don’t have to any money with me.” “It’s no big deal, Becca. I’ve got it” “Thanks for the offer, detective. But I don’t want to owe you anything.” Her voice fell flat, devoid of any emotion.

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He stared at her for a moment surprised by her stubbornness. “I’ll be back in a few minutes.” “I’m sure I’ll be here,” she snapped. Good. He was relieved to hear her anger. Anything was better than that hollow dead tone that had crept into her voice over the last few hours of questioning. Locking the door behind him, he headed for the vending machines nearly running into Phil, the other detective on the case. “Get anything from her?” he asked. Jack shook his head. “Story hasn’t changed.” “I can’t find a damn thing that links her to the victim,” the other man said. “I’ve talked to the husband, the woman’s friends and family, her coworkers—if there’s a connection, I can’t find it.” Sighing, Jack rubbed his eyes. There had to be something. Something they were missing. “You look like hell. You should really get some sleep. Want me to take over in there?” Phil asked gesturing toward the interview room. “Nah. Go home. Have supper. I’ll call you if there’re any developments.” After Phil left, Jack stood in front of the vending machine trying to figure out what Becca would be most likely to eat. The crunchy granola bar seemed the most obvious choice. Grabbing a couple of apples from the breakroom, he headed back to her. He peered through the window before opening the door. Becca’s head rested on her folded arms. He wondered if she was sleeping or crying. Neither, it seemed. She lifted her head as he entered, watching him through her clear gray eyes. Her clear gray eyes that had purple smudges beneath them. There was that damn guilt again. He had nothing to feel guilty about. He was trying to bring Sharon Delong’s killer to justice. But still the stupid urge to comfort her

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rose within him. He’d almost told her that everything would be all right. Setting down the food on the table, he rubbed the back of his neck. “I know you said you don’t want to owe me but these are from the breakroom. If you feel better about it you can always drop off a bag of apples later.” “Assuming there is a later. Does that mean you’re releasing me?” “Let’s go over it again,” he said ignoring her question. Sighing, she bit into the apple. At least she was eating. She took another bite stretching her lips around the fruit and he couldn’t help but imagine her gorgeous mouth wrapped around his cock. Damn he was glad he was sitting down—the last thing he needed was a hard-on for his subject. Hell…he already had that. The last thing he needed was for Becca to notice it. Between bites, she repeated the story. Again. Nothing had changed. When she’d finished, he pushed the granola bar across the table. She stared at him before finally accepting it with quiet thanks. He watched as she broke the bar in tiny pieces and slipped them into her mouth one at a time, her eyes never leaving his. What was she thinking? He’d never wanted so badly to be inside a suspect’s head. Torn between believing she was lying and believing she was crazy, he wanted more than the truth from her. It had to be exhaustion that caused his strong reaction. She wasn’t even his type. He preferred his women amply curved. The kind of woman he didn’t have to worry about breaking. Becca reminded him of a waif. Fragile. In need of protection. He didn’t want his women to need anything more than the occasional use of his body. Becca roused instincts he would have sworn he didn’t possess. Maybe it was stress. He couldn’t remember when he’d last taken time off. After this case was closed, he’d leave for a while. Go on a vacation. Forget about Becca and her dark, ripe mouth. Those full, red lips he was dying to taste again. He shook his head at his own idiotic thoughts. She’d certainly been his type during the Donally case. She’d also been the type he couldn’t seem to get out of his head. It was 47

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probably their unfinished business—the fact that she’d run away before they’d fully explored the attraction between them. And now, she was completely off limits. God damn it. He shoved his hand through his hair and stared at her. She crossed her arms over her chest. “What?” “Nothing. Let’s go over it again.” She sighed and repeated the same story. He’d done everything he could think of to get to the truth, but her story never changed. He could tell her throat was getting raw— not that he was surprised—they’d been at this for hours. “Are you charging me with anything?” she finally demanded. “Not unless you’re planning to confess.” Unease flared in his chest at the thought of her admitting to the crime. “No. I’m not about to admit to something I didn’t do.” She glowered at him before turning away. “What now? Do I have to sign a statement or something?” He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “That only happens on television.” Jack sighed. What was the matter with him? His perspective was rapidly dwindling as far as she was concerned. He needed to get a grip before he compromised this investigation. His head throbbed with the tension of the day and sheer exhaustion. “Are we done yet? I’d like to go home.” It seemed her anger and frustration were palpable forces that battered his already aching head. She stood with her arms crossed and eyes narrowed as he rose from the table. Damn it. He’d spent over seven hours with his only lead and he was no closer to catching Sharon Delong’s murderer than he had been when he’d gotten the call. “Don’t plan on leaving the area for a while.” “Where would I go?” she muttered. “What?” She glanced at him, startled. “Sorry. Just thinking out loud.” Was he imagining things, or had he sensed sadness in her voice? 48

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Focus on the case. Jack turned to a fresh page in his notebook. “Where can I reach you?” She took the paper from him and jotted down her address and phone number. “I’m usually in the shop or at home. I live above Mystic Circle,” she reminded him. He nodded. “Call me if you think of anything else.” He scrawled his cell phone number on the back of a business card and handed it to her. “I’ll be in touch,” he muttered. He wasn’t sure if he was promising or threatening. From the guarded look that colored her eyes, he didn’t think she knew either. She accepted it like it was a challenge, tugging it from his grip. Her fingers brushed across his, cool against his too-warm skin and soft. So soft. God, he could only imagine how her nipples would feel against his tongue. How would her sweet cunt feel? He wanted to touch so much more than her hand. Irritation burned at the realization. He’d pursued every case he’d ever been given with single-minded concentration that never wavered. Now, Little Miss Greenpeace poked holes in his focus every time he turned around. Phil always griped that Jack needed a personal life to go along with his work life. If a personal life caused even a quarter of the disruption Becca had caused, Jack didn’t want any part of it.

***** “Jerk-jerk-jerk-jerk,” Becca muttered as she stomped down the street. She didn’t expect the police to believe her but Jack’s cynicism bothered her more than anyone else’s ever had. Why was it so important that he believe her? Just because she’d made out with the guy at a wedding reception and had pulse-pounding lust-filled dreams about him didn’t mean he’d be on her side. Now, thanks to him, she was walking home. Through a questionable part of town. In the rain. It had been sunny this afternoon when he’d brought her in. How typical that the weather would have changed for the worse. Granted, it was only sprinkling now but she’d still be soaking wet by the time she got home. The black rain clouds darkened

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the already gloomy dusk. The dealers, the prostitutes and the junkies were starting to come out. Hopefully, no one would want to roll her for her cash. Not that she had any—thanks to Jack. Another, more chilling, thought skated over her skin. The killer was out there somewhere. This was around the time Sharon had been abducted. A shadowed figure disengaged itself from the corner of a building as she walked. She forced her steps to stay measured and refused to look away. Showing fear was the quickest way to get hurt. Or worse. The guy’s energy crept toward her in dark, disturbing tendrils that sent chills racing down her spine. Something about him felt vaguely familiar. She quickened her pace wanting to be as far away from this guy as possible. The headlights of an approaching vehicle sent whomever it was skulking into the dusk. Tires screeched on the damp pavement behind her. She whirled, poised for flight. Heart in her throat, she looked for somewhere to take shelter. “What in the hell are you doing?” a voice barked out the vehicle’s open window. Relief weakened her knees. Jack. She took a great gulp of air, unaware that she’d held her breath. She supposed she should be grateful for his presence since his arrival had scared away her menacing shadow but irritation prodded her nonetheless. “What do you want now?” she called to him. “Get in.” “Are you arresting me?” “No. Just get in.” She didn’t need this crap. Ignoring him, she continued walking. “Becca!” He whipped his SUV into the alley in front of her, slammed it into park and got out. He’d changed into jeans and a different T-shirt. Becca tried to ignore the way the worn

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fabric hugged his body as he stalked toward her. The muscles in his forearms bunched as his hands fisted at his sides. “I said get in.” “And I said no.” Who the hell did he think he was? “Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he demanded as he blocked her way. “Why, yes, detective. Yes, I am. I thought to myself, you know what? I haven’t had quite enough stress today. I think I’ll take a stroll through Felon Central.” Turning to the side, she attempted to walk around him. His face hardened and he looked as if he wanted to shake her. He again blocked her path. “Sorry.” She put her hands on her hips. “I know what a blow it would be for you to lose your best suspect and all.” “Just get in and let me drive you home.” “I’ll walk thanks. Or is walking in the rain suddenly illegal? It must be great to have the law at your disposal.” She knew she’d crossed the border of righteous anger into pure bitchiness but at the moment she couldn’t bring herself to care. “I imagine that must really come in handy when charging people with crimes they didn’t commit. I’d rather walk than spend five more minutes with you…even if it means risking my life. Goodbye, detective.” He stepped closer, destroying any illusion of personal space. “Finished?” His tight, controlled voice sent shivers down her spine. Unfortunately, they weren’t the unpleasant variety. On cue, the rain fell harder, splashing on her skin with fat, cold drops. “Why didn’t you call a cab?” he growled. “No purse. No money.” “Why didn’t you call someone for ride?”

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She shrugged. “Considering my cell phone is in my purse at home and a pay phone requires money, that really wasn’t an option either.” He shifted, seeming uncomfortable. “You could have asked me for a ride,” he suggested. Was that guilt in his voice? “Right. I’ve had just about all the police contact I can stand. I think I’d rather take my chances with the criminals.” He crossed his arms over his chest, the scowl returned to his face. “I didn’t peg you for a complete idiot.” She snorted. If the guilt had been there, it had gone just as quickly. He opened the passenger door of a giant black SUV and leaned against it. “I’m not going to stand here and argue with you. Get in and I’ll take you home.” “Gee, since you asked so nicely… No.” “Becca…” The warning in his voice was unmistakable. “I’m not getting in.” She looked over the vehicle in disgust. “Besides the fact that it’s got to be one of the least environmentally friendly vehicles on the road—” He rolled his eyes but she continued. “It’s also yours and you’ve got to be a complete fuckwit if you think I’m going anywhere else with you. The field trip to the interrogation room was plenty, thanks.” “Get in the damn truck.” The commanding tone of his voice dampened her pussy in record time. How she was still able to get the hots for him after all he’d put her through today was mindboggling. Maybe it was a stress response. Whatever it was, she needed to get home before she did something stupid and invite him back to finish what they’d started at Patrick’s wedding. “Good night, detective,” she said as she turned away.

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Grasping her wrist as she started to walk away, he tugged her back. “We’re not done.” “If you’re not arresting me, then we’re done.” “That’s where you’re wrong. This started two years ago and it’s nowhere near finished.” This was the first time he’d actually mentioned their dance floor indiscretion. She stepped back as far as she could with him still holding on to her and another thought occurred to her. “At the wedding, were you using me to try to get information about the Donallys? Is that what this is about? You think maybe I’ll tell you something new about this case if you seduce it out of me?” Her heart sank. She’d thought he’d actually been attracted to her. And like a moron, she’d thought maybe he still was. The truth really did hurt. He shook his head. “This is about you and me, granola—not the case.” She blinked at him. “Did you just call me granola?” “Yep.” The smile she hadn’t seen for two years appeared briefly and she melted a little inside. “There is no you and me,” she murmured. No matter how much she might wish for the opposite. Why did she still have to want him after all of this? How could she still want him? He yanked her flush against his body and locked his arm around her waist. She took a breath only to feel her pebbled nipples rasp against his chest. He lowered his head to hers and she couldn’t convince herself to pull away. Would it be so bad to give in to the desire simmering between them? “Granola?” she asked, staring at him. He kissed the corner of her mouth. “You’re just like granola,” he murmured as he moved his lips along the line of her jaw. “A little salty.” He gently bit her earlobe and her hands convulsed on his shoulders. He took her mouth in a sweeping kiss, tasting

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every inch of her, his tongue toying with her piercing, before lifting his head. “And so sweet.” Turning, he pinned her against the side of his SUV. The cool metal was a sharp contrast to the hot flesh of the man pressed against her body. She sighed into his mouth as he kissed her again. What a pushover she was, softening against him as soon as he kissed her. Her anger had evaporated or had at least turned to lust. Running her fingers through his dark, wet hair, she pulled him closer. His big, rough hands stroked the bare skin of her back sending need rocketing through her. Rain soaked them making their skin slick and she fought the urge to strip his shirt from him right here on the street where anyone could see. Of course, it was pouring rain and they were mostly hidden by his vehicle and the buildings on either side of the alley but did she dare? She settled for sliding her hands up and under the wet fabric and exploring the taut muscles of his chest and back. He groaned at her touch. “I’d forgotten how good you taste.” He tugged at the strings of her halter top where it was secured around her neck. “Jack…” She tried unsuccessfully to slap his hand away. He held her motionless with those chocolate-brown eyes—eyes that were no longer cold and distant. “I need more, Becca. I need to taste more of you.” A fresh rush of moisture flooded her core at his words. When he looked at her like that, she needed him to taste more too. Lowering her hand she let him finish untying her top. Almost reverently, he bared her breasts to his eyes and the elements. Rain spattered her pebbled nipples as his heated gaze enveloped her. He licked the moisture from her skin purposely avoiding her aching nipples. “Damn it, Jack! Don’t tease.” Before she’d finished speaking he engulfed an aching peak in the scalding heat of his mouth, sucking hard. Clasping his head, she arched away from the truck keeping his mouth right where she wanted it. His lips tugged rhythmically at her breast and her

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womb pulsed needily in time with every glorious pull. Want cascaded through her body as she shuddered in his arms. He groaned as he moved from one breast to the other. The sound was barely audible in the falling rain but the vibrations coursed through her body. At this rate, he’d have her coming with nothing more than his mouth on her nipples. He dragged his lips over her collarbone and nipped at it before continuing the climb along the column of her throat, back to her lips. The stubble on his face abraded her skin but she didn’t care. She wanted more. As he kissed her, he bunched her skirt in his hands, dragging the fabric upward to bare her legs. This was no careful seduction, this was desperation pure and simple and Goddess did she understand that need. She fumbled with his belt, loosening it and yanking his zipper down and freeing the button at the waistband. “You’d better have a condom, Jack.” She slid her hand inside his pants and wrapped her fingers around the thick, hot length of his cock. He shuddered at her touch. “Jesus, Becca,” he breathed. He pulled her hand from his jeans and secured both of her wrists in his hand above her head. “Don’t,” he growled against her neck. “I’m too damn close.” His rough voice scraped over her nerve endings and she took a shaky breath, inhaling the scent of warm male and cool rain. “I don’t think you’re close enough,” she said, nipping at his lower lip before soothing it with her tongue.” The rain fell faster running in rivulets over her bare skin as he ground his rock-hard cock against her mound. He took her mouth again as he slipped his free hand under her ass and lifted her, pulling her closer. What was she doing? This was the man who refused to believe her. The one who’d hauled her down to the police station and questioned her for hours. He was also the man who’d haunted her dreams for the past two years. She couldn’t make herself push

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him away. Maybe this encounter with Jack was what she needed to move on with her life. “More,” she demanded freeing her hands and shoving his shirt up. She traced his nipples with her tongue, rasping her piercing over the rapidly hardening nubs. Jack drew in a harsh breath through tightly clenched teeth. “Christ!” Gathering her skirt, he shoved it to her waist and cupped his hand over her pussy. She knew what he’d find. She was practically dripping for him. How many times had she woken up in the middle of the night dreaming of his hands on her body? She thrust her hips against his hand as he trapped her with his heated gaze. How many times had she touched herself imagining it was him? “Please, Jack.” She caught his hand with her own. “You want me to stop?” he grated. “I didn’t peg you for an idiot,” she said throwing his words back at him. With a growl he jerked her underwear off her body and her stomach fluttered wildly with breathless anticipation. His nearly feral energy spilled over her, heightening her arousal and her desperation. With precious little effort, he’d managed to turn her into nothing more than a bundle of need. His face a mask of taut concentration, he splayed his hand over her belly before sliding his fingers through her wet folds. His eyes closed briefly as he encountered proof of her desire for him. “You’re so damn hot,” he rasped as he entered her body. Adding another finger, he brushed his thumb across her clit. She cried out as he did it again. Her body arched toward him, wanting more. She clung to him as he urged her into a frenzied rhythm. Grinding against his hand, she tilted her head back, letting the cool rain bathe her. As hot as he made her, it was a wonder steam wasn’t rising off her skin. Jack lowered his head and captured her nipple, drawing hard as he brought her closer to the orgasm she so desperately needed from him. She couldn’t believe she was

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out here in the middle of the city letting a man she barely knew bring her off. Anyone could see them. Somehow the realization wound her need that much tighter. Jack raised his head and stared into her eyes. “Come for me, Becca. Come now, ’cause I’m not gonna last long once I get inside your sweet pussy.” His rough words and expert touch sent her over the edge. Release washed over her in savage waves. Jack caught her desperate cries in his mouth as he continued to work his fingers in and out of her clenching body. Panting, she clung to him. She’d never come so hard before and Goddess help her she couldn’t wait to do it again. With a shaking hand she grasped his shaft and slid her fingers up and down the wet flesh. She wanted to take the hot, silky length into her mouth. Judging from the way he’d responded when she’d run her piercing across his nipples, she knew his reaction would be even more intense when she sucked his cock. Not that she’d be able fit much of him in her mouth—he was huge—and seemed to be getting bigger by the moment. Groping in his back pocket, he pulled out his wallet and removed a condom. Becca sighed gratefully. She wasn’t sure she could wait for an emergency trip to the drugstore. Jack tossed his wallet and the empty wrapper though the open door of his SUV and quickly sheathed himself. He palmed her breasts and plucked at her nipples, a tight smile stretching his lips. “Next time, I’m going to take my time with you.” Next time? Jack lifted her and for a moment held her helpless above his cock before entering her hard and fast. The air left her lungs on a whoosh as he filled her completely. She whimpered at the sensation. Nothing had ever felt as good as Jack did. Her internal muscles clamped around him as he dropped his head back, exposing the strong column of his throat. “Christ Becca, you’re so fucking tight.”

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Gripping his shoulders, she pulled him forward kissing and biting his neck. She licked the rain from his skin even as she wrapped her legs around his waist. It seemed like she’d waited for this moment a whole lot longer than two years.

Jack braced her back against the side of the vehicle and pushed deeper, groaning as her body adjusted to his. She squeezed him harder and he nearly blacked out from the pleasure streaking up his spine. He rested his forehead against hers and stared into her stormy eyes. “Of all of the regrets in my life, you’ve always been my favorite.” Her lips parted in surprise. What the hell had possessed him to admit that? Probably the same insanity that had him fucking his number-one suspect up against the side of his truck. He’d lost his damn mind. That insight didn’t stop him, though. He finally had Becca Hamilton right where he wanted her. He gripped her waist and slowly lifted her up the length of his cock before slamming her down again. His balls tightened as they slapped against her drenched cunt. How many times had he imagined this in the last two years? Of course, his imagination hadn’t included taking her outside in the middle of a rainstorm where anyone could happen upon them. “Harder,” she whispered, her head falling back against the truck. “Please…harder.” Protecting the back of her head with his cupped hand, he complied and drilled into her, shafting her harder with each stroke. Her internal muscles rippled around his cock, clenching him as she came again, shuddering violently with the force her release. Eyes closed and lips parted, she threw her head back. With the rain beading on her skin she looked like some sort of goddess calling the weather to do her bidding. He’d never seen anything so damn beautiful in his life. Unable to hold back, he pounded harder and deeper, rocking against her until his balls tightened. A tingle raced down his spine before settling low in his gut as he ground into her. He wasn’t going to last much longer. She kissed him, stroking her piercing along the sensitive skin of his mouth and he lost the last shred of control he’d 58

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had. Release ripped through him and for a moment, he saw black as he pinned her against the vehicle, aftershocks still rolling through his body. Panting, they clung to each other as their breathing returned to normal. Thunder clapped overhead and Becca started in his arms. He tightened his arms around her, unwillingly to break this connection before he had to—and he knew he’d have to. He still needed to find Sharon Delong’s killer. Whether Becca was involved remained to be seen but either way, he knew she was the key to finding the killer. What was he thinking? There was no way she was involved. He sighed. Had this indiscretion screwed his objective reasoning? Becca pulled away at his sigh, scrambling to get out of his arms. Letting her down, he disposed of the condom in the trash can he’d nearly knocked over when he’d whipped into the alley and then righted his clothing. Turning away, she pulled her skirt down and her shirt up, hiding her luscious body from him. Not that it mattered much. Her clothes were completely soaked and left nothing to the imagination. She snatched her panties from the pavement and pushed her sopping wet hair off her forehead, not quite meeting his gaze. He lifted her chin, forcing her eyes to his. “What’s wrong, granola?” “Just thinking this might not have been the smartest thing I’ve ever done.” “What’s not?” “Fucking the same guy who wants to put me in jail? Not too clever.” Was that all she thought it was? He wiped the rain from his eyes. Jesus, Jack. Wasn’t it? What the hell was the matter with him? It was nothing more than a release of tension that had been a long time coming—for both of them. If that was true, why did the thought make him feel like shit? “I don’t want to put you in jail,” he finally said. “I just want to find the sick fuck before he kills someone else.”

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Shivering, Becca had wrapped her arms around herself. Annoyed with himself for not noticing sooner, he pulled a blanket from behind the front seat and wrapped it around her. She glanced up at him, meeting his gaze. “Thanks.” Releasing the blanket, he cupped her face brushing his thumb over her cheek. “Will you please let me drive you home now?”

***** He watched his sacrifice from the protective shadows of the building, rage burning in his gut. How dare she defile herself by taking that base creature into her body? Now, he’d have to take extra steps to purify her before he made her abilities his own. It was good that he’d saved her for last—not that he’d had a choice. She was by far the most powerful of his chosen ones. And soon she would be his. Mother always said, everything in its own time. Tonight he’d content himself with the fourth sacrifice. She was barely more than a child but she had what he needed. She would do.

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Chapter Four Jack glanced at Becca cocooned in his blanket and staring out the window. For at least the forty-seventh time today, he wondered what she was thinking. Was she regretting what had arguably been the best sexual experience of his life? Before he could ask, the shrill ring of his phone sounded, loud in the nearly silent SUV. She startled as if woken from a daydream. “Duritz,” he answered. Becca turned in the seat to watch him, her gaze intent. “Got a present for you,” Phil said over the line. “What’s up? “Files. Just came in from one the Detroit precincts. Left ’em on your desk.” Christ, he really didn’t want to leave Becca yet, if he didn’t have to. “Can you give me the highlights?” “Two women, Sarah Scott, thirty-nine, African American and Karen McCarthy, forty-one, Caucasian, were both murdered a week ago—same night. They were business partners and ah…life partners. Is that the PC term for gay? Anyway, they ran one of those cheesy New Age shops.” Jack glanced at Becca, a chill skating down his spine. If she didn’t have an alibi for the night in question, she could become a suspect for these murders too. “Excessive amounts of Valium in the bloodstreams of both women, all cut up just like last night’s vic. Same carvings and ligature marks. They were posed just like Delong and had the same piece of skin cut from the forehead. According to our ME and theirs, the cause of death was the same. Eight-inch blade to the heart.” “What about the other stuff?” Jack asked. “Did it happen before or after?”

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“You with someone?” Phil asked, laughing. “Yeah.” “Good, ’bout time you got a little something.” He was betting Phil wouldn’t feel that way if he knew who Jack was with. Hell, neither would the Watch Commander and the Chief sure as hell wouldn’t appreciate it. He was so fucked if this ever got out. Right now with Becca at his side and three women dead by the hand of the same crazy freak, he couldn’t really bring himself to care. “So the timing,” he said, prodding Phil along. “Right. Yeah, the bastard did it while they were still alive. The ME said that with that amount of Valium in their system they felt everything but couldn’t move a goddamn inch.” Jack’s gut tightened. He’d bet his retirement pension that Delong would have the same level of Valium in her system. He was going to kill this guy when they got him. And they would get him. He racked his brain. How were these three women connected? Sarah and Karen had owned a store like Mystic Circle in Detroit. They were thirty-nine and forty-one. Sharon had been twenty-five and worked as a church secretary at St. Mary Magdalene’s. Sarah and Karen were lesbians. Sharon was a newlywed. On the surface there were no similarities but there had to be something. Something that drew the killer to each one. Maybe the clue was in the carving. “What letters were used?” he asked Phil. “Same as Delong’s. S, K, S, J and B—all around the inverted pentagram.” He figured the S’s stood for Sarah Scott and Sharon Delong and the K must be Karen McCarthy. Who were J and B? More bodies or potential victims? “By the way,” Phil added, “I checked the woman you brought in for questioning today. “If she was involved it was from a four hour distance. She got a speeding ticket on Kenowa right around the coroner’s listed time of death.”

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Jack breathed deeply as unexpected relief slammed into him. If he discovered that Becca truly had something to do with these deaths, he’d do what he was charged to do and arrest her but he’d really rather not. There was something about her that made him want to hold her and promise that everything would be okay.

Alone in the dark with Jack, Becca stared straight ahead. What had she done? Having sex with the lead investigator of a case in which she was the only suspect had to be the stupidest thing ever. She sighed, even if she could go back in time and undo it, she wouldn’t. That had been the most amazing encounter she’d ever had. Heck, it was probably the most amazing encounter she’d ever have. She shifted in the comfortable passenger seat of his SUV and watched as the rain spattered the windshield, only to be removed by the wiper blades. If only all mistakes were that easy to get rid of. She wrapped her hand around her locket thinking of Holly and her mom. Now she could add Jack to her list of colossal mistakes. Damp clothes clung to her skin and she tried to quell a shiver. Without looking at her, he continued his phone conversation and cranked up the heat and aimed the vents in her general direction. “Thanks,” she murmured. She watched him out of the corner of her eye. His aura flared bright screaming red but even if she couldn’t see auras, she’d know he was furious. The anger rolled off him in waves—so tangible she could almost catch it in her hands. What was going on? Obviously he’d heard something during the call that had pissed him off—but what? With horrifying clarity she remembered her dream again. Jack covered with blood and reaching for her. He’d be hurt because of her—possibly even killed. She was nothing more than a lightning rod for pain and suffering for everyone she got close to. She needed to get him out of her life. It was the only way she could think of to keep him safe. It was too late for the others but Jack still had a chance.

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He pulled his vehicle around the back of the store and started to get out, grabbing his gun and shoving it in his waistband at the small of his back. What the hell did he think he needed that for? “Well, it’s been fun,” she said brightly, opening her door and hurriedly hopping out. “I’ll see you around.” By the time she’d shut the door and made it around the side of the SUV, he was waiting for her, his eyes narrowed in confusion. “What’s going on, Becca?” “Just saying goodbye. It’s been a long day. Thought I’d go to bed and um…sleep. Because I’m tired. Really tired.” After an uncomfortable pause she added, “So…bye.” “You’re giving me the brush-off. Why?” She shifted uncomfortably in her damp clothes. “Well, we’ve both had our fun and gotten each other out of our systems, so I figured—” “I’m not even close to getting you out of my system, granola,” he said as he stalked toward her. The red in his aura was quickly changing to a deeper red, vibrant and more sexually charged color. Becca’s stomach fluttered excitedly. She backed up until she hit the wall of the building and still he kept moving forward. “This is a really bad idea,” she said, laying her hand against his chest. “We shouldn’t do this.” He traced his fingertip along her collarbone smiling at the shiver that raced through her. “We shouldn’t do this?” She shook her head. His heart thumped comfortingly under her palm where it still rested on his chest. The beat seemed to say, give in, give in, give in. Goddess knew she was tempted. His lips followed the same path and she took a shuddering breath. “How about this?” he asked, before trailing up the side of her neck. “No.” She swallowed hard. “That’s a bad idea too.”

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His mouth hovered above hers. “Then I bet this is a really bad idea.” Without giving her a chance to answer, he captured her lips sweeping his tongue into her mouth and stealing her sense of determination. She sank into the warmth of his body as his arms tightened around her teasing her with glimpses of security she could only dream of. Security she’d never have since she was such a curse to relationships. That thought was enough to pull her from the seductive haze he’d caught her in. She shoved hard at his chest. “Stop it, Jack. I’m serious.” He skimmed his big warm hand up over the curve of her waist. “In the alley it seemed like you thought it was a great idea—what changed?” She pressed her lips together trying to decide how much to tell him. He already thought she was a flake. The truth certainly wasn’t going to do anything to change that but maybe it would be what she needed to push him away. Lightning streaked across the sky and she startled. His arms tightened around her comfortingly. “Becca, what’s going on?” She forced herself to meet his chocolate-brown gaze. “You’re going to think I’m crazy.” He pursed his lips and she fought the urge to kiss that amused expression of his face. “Well, crazier than you already do,” she amended fiddling nervously with her locket. Thunder rumbled, sounding closer all the time. “Why don’t we go inside out of the storm and you tell me what’s going on. Then, if you really want me to leave, I’ll go.” Right. Sure he would. Sighing, she pulled from his embrace and pulled open the back door. Feeling her way along the wall, she found the potted herbs Temperance kept on the ledge. Becca usually kept her spare key stashed under the rosemary plant.

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“Don’t tell me that’s where you keep your key,” Jack practically growled. “All right. I won’t tell you.” Taking the key, she climbed the stairs with Jack following closely behind. “Don’t you know how dangerous that is? That’s the first place criminals look.” Frankly she was glad it was there. Considering her purse was locked up in the office, she would have had no place to go tonight. Though she was pretty sure Jack would have volunteered his place. She fitted the key in the lock and the deadbolt tumbled over with a loud clunk as she turned the key. She pushed the door open and turned on the kitchen light, blinking at the sudden brightness. Her purse sat on the kitchen table along with a note from Moon saying she’d be in to open in the morning so Becca could sleep in tomorrow. The lock clicked behind her. She turned to see Jack waiting, clearly impatient judging from his tight jaw. She turned and walked into the bathroom knowing he’d follow and tossed him a towel from the shelf. Grabbing another, she dried herself as best she could as she headed for the living room. “Okay, now tell me what’s going on,” Jack demanded as he toweled his sodden hair. She stared at him. Funny, the room had never seemed so small before. Of course she hadn’t had Jack filling up the space either. He sank down on the couch and patted the cushion at his side. “Out with it.” She sat at the opposite end and wrapped her arms around her drawn up knees. “Remember when I told you about Cara?” At his nod she continued. “That wasn’t the first time that happened.” “Okay.” His skepticism was hidden far better than it had been in the interview room.

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“When I was in high school, I begged my boyfriend not to go to his friend’s party. About three weeks before the event I started having this weird feeling—then the nightmares started.” She risked a glance at his face. He watched her, his emotions carefully hidden. “The short story version is that he went and he died.” He reached out and took her hand. “Becca, a lot of teenagers die. Drinking…driving…” “Ethan hadn’t been drinking. He was the designated driver. A semi driver fell asleep at the wheel and crossed the center line. All those boys died.” She didn’t mention seeing the truck bearing down on Ethan every single time she had the dream or the cries of terror as the boys realized they couldn’t avoid the impact. “I’m really sorry you had to go through that but it’s not your fault. You didn’t cause that to happen.” She twisted her locket on its chain. “I know I didn’t. I didn’t cause my little sister’s death or my mom’s overdose but it still happened.” Her voice broke and Jack pulled her into his arms, pressing her head against his chest. “Becca, I’m so sorry, honey.” Tears that hadn’t fallen for years spilled out. Holly had been so little—only six and Becca had been sick of her tagging along everywhere. Completely forgetting her nightmare from the night before, Becca had taken off on her bike to ride to the park. But then the monarch butterfly had floated in front of her and a light blue truck had driven by as if in slow motion. The dream had come flooding back. By that time it had been too late. She’d wheeled her bike around at the same time the sound of squealing tires and crumpled metal had rent the air. Holly was dead by the time she got there. She’d never forget her sister’s tiny, broken little body lying in the street. Nor would she ever forget the sound of her mother’s wailing and the eventual silence found at the bottom of a bottle of tranquilizers. Her heart squeezed in her chest as Jack settled her on his lap and soothed 67

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her. She wouldn’t have thought the tenacious interrogator or the fierce lover would be capable of so much tenderness. “I saw these things happening and I couldn’t stop them. I get warnings all the time.” She pulled back and looked into his face. “I’ve gotten them about you.” Cupping her face, he gently brushed her tears away with his thumbs. “Look, I honestly don’t know what to think about this psychic stuff.” “It doesn’t matter what you think about it,” she interrupted. “But you should get as far away from me as fast as you can. I don’t want you to get hurt…or die…because of me. And that’s what I’m seeing. Whatever happens to you happens because of me.” The thought of losing him constricted her throat—which was ridiculous. She barely knew him. He lowered his head and brushed his lips across hers before gazing into her eyes. “Let me tell you how I see it.” She nodded not trusting herself to speak. “You warned your boyfriend and your friend and they didn’t listen. I won’t do that. I promise I’ll listen.” “Good. Then leave. Take yourself off this case. It’s the only way you’ll be safe.” He laid his finger across her lips. “Are you saying that you see me getting hurt because of you and it has something to do with this case?” She nodded, feeling vaguely as if she was walking into a trap. “Becca, I’m a cop. I can’t just walk away from a case.” She opened her mouth but he continued before she could speak. “But I promise that I’ll keep your warnings in mind while I do my job. And you can’t just expect me to leave you in the middle of this—potentially in danger.” His eyes darkened as he stared into hers. “I don’t want to walk away from you.”

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Her fingers itched to run through his wet, disheveled hair. To trace those firm lips. To caress his heated skin. She hadn’t had nearly enough time with him in the alley but something niggled at her. “Are you saying that you believe me?” “About all this psychic stuff? I don’t know.” She frowned and moved to slide from his lap but he stopped her by banding his arm around her waist and halting her movement. “But I do believe that you had nothing to do with what happened last night.” Relief flooded her. She hadn’t realized just how important it was to her to have his trust. She brushed her lips across his. “Thank you.” His brow furrowed as he stared at her. “What?” she asked, her stomach suddenly pitching nervously. “I can’t believe I’m going to ask this but what else have you seen? About the case,” he clarified. She swallowed hard amazed that he’d even consider her dreams and visions as a source of information. “Just you covered in blood reaching out to me. I think you were calling my name.” “Could you tell where we where?” he asked, his mouth twisting as if he’d tasted something unpleasant. She couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled out. “Careful, Jack. You’re going to strain something with all this open-mindedness.” Sobering quickly, she shook her head. “Just that it’s late at night.” He rubbed his hand over his face. “Somehow, I think I’m going to regret asking but is there any kind of spell or voodoo you can do to get me more information?” He looked into her eyes and her heart ached for the pain and frustration she saw there. “I can’t help feeling that this guy isn’t done yet.” She knew he meant the murderer. She also knew it was killing Jack to not to have any real leads—other than her. “I could try a reading.”

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“Tea leaves?” The edge of skepticism was back in his voice. “Tarot cards.”

Becca slid off his lap and walked across the room. Jack fought the urge to follow her, wanting to drag her warmth back to him. She grabbed a small wooden box and carried it back to the couch, sitting cross-legged on the floor in front of him. “Can you turn on the light?” she asked. Reaching over, he pulled the chain on the ancient-looking stained-glass floor lamp. Soft, muted shades of green and blue fell in patterns across the floor and Becca’s porcelain skin. He watched, almost hypnotized by her slender hands shuffling and reshuffling the deck. Finally, she spread out one card after another into a complicated pattern on the threadbare Oriental rug. The edges of the cards were worn as if she shuffled them often. Intricate Celtic knots covered the backs. Only two of the cards were flipped over at the moment. The one in the middle said the Knight of Swords. It depicted a man charging into battle. The chilling image of the Ten of Swords lay horizontally across the knight. The card showed a drawing of a dead man with ten swords plunged into his back. Becca flipped over another card, her brow furrowed in concentration. Despite his cynicism, Jack drew closer. More swords—three this time. Becca pulled out a notebook from the bottom of the wooden box and opened it, scrawling notes on the first blank page. “Are you planning on sharing your insights?” As if she hadn’t heard the question, she chewed absently on her pen cap staring at the cards, with an occasional glance toward him. “So,” he tried again, “you just ask a question and the cards give you an answer?” “Yes. And no.” She turned over another card. “Are you this cryptic with your paying clients?”

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She glanced up at him—seeming almost surprised he was still in the room. “Sorry, I’m just…never mind.” She put down the card she’d been fiddling with. “Tarot cards work by picking up the personal energy of the reader and the questioner.” She tapped her finger on the card with the knight on it. “The images are archetypal and work with the subconscious mind. Personal energy draws the appropriate cards to the top of the deck to be read.” He snorted. She raised her eyebrows, annoyance etched clearly on her face. “You asked.” He shrugged. Watching her study the images, another thought occurred to him. “So it’s like a magnet. The question pulls the answers to the top.” “Right. Then it’s up to the reader to interpret the images.” He picked up the three of swords and studied it. “How does someone like me know that the reader isn’t just spouting off random bullshit?” She sighed and something about her demeanor reminded him of his sister Callie after she’d explained his seventh grade math assignment for the fifth time on any given evening. “Usually, information the reader gives will resonate with the person. Sometimes, things come up that only make sense later.” “Essentially, you can twist whatever pictures come up on the cards to suit your purpose.” She glared at him and flipped another card. “I’m trying to be open-minded.” She continued to scowl. “Try harder.” She flipped another card and frowned. “What’s the matter?” “When I first started this reading, I’d assumed I’d be gaining insight about the killer.”

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Her subdued tone unsettled him. He knew she must be exhausted and he felt terrible for pushing her. Unfortunately, he kept coming back to the conclusion that one way or the other Becca was key in figuring out the identity of the killer. “But?” he prompted. She raised her eyes to his and he noticed the deep purple smudges beneath them. It looked like someone had grabbed her and pushed his thumbs into her face. His fists tightened at the thought. “It’s not about the killer. It’s about you.” “What do you mean?” She pointed at the knight card. “This is your significator. The card that represents you best out of the whole deck.” “Why would this specific card represent me? There are other male cards in there, right?” He watched as Becca’s long, slender fingers touched the image. She tilted her head and he refocused his attention. “The Knight of Swords signifies a determined, intelligent man who faces danger and opposition no matter what. He has strong beliefs and tends to be pigheaded when he thinks he’s right. He’s narrow-minded especially when he doesn’t agree with someone else.” She gave him a pointed look as she ticked off each trait on her fingers. “He’s a hero who won’t give in. He’s loyal and compassionate but he can’t stand stupidity. He also has an overdeveloped sense of responsibility.” He sure as hell wasn’t a hero but he’d give her pigheaded and he hated stupidity. But he didn’t know a single cop who was a fan of morons. “Do all of the knight cards have those characteristics?” “Nope.” She moved her hand to the card partially covering the knight. “You’re being crossed by strife, conflict and violence. I’d interpret this to be your job—the murder in particular.” She tapped the three of swords. “You’re haunted by the pain of

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your past.” She stopped speaking and stared deep into his eyes. “You blame yourself for something that happened when you were a little boy. Something about your father. It wasn’t your fault.” Shock sucker-punched him in the gut. “The cards told you all that?” Becca flinched at the bitterness in his voice. “Got that on my own.” She flipped over another card before he could say anything else. He wanted to believe it was nothing more than a lucky guess. Maybe she’d heard something at the station. That was stupid. When had she been with anyone other than him or Phil. He sincerely doubted Phil was going to tell a suspect all about Jack being responsible for his father’s death. If Jack hadn’t insisted that his father show up at his ballgame, the old man wouldn’t have fallen asleep at the wheel after a sixteen hour shift. Jack squashed the memories and focused on the present. He couldn’t bring his father back but he could sure as hell catch this sick bastard—hopefully before he killed again—and for that he needed Becca. He watched her closely. Cupping her chin in her hand she interpreted the symbolism. A lock of midnight hair fell over her forehead. Forcing himself to listen to what she said he barely stopped himself from reaching out to brush it from her eyes. The following cards were primarily swords. Treachery, depression, despair—regret and loss—sorrow and heartache. He shrugged. Nothing out of the ordinary there. Becca seemed bothered by it, though. The next card was Death. “Don’t worry,” she was quick to assure him. “It’s not literal death. In the Tarot, Death indicates transformation—change.” He studied her as she bit her lower lip in concentration. He remembered the taste of her mouth and God, he wanted more. Her frown turned to puzzlement when she turned over the next card. He read the title. The Lovers. He arched a brow at her. “So the cards predict I’m gonna get laid?”

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Her lips twitched as if she fought a smile. “I think we’ve covered that already.” He leaned closer. “I’d like to cover it again.” She stared at him for a minute, holding his gaze. “Actually, in the midst of all this,” she motioned to the other images spread across the rug. “You’re going to fall in love.” He snorted. “Yeah,” she agreed. “That was my thought too.” He looked at the couple erotically entwined. She might as well have told him he’d sprout a sparkly, pink horn from the top of his head and call himself a unicorn. Except, looking at Becca, he could almost see love in his future. She shook her head. “This card has to be symbolism for something else. I could be really wrong but I don’t see you falling in love before this is over.” She met his gaze, her silvery eyes shining with emotion he couldn’t decipher. “In fact, if you don’t let someone in, you’re never going to fall in love.” He was okay with that. His eyes returned to the woman in front of him. Wasn’t he? Head bent, Becca scrutinized the cards. “No matter what this card indicates, this is still a really, badly aspected reading to have The Lovers turn up right here.” She turned over the next card and he peered at it. The Queen of Cups. The blood drained from her face. “What?” he demanded, feeling a little silly. She shook her head rapidly. “Nothing.” He pointed at the card. “What does she represent?” “Well,” she shifted uncomfortably. “If you were to fall in love, which we both agree is ridiculous, this would be the woman.” Jack’s curiosity got the better of him. He tapped his finger on the card in question. “What kind of woman is she supposed to be?” “Sensitive, artistic, intelligent, intuitive.” She looked away from him. “And probably a little flaky.” She chewed her pen cap thoughtfully. “Maybe I’m not looking 74

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at this correctly, because honestly if you ever fell in love—and that’s a big if—I can’t imagine you with a woman like that.” “You make me sound like I’m completely devoid of feelings.” She met his gaze with her clear, gray eyes. “You’re not. You just refuse to risk your heart.” Her lips twisted in a halfhearted smile. “You’re all about risking your body just as long as you can stay emotionally detached.” Her cheeks flushed as if she was embarrassed. It was eerie how she knew him so well. But, like his dad had always said, “You don’t have to be smart to read people”. Maybe she was just really good at reading him. Either way, her observations made him squirm—not that he’d allow her to see it. She jotted a few things in her notebook before studying the card again. “Maybe this is the woman the psycho has targeted next. Maybe that’s it.” Returning it to the spread, Becca flipped over the second to the last card. The Tower. Her silvery eyes widened and her lips parted as she sat stiffly, staring at the image. He looked at the drawing more closely. Lighting struck a tower engulfed by flames and the figures of man and a woman fell through the air. She raised her wide-eyed gaze to his. He saw real fear there. A chill he’d never admit to, skated across the back of his neck. “This isn’t good.” Her hand hovered over the card. “I think this has to do with the vision I keep getting of you. Isn’t there someone else who could take over this case?” “I have to get this guy before he hurts someone else.” Only one card remained facedown and he wanted to derail her previous train of thought. Reaching out, he turned it over. The Two of Cups. He glanced at Becca. If possible, her eyes had widened farther. “What’s this mean?” “It means I must not have shuffled the deck enough,” she muttered. “What happened to personal energy pulling the right cards blah blah blah?”

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She sighed. “This is all about harmony, love, engagement, marriage, union—out of the whole deck this card has the narrowest interpretation. There’s not a lot of room for misreading.” “Meaning?” She rolled her eyes and picked up The Lovers and The Two of Cups and waved them in his face. “Happily. Ever. After.” He stifled a grin. She actually sounded jealous. Gathering the cards, she stacked them into a neat pile and returned the deck to the box along with her notebook. “Except there’s that whole tower of death thing going on in the middle, so I don’t know. I’m probably just overtired…and overly emotional because of everything going on and can’t do a decent reading to save my life right now.” It was a common phrase but the wording sent chills down his spine nonetheless. “I’m sorry it wasn’t more helpful.” Standing, she paced back and forth across the room. “I guess I wanted to prove you wrong about the whole psychic realm so badly that I didn’t focus enough on the actual problem at hand.” He caught her by the shoulders and stopped her mid-stride. “We’ll figure it out.” “I hope so.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. Long, sooty lashes framed her pain-filled eyes as she met his gaze. “I can’t get the image of that poor woman out of my head.” Neither could he. The only thing that had managed to dull the memory was burying himself in Becca’s warm, tight body. Jack folded Becca into his arms and she melted against him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his chest. “Do you have anywhere you need to be?” she asked. “Yeah.”

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She lifted her head and started to pull away but he kept his arms locked tight around her. “I need to be right here.” Framing her face with his hands, he covered her lips with his own sweeping his tongue into her mouth. He pulled her closer and deepened the kiss. God, he needed more of her. He didn’t buy the happily ever after thing for a second—but he clung to her like a drowning man to driftwood. Skimming his hand over the curve of her waist, he stroked the satin smooth skin of her belly. Her stomach muscles trembled under his fingertips. “I can’t get these visions out of my head,” she whispered. “Please give me something else to think about.” In the dim light of the apartment, he could make out the shape of an ornate wrought iron bed in the next room. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her through the archway, narrowly avoiding the huge wind chime. Last time they’d gone too fast, desperately finishing what they’d started so long before. Now he planned to take it slowly—if she let him. She wriggled from his arms as soon as he stopped next to the bed and shoved his shirt up, dragging her lips across his chest and stomach. He wanted her mouth around his cock so badly it actually ached. He caught her face in his hands and captured her lips but she surprised him by catching his lower lip between her teeth and biting. Flicking her tongue, she soothed the spot she’d just bitten and raked her nails down his back. Her touch felt so good. It pushed aside all of the ugliness of the last twenty-four hours. Her hands fluttered to a halt when they drifted over the gun tucked in his waistband and the worried shadows crossed her eyes again. Removing his weapon, he laid it on the bedside table and stripped off his shirt tossing it over his gun. He wanted her as she’d been moments before, hot and unthinking. He yanked her to his body letting her feel the aching length of his cock as it pressed against her pussy.

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“You make me so fucking hard,” he growled as he thrust against her. “I want inside you so bad I’m just about ready to come in my pants like a damn kid.” Her lips curved in a secretive smile and she dropped to her knees at his feet. Settling her hands on his hips she urged him forward and dragged that tongue piercing around his navel. Becca caressed his cock through the thick fabric of his jeans. As hard as he was he was surprised he hadn’t busted the zipper. She released the button at his straining fly and dragged open the metal teeth. The anticipation was killing him. He’d wanted to see her plump lips stretched around his cock since he’d met her. She moistened her lips and he saw a hint of her piercing in the low light. “Don’t tease, granola,” he warned. Hooking her fingers in the waistband of his pants, she yanked his jeans and boxers down and his cock sprang free, brushing her soft, smooth cheek. She wrapped her cool slender fingers around his shaft and slid her hand up and down the length of him. Her touch was heaven and hell all tangled together. Holding his gaze with her own, she leaned forward and circled the tip of her tongue around the head of his cock. She surged forward and took as much as she could into her mouth. His breath hissed through his clenched teeth as the warm, steel ball slid over his sensitized flesh. Dear God he’d never felt anything like it. “Jesus, Becca, are you trying to kill me?” She moaned as he began thrusting in and out of her mouth and the sound vibrated along his flesh. Sucking hard, she pressed the flat of her tongue against the ridges and veins of his cock, all the while watching his reaction. There was an intimacy between them that he’d never before experienced with any other woman. Fear clawed at his gut. This wasn’t anything more than two stressed-out people blowing off some steam. She swiped the steel ball up and down his cock. The sensation drew his balls up tightly and he drove his fingers through her short hair urging her to

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take him deeper. Releasing him, she dragged her piercing over his sac and then he couldn’t think at all. The clank of metal hitting hardwood startled them both. With a wicked smile that stiffened his cock even further Becca snatched his cuffs from where they’d hit the floor. They must have fallen from his back pocket. “Hand ’em over, granola.” “I don’t think so.” Her eyes brightened and the playful expression that quirked her lips reminded him of how she’d been when they first met. “I’ve always wanted to play with a pair of these.” She frowned at him. “And earlier today didn’t do it for me.” He toed off his shoes and socks while she watched him, clearly contemplating something. He couldn’t begin to imagine what that might be since he was certain there was no longer any blood circulating in his brain. She ran her finger around the inside of the cuffs as she continued to watch him undress. Once he was naked, she reached out and grabbed his wrist. “I’ve always wanted to have a man chained up and ready to do my bidding,” she said laughter tingeing her voice. Gently but firmly, he broke her hold and bent her arm behind her back, pinning her face-first against the bed. “What a coincidence,” he breathed against her ear as he thrust his cock against her ass. “I’ve wanted you tied up and at my mercy since we met.” Her breath caught and he felt the sharp edge of her excitement as if it was his own. “I heard that,” he murmured. “Is there something about being restrained that excites you?” She turned her head to the side her cheek pressed to the bedding and met his gaze. “Maybe about being restrained by you.” That was all he needed to hear. He pried the cuffs from her fingers and dragged the edge of the restraints down her spine eliciting a shiver. He followed the same path with his lips reveling in her muffled groan.

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Leaving the cuffs looser than he had earlier, he quickly secured her wrists behind her back. “Jack!” “Relax, granola.” He stood up and looked at her. Bent over the bed with her hands bound and her ass in the air, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a more alluring sight. He skimmed his hands over the rounded globes. “I’ve been dying to get you like this since I saw you in your class this morning.”

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Chapter Five Becca tried to lift her chest off the bed but he planted his big hand in the middle of her back and pushed her back to the mattress. Desire coiled tightly through her middle and moisture flooded her cleft at his dominant stance. “Uh-uh. I’ve got you where I want you—I’m gonna keep you here for a while.” He plucked at the ties holding her top together. She’d be fighting him tooth and nail if he was anyone else but ultimately, she trusted him. She knew he wouldn’t hurt her. He might push her comfort level but she also knew he’d stop if she asked him to. “I will get back at you for this.” “You’re welcome to try.” Oh she’d do more than try. She’d had to clench her thighs together to ease the ache his guttural moans caused as she’d gone down on him. She planned to get his cock in her mouth again—just as soon as she could. She wanted him writhing and desperate for her as she brought him to his peak and over the edge. Behind her, he dropped kisses over her bared skin sending restless need shuttling along her limbs. Leaning over her he slipped his hands under her breasts and cupped them. She arched into him, more than willing to lose herself in the warmth of his touch. Her taut nipples pushed into his palms as he kissed the curve where her neck met her shoulder. Rolling her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, he tugged and twisted them. Without warning, he pinched them and she gasped at the sharp pleasure that shot through her. She pushed back into his groin, pressing against his hard, thick cock and he groaned in her ear.

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“I keep telling myself to take my time,” he rasped. “To fuck you nice and slow but I don’t think I can.” Her stomach muscles quivered and her pussy clenched as she looked over her shoulder at him. “What are you waiting for?” “Spread your legs,” he ordered. The sharp command in his voice sent moisture flowing from her core. “Looking for concealed weapons, detective?” His lips quirked as he slid to his knees and dragged off her skirt, baring her completely. Naked, restrained, completely helpless and she’d never been more aroused. He drew his finger through her dripping folds and chuckled quietly. “What?” she demanded, a nervous fluttering in her stomach. He smoothed his hands up and down her thighs before palming her ass and spreading her wide with his thumbs and pushing her firmly against the side of the bed. “Just realizing that you’re the first woman I’ve used these on for anything other than transporting and questioning.” “Always good to be memorable,” she muttered. He swept his tongue through her gathering cream and groaned. “Believe me, there’s no way I could forget you—even if I wanted to. And before you ask, I don’t want to.” Pressing the flat of his tongue against her pussy, he stroked her again. “You taste so damn sweet, Becca.” His tongue slipped in and out of her cunt in short stabbing strokes, lapping up her juices. Sensation streaked through her needy body as she tried to rock back against his mouth. He drew on her flesh, exploring her with the expert touch of fingers and tongue. She’d never had a lover bring her to this level of need before. “You’re really making me regret leaving the wedding reception that night,” she gasped. “All I could think about was getting back to my hotel room and stripping that ugly bridesmaid dress off you.” His words vibrated against her flesh, igniting mini tremors

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throughout her body. “I imagined spreading your thighs and burying my face in your pussy until you screamed.” He squeezed her clit between his thumb and forefinger and she froze, shudders radiating outward from his grip. “But you weren’t there.” He thrust his tongue into her quivering sheath and pinched her clit. Hard. The hunger that had been building peaked with the sharp pressure of his fingers and she screamed as her climax slammed into her harder than a runaway train. “I think we’re going to need to try that again,” he murmured as he smoothed his hand over her quaking body. “What?” she asked trying to fight through the cotton batting that cocooned her mind. “Why?” He stood and draped his body over hers, his cock prodding her ass. “Because, there’s nothing more beautiful than a woman’s face when she comes and I want to see yours.” “Oh,” she breathed. The release still sang through her veins but her cunt was achingly empty. “But first, I need something else.” “You’d better need to fuck me now—otherwise I’m going to…to…” She was so frustrated and aroused she couldn’t think of a decent threat. “To make you really sorry,” she finally finished. He chuckled as he stroked his hands over her sides. “You really do read minds.” “Fuck off,” she said, unable to muster any real anger. “That’s the plan.” He gently bit the curve of her neck sending shivers of yearning racing through her. She tilted her head toward the bedside table. “Condom. Get one. Now.” As if he didn’t want to leave her warmth, he leaned over and yanked open the drawer and rummaged until he found what he was looking for. She could tell by his movements that he’d smoothed the condom over his cock.

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He prodded her swollen folds with the thick head, dragging it through her continually gathering moisture. “Don’t toy with me, Jack.” He grabbed her hips and jerked her backward onto his cock pushing a scream from her lungs. “Move,” she cried out. “I need you to move.” Still gripping her hips, he pulled out and then slowly shoved his thick heat inside her again. No one had ever felt as good as he did. He pumped rhythmically, as if trying to maintain a slow steady tempo but she wanted more. “You feel so damn good,” he breathed. Each long, smooth stroke seemed to fill her more completely than the last. As long as he was fucking her, she didn’t have to think. She clamped down on him, making it harder for him to withdraw. “Jesus, Becca,” he groaned, lodging himself as deeply as possible. She squeezed him again, rippling around his cock and he cut loose. Losing any sense of finesse or pacing, he pounded into her. The sensation of his cock slamming through her swollen folds nearly stole her breath. Each thrust shook her but she strained to meet every one, moving instinctively with him. He nudged her feet farther apart, taking away any illusion of control she might have had. Her arms ached from the pull of the cuffs but it was a good ache. It intensified the friction of their bodies throbbing together. Hot and barely controlled, Jack surged into her body, lifting her from the bed, his balls slapping wetly against her pussy. Slipping his free hand beneath her stomach, he slid it downward until he separated her soaked folds to circle her clit. She ground herself against his fingers, increasing the sensations, shuddering as raw need claimed her. She’d wanted to wait until he went over the edge but with the insistent press of his fingers, combined with the driving pleasure of his cock and his whispered words of encouragement she couldn’t hold back. Like a thick rope, desire wound her womb into a tight knot that spread though out her 84

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body. Crying his name, she shattered as the rope frayed and split. Release rushed through her body leaving her stunned and trembling. She barely noticed the click of the handcuffs as he freed her. Jack gathered her into his arms and laid her in the middle of the mattress and dropped to her side while the room came back into focus. The sight of Jack’s dark body spread across her sheets made her heart stutter in her chest. His masculine form should have looked ridiculous in her snowy white girlie bedding. Instead, he looked like every dream she’d ever had of him—every dream from which she’d woken hot and needy— desperate for his touch. She traced the crescent shaped scar and drew him down for a kiss. She could taste herself on his tongue and she could feel his still hard cock pressing against her leg. He raised his head and stared into her eyes. “Still trying to take it slowly?” she asked. “I said I wanted to watch your face when you came.” The desire she’d thought had burned out flared to life at his words and the heated expression in his eyes. “I already did.” He settled between her thighs. “I know,” he rumbled. “But you’re about to come again.” Moisture flooded her at his words and yearning tightened her pussy. She urged him forward but he held back. Lowering his head, he drew a hardened nipple into his mouth. He suckled at her, teasing her with teeth and tongue until she writhed beneath him. He plucked and rolled the other aching bud between his finger and thumb. With purposeful nibbles and licks he spread fiery kisses over her stomach and lower still until his mouth hovered over her mound. His hot breath bathed her cunt and sent shivers through her body. He spread her folds with his thumbs before caressing her with a swipe of his tongue across her delicate flesh. His wicked smile sent tingles all the way to her toes. “Seems I’ve developed a taste for granola.” 85

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He positioned his arm across her abdomen pinning her to the mattress and sucked her clit between his lips and flicked at it with his tongue. She arched against his mouth as he threw her headlong into another room spinning orgasm. Before the aftershocks had stopped, he’d settled himself between her legs, the wide head of his cock lodged at her quivering entrance. He tried to frown as he stared down at her but the laughter in his chocolate-brown eyes ruined the effect. “Looks like I missed that one too.” “Apparently, you’re easily distracted.” She dragged her fingers down his back to dig into his ass and urge him forward.

Jack hovered outside the welcoming clasp of Becca’s body. God alone knew why he was denying himself the bliss he knew waited. She stared up at him, her silvery eyes pleading with him. For the first time in his life he wanted to give a woman more than just a good time. The thought startled him but not as much as the realization that he wasn’t utterly terrified of the idea in the first place. Unable to deal with more self-scrutiny, he gave her what they both wanted and slid home. Her lips parted on a cry as she lifted her hips to take all of him deep within her. God, she was perfect—tight and slick and so damn beautiful. Her eyes darkened like summer storm clouds as he pulled back. She moved with him, meeting him thrust for thrust, kissing his shoulder, his neck, his chest anywhere she could reach. Her passion drove his need for her higher and he pushed deeper and faster, loving the feel of her cunt rippling around him. Skimming his hand down her side, he urged her legs around his waist. She crossed her ankles at the small of his back locking him into her body—like he wanted to be anywhere else. Her breath came in small puffs against his neck, in time with his driving lunges. He swept his tongue between her lips, letting her taste herself as he explored her. The piercing in the center of her tongue stroked and teased the sensitive flesh of his lips and mouth. 86

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The little sounds she made as he fucked her tightened his balls and he knew he wouldn’t last much longer. He wasn’t going off without her though. He lifted his head and gazed at her. She was so close. Her parted, kiss-swollen lips beckoned to him but he’d been serious when he’d said there wasn’t a more beautiful sight than a woman orgasming. He wanted to watch Becca as the pleasure took her. Hold her as she flew apart in his arms. Feel her milk his cock with her convulsing muscles. He wanted it all. “More,” she said, her whisper strained. Jack shafted her harder, plowing into her so hard the headboard hit the wall. She writhed in his arms and he gloried in it. He drove his fingers though her hair and cradled her head in both hands as he continued pushing her relentlessly. He fucked her with two years worth of pent-up frustration and longing. Her hard nipples stabbed into his chest and her cheeks flushed. He could feel it coming. He wanted her climax more than he wanted his own. Finally, she stiffened in his arms, her eyes closed and her lips parted on a wild cry. Her pussy clamped down so tightly on him he could barely move. He’d never felt anything better in his life. Or seen anything more beautiful. She was all he could see. The tight coil in his groin released and burst through him like shrapnel from a grenade. Black spots clouded his line of vision as he shuddered and emptied himself inside her spasming cunt. He’d never come so hard in his life. Collapsing, he panted against the side of her neck and wrapped his arms around her body, crushing her to his chest. She smoothed her hand over the back of his head as their breathing slowed. He lifted his head and gently kissed her lips. She smiled sweetly. “See everything you needed to see?” A rueful laugh surprised him. “Not even close, granola. Not even close.” Reluctantly, he pulled free of her body and disposed of the condom. When he turned back to her, she watched him with soft eyes that turned guarded as soon as she caught him watching. He much preferred the open look.

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Not giving her a chance to object, he slipped into bed beside her and drew her into his arms. She stiffened briefly as if she might object but relaxed against him. She had to be exhausted—God knew he was. Her eyes drifted shut and her breathing evened out. As he lay there watching her, he remembered the tarot reading and the look of shock on her face when she’d turned over the two of cups. Happily ever after his ass. Except, the longer he watched her sleep the more he wondered if his happily ever after might already be curled up in his arms.

***** He watched her from the shelter of his vehicle. She was the perfect sacrifice. And she knew he was here. He could sense her heightened awareness. Peering into the darkness outside the club her black shoulder-length hair swung freely around her head as she turned from side to side seeking him out. His hands trembled with the need to make the first cut, to feel the hot spill of her blood over his fingers, staining her flawless skin. He bided his time. There were still too many people wandering in and out of the filthy club. He could wait to claim what was rightfully his. Mother always said good things came to those who wait.

***** Jack woke with Becca’s scream of terror ringing in his ears. Pulling her more snugly against his chest he whispered words of reassurance. “Shhh, it’s okay. I’ve got you. It’s just a bad dream.” That snapped her out of it. She pushed him away and jumped from the bed. “It’s not a dream. Get up,” she demanded. “Get dressed and get your gun.” While she spoke, she yanked panties and a knit shirt from her dresser and pulled them on. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands trying to wipe away the fog that blanketed his brain. “Becca, what’s going on?”

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She snatched her skirt from the floor and slipped it up over her hips. “He’s going to kill her. Hurry!” The urgency in her voice worried him. “Who?” He grabbed his jeans from where they lay on the floor and checked the bedside clock. Three thirty-four in the morning. Christ, he was too old for this shit. “I don’t know her name,” she said throwing his T-shirt at him. “It’s the same freak who hurt that poor woman the other night.” “What—how?” He pulled the shirt over his head, shoved his feet into his shoes and grabbed his gun. She flung her purse over her shoulder and held out her hand. “Do you trust me?” “Yes.” He hadn’t even had to stop and think about it. “Then come on. I’ll explain on the way.” He followed her as she raced down the stairs and out to his SUV. Her fear chased away any lingering tiredness. “Where to?” he asked as the engine turned over. She closed her eyes. “It’s a nightclub of some sort—lots of people in the Goth scene hang out there.” Clenching his teeth, he realized he was chasing one of her goddamn visions. But he trusted her, he reminded himself. Besides, what would it hurt? He was already awake and out of bed. “Do you have a street name?” he asked trying to keep the annoyance from his tone as he pulled onto the street. She shook her head. “There’s a neon sign out front. It’s green. I don’t think it was English.” She closed her eyes again. “Maybe it’s Spanish. Or French.” La Fée Verte. It had to be. He cranked the wheel and did a U-turn. Becca stared at him wide-eyed. “Buckle up,” he muttered. La Fée Verte. Sister Florentine would be thrilled that he remembered enough highschool French to translate the name—The Green Fairy. It was a nightclub, one where

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they allegedly served absinthe. Vice had been trying to get in and shut it down for the last year. They hadn’t even been able to get the owners on serving minors let alone serving an illegal substance. He pulled his cell phone from his belt and called dispatch saying he’d received a tip about a disturbance there. His hadn’t been the first call for assistance. Six uniforms were already on scene when he arrived, interviewing witnesses. Becca slumped in the seat. “We’re too late.” One of the patrol officers approached and he lowered the window. “What have you got?” he asked as the woman got closer. She frowned. “Abduction. Female, seventeen years old. Five-two, shoulder-length black hair, average build. Eyewitness accounts vary on vehicle used and direction taken.” He spared a glance at Becca before turning back to the other woman. “Anyone mention a white van?” When Becca called in Sharon’s abduction, she’d insisted the suspect had used a white van.

Becca caught her breath in surprise. Yeah, they’d had sex but she hadn’t necessarily expected Jack to put any real credence in her words. The officer with the swinging blonde ponytail nodded toward a young man and woman talking heatedly with another officer. “One insists it was a van, the other swears it was a pickup. Victim’s name is Jane Cranston.” Jack reached out and touched Becca’s hand. “Be right back.” “Okay.” She watched out the window as he walked with the cop toward the small gathering of people. Becca noticed the pink ribbon tied around the officer’s hair and squelched a smile. Anyone who could pull off a pink bow with a sexless navy blue uniform deserved some sort of fashion award. The woman laid her hand on Jack’s arm. Leaning

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close, she murmured something in Jack’s ear. A spurt of jealousy flared in Becca’s chest. They were colleagues—probably friends. She and Jack had nothing more between them than hot sex. She leaned her head back against the headrest. What did it even matter? They didn’t have a relationship. And they wouldn’t in the future. Even if she wanted one. If she didn’t stay away from him, he’d be hurt or worse because of her. But if they had any chance of finding the girl, they needed to stick together for the time being. Who else would even consider listening to her? Becca closed her eyes and tried to focus on images that had woken her from a sound sleep. In her dream she’d found herself in the body of a young woman dressed in black wearing a large, ornate cross around her neck. She’d been fiddling with it when a sharp poke followed by liquid ice spread from her neck downward. He’d injected her with something—something that hindered her ability to cry out. Becca woke with the feeling of falling while being smothered. Even now, it felt as if her limbs were too heavy to move and drawing breath was an effort and searing pain sliced across her abdomen. She sat up with a start. This is what the girl was experiencing now. They had to find her. Becca stretched out her awareness in an attempt to see what and who surrounded the victim. Everything but the girl and the hand holding a bone-handled knife was shrouded in fog. The bastard was shielding. Fine. She’d figure out another way to find him. Opening her purse, she pawed through it until she found what she was looking for. The small velvet pouch that held her pendulum. She prayed the killer’s shielding ability didn’t extend to the energetic level where the pendulum worked. Now she needed a city map. She glanced out the window to see Jack still engrossed in conversation with the cop and the witnesses—some of whom were growing more agitated by the moment. He was a guy. And a cop. He had to have maps. She popped open the glove compartment and pawed through the papers until she found what she was looking for. She smoothed out the map on her lap and searched for the road they were on. The

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driver’s side door opened and Jack looked at her quizzically as he slid behind the wheel. “I have an idea.” She squeezed her hand around the carved stone divination tool. “But I need you to take me somewhere away from the scene of the crime. And I need the car turned off.” “Are you going to tell me what this idea is?” “It’ll be quicker if I just show you.” Jack pulled into the lot of an abandoned fish-fry place and threw the SUV into park. He watched with skepticism as she spread out the city map. “He’s got to be nearby, because he’s already started hurting her.” She added, “I can feel it,” before he had a chance to ask. She held the tiny carnelian sphere between her forefinger and thumb and let the inverted-teardrop-shaped stone dangle from the silver chain that held them together. She moved it to hang over the site of the abduction. The polished carnelian stone spun wildly. “What are you doing?” “Dowsing. It’s an ancient method of divination. People used it for everything from finding water to answering questions. Right now, I’m trying to find the girl.” He leaned closer, bumping her arm. “Please be careful. I need to stay still otherwise we won’t get an accurate reading.” He drew back, careful not to jostle her. “I’m sorry to snap. I’m just not sure how much time she has left.” She cautiously checked the streets surrounding the nightclub. The pendulum didn’t respond. With absolute precision, she checked the web of connecting streets. The stone spun in a slow circle over Crescent Street. “Crescent is where Sharon Delong lived,” Jack volunteered.

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Becca checked all of the surrounding area, hoping for a hint of movement. Anything. Jack watched, keeping his skepticism to himself. He had to be completely desperate for ideas, if he was going along with her dowsing plan. The pendulum shuddered and jerked as she moved it to dangle over Union. When she got to the corner of Lyon and Union it swung in ever widening circles. The circles decreased as she moved toward Grand and stopped altogether when she reached College. “I think he’s got her in a house on Lyon—close to Union.” “It’s like playing hot and cold,” he commented as he started the engine. Dialing his cell phone, he whipped the truck out of the deserted lot and on to the road. She buckled her seatbelt as Jack careened through the darkened streets. “Gidget. It’s Duritz. Send a car with a couple of witnesses over to Lyon and Union. See if they see anything that looks like it belongs to our guy.” There was a long pause as he listened and added, “Don’t ask. Just do it—I’ll owe you.” Snapping his phone shut, he tossed it in the console between the seats. “Officer Gidget?” she asked. “Nickname,” he muttered, watching the street signs. “Everyone’s got one.” He hit a railroad track going at least eighty and for a moment they were airborne. As he slowed down to take a turn, she saw the bloody knife in her mind’s eye as it moved toward the young woman’s forehead. Becca closed her eyes but it didn’t do any good. The vision wouldn’t stop. The freak carved into the skin in the center of her forehead. There was something wrong with the girl, she couldn’t move. She could only watch in terror. And feel. “Becca!” She was dimly aware of Jack shaking her but she couldn’t pry herself away from the scene of horror unfolding in her mind.

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I know you’re there, my sacrifice. I can feel you. I know you’re watching through her eyes. The voice of a monster echoed in her head. Her power is mine for the taking and there’s nothing you can do. Becca screamed, giving voice to the girl’s terror as the killer removed the skin he’d cut and placed it on his tongue. As he swallowed, he stabbed his knife into the girl’s heart, shutting down the vision. Jack slammed on the brakes skidding to halt. Becca opened the door and vomited into the street. “We’re too late,” she choked out. “He killed her.” Jack laid his hand on her back. “Are you sure?” She nodded. “Can you help me find him?” She wiped her mouth on the back of her hand. “I can try but without being able to link to her…” They drove up and down Lyon following the patrol car but neither Becca nor the witnesses saw anything they could identify. She no longer heard the killer’s voice in her head but she felt his presence. At this point, she wasn’t entirely sure she hadn’t imagined hearing his words in her head. She’d never had an experience of clairaudience before but she didn’t know what else this could possibly have been. She’d failed another person. This poor girl was brutally murdered because she couldn’t find her in time. Becca wiped tears from her cheeks. Why would she receive these visions if she couldn’t do anything about changing the outcome? After a frustrating search, they returned to the club. Jack stood outside the vehicle talking with several uniformed officers while she replayed the killer’s words in her head. What had he meant by the victim’s power was his? The pentagram carved in the girl’s abdomen was clearly part of an intricate spell but what about the shape in the forehead. Bile rose in her throat as she made the connection. She needed to talk to Jack. Before she had a chance to unbuckle, he and Officer Gidget were walking back to the SUV and Jack slid into the driver’s seat. 94

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“If he follows pattern,” the other woman said, “he’ll want to return the body to the abduction site. “He may not. There weren’t any witnesses to the other abductions.” Abductions? More than Sharon Delong? “If you keep a presence here, stay out of sight,” Jack continued. “Just in case.” The officer looked at him as if to say duh. After she left, Jack dropped his head to the steering wheel and sighed. “What others?” Becca demanded. Jack was silent for so long she didn’t think he was going to answer her. Finally, he raised his head and met her gaze through bleary eyes. “He did the same thing to a couple of women in Detroit last week. Injected them with Valium—to keep them more compliant, I guess, and carved them up.” “Why didn’t you tell me?” “Becca, I couldn’t. It’s part of an ongoing investigation.” “Of which I’m a suspect,” she finished. He opened his mouth to speak but she shook her head. “It doesn’t matter. I figured out what he’s doing.” “Besides butchering women?” he snapped. She ignored his tone. He was just as upset about not being able to save Jane as she was. “Forget for a minute that you don’t believe in any of this stuff. The killer does and that’s the way we have to look at this.” Nodding reluctantly, he sighed. “The pentagram he’s carving is part of a spell,” she continued. “I’m not a witch but my guess is he’s taking something from each of the victims.” Jack shook his head. “No. Everything was returned with their bodies—clothes, jewelry, purses—all folded nice and neat.” The tight edge of anger colored his words.

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“I don’t mean something concrete, although, I’m betting he probably took something small from each of them as a physical link to the nonphysical.” He shoved his hand though his hair in obvious frustration. “I don’t have a fucking clue what you’re talking about.” “I think the spell he’s performing is a binding spell, he’s binding part of his victims to himself.” He looked skeptical but kept quiet. “All of the women were psychic. That’s what they had in common. With the spell and the sacrifice of their lives, he’s taking their power for his own. The skin from the forehead…” She swallowed hard trying to force down the rising bile. “What shape was it?” “Sort of a football shape,” he said, his brow furrowed. “Or an eye?” she asked watching the realization dawn on his face. “Isn’t that eye on the forehead thing the way a lot of cultures symbolize psychic ability?” She nodded. “It’s usually referred to as the third eye.” Jack took a deep breath clearly trying be objective about her theory. “Okay. Let’s say you’re right.” She was surprised he’d entertain the notion but she wasn’t about to comment on it. Maybe he was willing to cut her a little more slack after he’d realized she she’d been right about Jane’s kidnapping but Goddess she wished it had been nothing more than a bad dream. “Let’s say that’s what this sick fuck is up to,” Jack said. “What’s he doing with the skin?” Becca’s empty stomach lurched. Digging her nails into her palms to keep her focus, she met his gaze. “He consumes it.”

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He swallowed hard as if fighting a gag at the image. “Like some sort of twisted Holy Communion?” “I guess. It’s the last thing he does before he stabs them.” “And the pentagram?” he asked. “Tell me how that fits in again.” “Like I said, I’m not a witch but my guess is that each point of the star corresponds with one of the victims. So there’s either another body that hasn’t been discovered yet or he’s looking for another victim.” Jack shifted in his seat and cleared his throat. “When you see your visions—or whatever they are—can you see everything? I mean, can you see all the cuts he’s made?” “I can tell there’s something at each point but I can’t tell what—there’s just too much blood.” She rubbed her arms against the sudden chill that overtook her. “Once he kills them, I can’t see anything else.” He frowned and his aura flared with a sudden flash of brown surrounded by swirling gray. But under it all was a murky blue. He was worried. Very worried. Her hand tightened around the pendulum she still held. “The marks at each point are letters,” he began. “S, S, K, J and B.” He stared at her as if waiting for her to figure out some intricate mathematical equation. When she didn’t speak, he added, “Sarah, Sharon, Karen and Jane.” “Okay. So we have to figure out who B is.” Jack just stared at her and the killer’s words came back to her. He’d called her his sacrifice. She wrapped her arms around herself trying to ward off the sudden fear and shock-induced cold. “You said he’s after psychics. You’re having visions of his victims.” He left the rest unsaid. The pendulum slipped from her suddenly numb fingers as she realized his fear. He started the engine. “Let’s get you home.”

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“You believe me then?” She couldn’t keep the question from escaping her lips. And the answer was more important than ever.

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Chapter Six Jack stifled a sigh. Did he believe her? Everything within him screamed no but there was a part of him that had truly begun to wonder. “I’m not going to leave you alone,” he evaded. It was the most he could give her right now. The thought of anything happening to her ripped through him like a hollow point shell. If he admitted he believed her, it made the possibility of her being a target that much more likely. It was stupid—she might very well be a target whether he believed her or not. They sat in silence as he navigated the darkened streets. He’d asked Gidget to let him know if Jane’s body turned up. She’d be working the call the rest of the night, or knowing Gidge, until they caught the bastard. He wasn’t leaving Becca’s side until that happened. When he pulled into the parking lot behind Mystic Circle, Becca snatched her purse and jumped out before he’d even pulled the key from the ignition. She leaned through the open door and grabbed his arm. “Remember what we talked about before? Guys who get involved with me end up hurt—or worse? Now would be a really good time for you to start believing me and go home.” He stared at her, speechless for what felt like a month. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” he finally managed as he got out of the vehicle. “I’m not leaving you alone. I told you that already.” Pulling his gun from his waistband and a flashlight from the SUV’s console, he checked the stairwell to her apartment. Empty. He was almost disappointed. He didn’t want Becca endangered but he sure as hell would have loved to pound the shit out of the killer.

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Grasping her by the hand, he led her up the stairs and waited, watching while she unlocked the door. Her spicy-sweet scent filled the heavy air at the top of the landing and he breathed deeply, wanting to lose himself in her. She pushed the door open and he followed her in, shutting and locking it behind him. In the diffused light coming from the streetlamp Becca’s pale face shown like a ghost in the window pane. She stood stiffly in front of him, refusing to turn and look at him. “I want you to go, Jack.” Setting his gun and flashlight on the table by the door he settled his hands on her shoulders and spun her around. “No you don’t.” Her lips parted in surprise and he took advantage, crushing her to his chest covering her mouth sweeping inside to taste her. He needed this connection to her. She filled up the places that had been cold and empty as long as he could remember. On a groan, she collapsed into him and met his advances with her own, biting at his lips and shoving her hands under his shirt. She needed this as badly as he did. Cradling the back of her head in his hand, he angled her for a deeper kiss. Her piercing teased his tongue and the sensitive skin of his mouth. God help him but he needed more of this woman. He needed a hell of a lot more than he was getting right now. Sliding his hand down her back, he cupped her ass and pulled her tightly against him, grinding his cock against her mound. She whimpered and the sound pulled his balls up tight. He loved the sweet, strangled noises she made as her arousal grew. With a flash of panic, he realized that he might love nearly everything about her. He shoved the thought away. Better to focus on the physical than to try to sort out his emotional state. Turning her, he caged her against the door. She fumbled for his fly. With fear and adrenaline pumping through his system, he knew he wasn’t going to last if she kept touching him, so he caught her hands. Lacing their fingers together, palm to palm, he pinned her hands to the heavily varnished wood and slipped his thigh between hers.

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He swallowed her small groan as she thrust against his leg. He trailed his lips along her heated skin, nipping and soothing the side of her neck. She trembled at his touch. “I need you, Jack. “I need you too,” he murmured against her lips before delving inside the sweet heat of her mouth again. He’d never tire of her taste or the little breathless moans as he filled her or the tight, wet clasp of her pussy. She pulled her hands from his grasp and drove her fingers through his hair and pressed herself closer. Wrapping his arms around her waist, he shuffled backward to a kitchen chair, reminded of the night they’d met. He’d done the same thing on the dance floor. Now he couldn’t help but wonder if she’d been waiting for him in the hotel room if he would have come to the same realizations about her—namely the fact that he needed her beyond reason. He hooked his foot around the leg of the chair and pulled it away from the table. Sitting, he tugged her onto his lap. She hiked her skirt up and she straddled him. A shudder shot through her as her damp mound came into contact with his erection. She tugged at his shirt, ripped it over his head and dropped it to the floor. His stomach followed the fabric as she brushed her lips over his collarbone before grasping his hair at the nape of his neck and yanked his head back exposing his throat. She trailed hot, open-mouthed kisses over his bared skin until he couldn’t take it any longer. Breaking loose from her hold, he shoved her knit shirt over her head and revealed her tight-tipped breasts. Her nipples were the same rosy red as her lips and he had to taste them. Greedily, he pulled them into his mouth sucking hard as they pebbled further against his tongue. Becca held tightly to the spindles of the wooden chair and arched her back, urging him without words to take more. He slid the crotch of her panties over and stroked her wet, heated flesh. She cried out as he drew his finger between her puffy lips to circle her clit. “Jack.”

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He released her nipple and watched her beautiful face as he worked two fingers deep into her pussy and brushed his thumb across her clit. Her head fell back as she moved against his hand. He thrust deeper and harder loving the tight wet slide of her cunt around his fingers. Leaning forward, he captured a nipple drawing on it in time with the driving motion of his hand. Her fingers dug into his shoulders as he pushed her closer to the edge. The stinging bite of her nails shot through him and his cock jerked hard against the pitiless metal zipper. As hard as he’d been for her all fucking day, the indentations would likely be permanent. She began to thrust faster against him and he released her nipple. The streetlight shining through the window highlighted her passion-drunk features. She was close. Her silvery gray eyes were slightly glazed and her breathing shallow and rapid. “C’mon Becca,” he rasped against her ear. “Let go. Come for me.” She stiffened as her pussy clamped down on his fingers and convulsed. God, he couldn’t wait to feel her around his cock again. Becca apparently had the same idea as she yanked at his zipper. With her free hand she snagged a condom from the pocket of her purse and pressed it into his hand as her fingers closed around his bare cock. Sheathing himself as quickly as humanly possible, he yanked aside the crotch of her panties again. She positioned herself over the head of his cock and slammed downward, taking him all the way to the hilt. He shuddered at the tight fit and the need to come. “Jesus, granola,” he groaned. Gripping her hips, he guided her into a steady rhythm. Well, he tried. She seemed incapable of steady as she rode him, becoming more frenzied with each deep-seated plunge. He kept his hands on her hips and matched each desperate motion with a thrust of his own, pushing the breath from her lungs with each movement. The more frantically they came together the farther away the ugliness of the past few hours seemed. If that’s what it took to drive away the demons he was more than willing to comply. He drove into her harder and she began to ripple around him, crying 102

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out his name. She trembled in his arms as the force of her orgasm washed over her spilling into him. Sharp release ripped through him. With a grateful sigh he lost himself in the sanctuary of her body.

***** The shrill ring of his phone shook Jack from sleep. Becca slept through the noise as, bone weary, he struggled to find his cell. He squinted in the predawn light as he answered. “Duritz.” “Roommate found the body about ten minutes ago.” Gidget’s voice held that dead tone of someone who had seen more than she’d wanted to. “It’s the same guy. I’m guessing he figured we were watching the club so he brought her home.” “Why didn’t we have someone there?” he demanded. “We were at the last known address. Apparently she moved around a lot.” “Fuck.” “Yeah.” After a pause, she asked, “You coming?” He rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “What’s the address?” “Number 1237 College.” “I’ll be there as soon as I get a uniform at 933 Lake Drive.” There was no way in hell he’d leave Becca alone and unprotected. “What—” “I’ll explain when I get there, just send someone over to the back lot on Lake Drive.” “All right. Put your damn clothes on and get your ass over here.” With a grim smile he disconnected. Gidget knew him too well. Rolling over, he gently shook Becca. “Wake up, granola. I need to talk to you.”

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She turned toward him and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest. “Sleep now. Talk later.” God, what he wouldn’t give to stay in bed with her and go back to sleep. “I’ve gotta go.” Her eyes flew open. “What’s going on?” “They found the body. I need to go down to the scene.” She sat up and threw off the covers but he stopped her by pulling them back over her again. “I can’t bring you to a crime scene.” She looked like she was about to protest but changed her mind. “Check through her belongings. She had a big Goth-type cross on a piece of velvet around her neck when he took her.” She met his gaze with those clear gray eyes. “I’m almost positive he kept it. It’s important to the ritual he’s performing.” “I’ll check.” He pulled on his clothes. Was it just yesterday he thought she was full of shit? After he was dressed, he sat on the bed. “I want you to lock up after I leave. I’m going to have a uniformed officer down in the parking lot keeping an eye on you until I get back—okay?” She nodded and he dropped a lingering kiss on her lips. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.” He scrawled his cell number on a pad of paper on her nightstand. “Call me, if you need me and don’t open the door to anyone but me,” he warned. Becca shifted to her knees and wrapped her arms around his neck. Fear brightened her eyes. “Promise me you’ll be careful.” “I will.” “I mean it, Jack. Really careful.” She tightened her grip on him, shivering slightly in the chilly morning air. “I couldn’t bear it if anything happened to you.”

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He wanted to tell her he felt the same way but he couldn’t form the words. Instead he pulled her closer and breathed in her sweet spicy scent. “I’ll be okay, granola. I’ll call you when I’m on my way back.” “I’ll be waiting.” After kissing Becca goodbye one last time, Jack waited in the street level doorway until the squad car arrived. Sczepanski waved through the open window as Jack approached. “What’s up?” the other officer asked. “Don’t let anyone in or out of this building until I get back.” Sczepanski opened his mouth but Jack was already opening the door of his vehicle. As he pulled from the parking lot something rattled on the passenger side floor. Glancing over, he saw Becca’s pendulum—or whatever the hell it was—rolling around. He didn’t remember her dropping it but obviously she had. As he turned on to College Avenue and headed toward the red and blue flashing lights, he made a mental note to give it back to her when he returned. Yellow tape cordoned off the crime scene. Parking his SUV behind a patrol car he got out and ducked under the barrier as he made his way to the front door. A hysterical young woman sat huddled in paramedic issue gray blankets talking with an officer. The roommate who’d found the victim, he assumed. Entering the first floor apartment, he headed toward the sound of voices and the flash of a camera. The victim lay in the center of a bed. Nude and displaying the same mutilations and ligature marks as the other victims, she was posed identically as well. A pile of clothes matching the description of what she’d worn at the club was folded neatly and placed on the small table next to the bed. On top of the clothing was a small purse. Standing in the doorway, Jack put on a pair of latex gloves and caught the attention of the crime lab photographer. “You done over there?” he asked, gesturing toward the victim’s belongings. Commandment number one of scene investigation was never disturb the crime scene and piss off the lab tech. 105

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The guy nodded and moved around the opposite side of the room taking pictures. Jack crossed the small space and opened the purse. It didn’t hold much, just the young woman’s ID, nine bucks, a tube of lipstick and a single earring. He flipped over the ID—on the back was the change of address sticker from the DMV. Apparently the killer was thorough enough to make sure he returned her to the right place. He glanced at the body of the young woman. No necklace. Carefully, he checked through her clothing. It wasn’t there either. Either Becca was wrong about the cross or, as he was beginning to fear, she was right. She’d been right about the kidnapping and God only knew what else. He looked at the woman again—girl, really. The dried blood looked almost black against her pale skin and her lips were tinged blue. According to her driver’s license, she wasn’t even eighteen. What a fucking waste.

***** Creeping silently around the building he caught sight of the patrol car and his hand tightened around the syringe as the rage built. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. He only had one dose of the Valium and now he was going to have to waste it on a cop. No matter. He’d still be spilling the blood of his final sacrifice this day and because he’d made a copy of the key she’d so foolishly left beneath the flower pot, it wouldn’t be a struggle to get into her home as it had with the third one. For all of her psychic gifts, in some ways she was so utterly predictable. He adjusted the talismans dangling around his neck and summoned his shielding spell, breathing a sigh of relief when the police officer answered his cell phone. Police officers were especially observant by nature which could hinder the effectiveness of the spell. In deference to the muggy summer morning, the man had the window rolled down and his left arm dangled outside the car. Perfect.

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Readying the hypodermic needle, he sidled toward the cop as his victim continued to talk into the phone. His heart thudded in his chest and sweat broke over his brow and upper lip. He’d never suspected his last sacrifice would be so difficult to obtain. So close he could smell the officer’s coffee, he grabbed his wrist, pinned it to the car door and slid the needle into the thick vein in his forearm. The phone rattled as it dropped to the floor and the other man went limp. His head lolled to the side but comprehension was clear in his eyes. Valium was a beautiful thing. Standing he walked quickly toward the building as the spent syringe rolled under the car. With barely suppressed excitement, he fished the key from his pocket and quietly climbed the stairs. The sensation of the key sliding into the lock sent an almost sexual thrill sliding down his spine. The anticipation of absorbing her power was almost as delicious as actually doing it. He turned the key as quietly as he could and cracked open the door. Holding a mug, she stared out the window. Probably waiting for her lover to return, he thought anger boiling in his middle. The anger quickly turned to satisfaction as he imagined the other man’s anguish when he realized his woman had been stolen from beneath his nose. He pushed the door further and stepped through the opening and the floor creaked beneath his foot. The woman whirled to face him her eyes wide with surprise followed quickly by fear. He couldn’t stop the smirk that split his face as he advanced. Soon everything he’d been denied would be his. He felt the wave of her power as he neared. Even better than he’d hoped. He was about to receive everything he’d been denied and so much more. She threw her mug at him and darted to the side reaching toward a cell phone on the window ledge. Hot liquid splashed his face and chest as he surged toward her and knocked the phone from her hand. This was why he preferred the Valium. Far less effort.

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She dove to the floor and tried to scrabble past him to the open door. Following her down, he pinned her to the aged linoleum and wrapped his forearm around her neck. Hauling her to a standing position, he increased the pressure slightly. He wanted her unconscious not dead. She fought valiantly, knocking a chair to the floor and breaking dishes in the process. She kicked at his shins and clawed at his arm leaving bleeding furrows in his skin. Finally, her struggles slowed and then stopped altogether.

***** Jack rubbed his eyes. The only thing he wanted was to crawl back in bed with Becca and sleep for about a year. He just wanted to hold her taking comfort in the knowledge that she wouldn’t be tortured and murdered. He wanted the warm solace of her body, the reassurance of her heart beating against his and her soothing scent twining around him. He just wanted her, damn it. The sound of dispatch crackled over Gidget’s radio and the room fell silent as they heard the words every cop dreads—officer down. His heart stopped when he heard the address. Becca! Sprinting from the house, he left the scene with a squeal of tires and raced to Mystic Circle, praying for the first time in decades, please let her be all right— please let her be safe. The EMTs were already on the scene and treating Sczepanski when he tore into the parking lot. Throwing the vehicle into park, he jumped out and sprinted to the building. The flash of the forensic guy’s camera was visible in the stairwell as Jack raced up the stairs to Becca’s apartment. The door hung open and blood smeared the door frame. Broken pottery littered the floor and her cell phone lay near an overturned chair. His stomach plummeted to the ground below. The sick fuck had her. Ice flooded his veins. He needed to talk to Sczepanski. Practically leaping down the stairs, he raced to the ambulance. Another uniform bagged a syringe for evidence as an EMT took the downed officer’s vitals. The bastard had used the Valium on Sczepanski—which explained the destruction in Becca’s

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kitchen. Please keep fighting, granola. I’ll find you. He had no idea if she could hear his thoughts but at this point he was willing to try anything. He approached the throng of people gathered around the officer and pushed his way to the gurney. Addressing the woman securing the straps around Sczepanski he said, “Tell tox to look for Valium.” She nodded and Jack turned to the officer. “Did you see anything?” The other man struggled to speak and his words slurred together almost unintelligibly. “Van. White. Girl. North.” “We’ve got to transport him,” the EMT snapped. Jack laid his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Hang on, man.” He watched as the emergency workers loaded the other man into the ambulance and sped away, lights flashing and siren screaming. Jack scrubbed his hand through his hair worrying over his friend and his lover. Sczepanski should be okay. The killer had likely given him a dose meant for someone Becca’s size and he outweighed her by a good eighty to a hundred pounds. But what about Becca? And how the hell was he going to find her? The pendulum. It was still on the floor of his SUV. But could he use it? Hell, he wasn’t even sure he believed it worked when Becca did it. How the fuck was he supposed to use it let alone know if it was working? What goddamn choice did he have? He couldn’t let her suffer at the hands of that psycho. He got in the vehicle and spread out the city map over the passenger seat. Feeling around on the floor, he snatched up the cool, smooth stone and chain trying to remember what he’d seen her do. He closed his eyes and tried to focus, hoping none of his colleagues would choose to wander over and look in the window any time soon. Holding the small stone ball between his thumb and forefinger, he let the large carved portion hover above the map. With slow, precise movements he passed over the city streets. The stone leapt as it passed over College where the fourth body had been found. It leapt again when it crossed Lake Drive—Becca’s place. There was no other discernable reaction until he hit Lyon Street. The same area he and Becca had searched 109

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before the last victim had been killed. The pendulum was spinning wildly. She and the killer had to be there. If they weren’t he didn’t know what he’d do. Clutching Becca’s pendulum in his hand, he started the engine and sped from the parking lot toward Lyon. Toward Becca. Traveling at unsafe speeds, he dodged early-morning traffic in his race to reach his happily ever after before it was too late.

***** Becca’s head throbbed, it hurt to swallow and she was cold. She must have kicked the covers off during the night. She reached down to pull them up and she realized that she couldn’t move. At all. Opening her eyes, she saw the ropes securing her wrists to huge eyebolts that had been screwed into the hardwood floor. She tried to pull free of the bindings but it only tightened further around her wrist. Lifting her pounding head as far as she was able, she saw her ankles were secured in the same way. And she was naked. It all came rushing back. Some freak had broken into her house and cut off her air until she’d passed out. No wonder her throat hurt. The bastard had bruised her windpipe. Her nails and fingertips were crusty with dried blood. Obviously she hadn’t caused him nearly enough pain since she’d still ended up tied to this bloodstained floor. A shadow crossed in front of the bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. Becca squinted and tried to make out the features of the man who’d abducted her. Tall and very thin with stooped shoulders he flashed her a condescending smile as he squatted at her feet. He brushed his nondescript, graying, brown hair from his watery blue eyes. “I’m sure you know what happens next.” Becca took a breath and tried to keep her voice level. “I know what you’re planning to do but I don’t understand why.” “If you’re hoping to keep me talking until your boyfriend shows up to rescue you, you’re going to be disappointed,” he sneered. “He’s a simpleton. He doesn’t believe in things unseen…not like we do.”

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The almost coy tone in his voice turned her stomach. He spoke to her as if they shared a treasured secret. He shifted and set a small rucksack at his feet. Becca tried to think, to figure out how to prolong this. Jack would find her—that wasn’t a question. Hopefully he’d find her before it was too late. She wanted to see him so badly she nearly gave in to the tears that threatened. She didn’t care if he believed in the tarot or her dreams. He believed in her—that was enough. She loved him—nothing else mattered. Except the fact that she’d be dead soon. She watched the killer, trying to gauge her remaining time. His aura began to shift and change. Primarily black, it was shot through with disgusting shades of yellowyorange, olive green and brown. His personality traits weren’t difficult to spot—evil, jealous, hateful, selfish, negative, hurtful. If he’d ever had an ounce of compassion or empathy, it was long gone. Four orbs of pure white hovered around his head, tethered to his aura by almost greasy-looking strands of black energy like metaphysical balloons. Goddess help her— he hadn’t just stolen the victim’s energy, he’d tied their souls to him. He’d killed their physical bodies but their souls would be tortured as long as he lived—unless she could think of some way to release them. His movement pulled her attention away from the souls. He set a small clothwrapped bundle on the floor and leaned forward to unwrap it revealing a bone handled knife. The handle looked like part of a human thigh bone. “Is that—” He smiled again, an indulgent expression. “Yes. It’s my mother’s.” He gazed almost fondly at the handle. “They say the dead live in our souls but I much prefer to think of her here with me…helping me with my work.” “Killing people?” she demanded. Cold superiority crept across his face and stared impassively at her. “Claiming what should have been mine.” Becca’s stomach lurched as she stared at the knife. “Did you murder her, too?” 111

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“My mother? Of course,” he said, not bothering to wait for her response. “How else was I supposed to take what was rightfully mine?” He leaned forward and she noticed several pendants around his neck. Jane’s large ornate cross, a crystal point, a pentacle and a crucifix…and they all looked dirty. He loomed closer. Not dirty but smeared with blood. He scooped something from the floor and let it dangle above her head. Her mother’s locket. “I assume you know what I’ll be doing with this.” He let his gaze wander her body, viewing her dispassionately as if she was a tool or a puzzle piece—which she supposed was a good analogy. She tried to keep her voice calm. Hysteria would get her nowhere with him. Of course, neither would logic. “I assume that you’re going to use my necklace as a physical anchor to somehow bind my abilities to you.” “Very good.” “You realize that sooner or later, the powers that you’ve stolen are likely to dissipate.” He shrugged, apparently unconcerned. “Then I’ll find more.” Laying her locket next to him, he wiped down the blade with the cloth. “Shall we begin?”

***** Jack turned off the headlights as he inched along Lyon, searching for a white van— hell searching for anything that looked suspicious. The pointed end of the pendulum dug into his palm but he refused to release his only tangible link to Becca. He’d been up and down the street three times. There was nothing. Not a goddamn thing. Panic and frustration clawed at his throat. He had to find her. He had to. Parking in front of a rundown Victorian monstrosity, he tried to focus. He didn’t have time to check every house on the street. Fueled by desperation, he let the pendulum dangle from his thumb and forefinger and started listing off house numbers. When he got to

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914 Lyon, the pendulum arced in his hand and what could only be described as an electric shock traveled up his arm. That was all he needed. He slipped out of the vehicle and drew his gun. Keeping to the shadows, he ran toward a house two doors down from where he’d parked and slipped around back. The windows on the sides of the house were covered by overgrown shrubbery and climbing vines. He pulled out his cell phone and dialed dispatch. Giving the dispatcher the address, he requested backup. He considered trying to peer in through one of the front windows but a scream of pain stopped him dead. He turned the handle on the back door as quietly as he could. Locked. No surprise there—after all, the freak was attempting murder. Normally this would be a situation handled by the Special Response Team but neither he nor Becca had the luxury to wait around for their crisis negotiation officer, their teargas or their battering ram. Becca screamed again and Jack made his choice. He kicked the ancient doorframe and the wood splintered around the latch. Slamming himself against the door, he shouldered his way inside. He followed the sound of yelling to what had once been a formal dining room. Becca was tied to the floor, blood covering her stomach and dripping onto the wooden planking. Her screams were suddenly silenced. He saw the reason as he rounded the corner. A thin, gaunt man held a bloodied knife to her throat. Jack leveled his gun at the bastard. “Drop the weapon and back away from her.” The sight of Becca spread-eagle, staked to the floor and covered in blood nearly choked the air from his lungs. He was going to kill the fucking bastard. As much as he wanted to make sure Becca was okay, he couldn’t afford to take his eyes from her attacker. “It seems I underestimated you.” The man wore an expression of pained annoyance. “Drop your weapon,” Jack repeated. “I’m not finished.” 113

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Rage simmered in Jack’s gut and his grip tightened on his gun. “Yes. You are.” He took several steps toward Becca but stopped when the other man pressed the blade more firmly against her neck. A blur of light flickered in his peripheral vision but he ignored it. Hopefully it was his backup. Where the fuck were they anyway? The light flickered again and his opponent tracked the movement with his gaze, fear in his expression. Seeing an opening, Jack rushed him, knocking him back and away from Becca. The knife skidded across the floor as Jack pinned the other man, the barrel of his gun pressed against his jaw. Pushing hard enough to leave a bruise, he gripped the front of the man’s shirt and pulled him to a standing position. “Don’t move an inch unless I tell you to,” Jack growled as he shoved him against the wall. “Turn around and put your hands behind your back.” The man sighed as if he’d been inconvenienced but complied. Holding his gun at the base of the man’s neck he pulled the cuffs from his back pocket and secured one wrist. It took every ounce of his self-restraint not to pull the trigger. “Sit,” he demanded. When the man complied, he threaded the cuff through the radiator pipe and locked it around his other wrist. “Don’t move.” Jack raced to where Becca was splayed on the floor, eyes closed. Oh God, no. He dropped to his knees at her side and her eyelids fluttered open. The breath he hadn’t realized he’d held whooshed from his lungs. He pulled out his pocket knife and got to work cutting her bindings while he dialed dispatch. Becca needed medical attention. As soon as her arms were freed, she struggled to her elbows. Blood flowed more heavily from her stomach and she winced. Guilt clawed at him. He hadn’t done enough to protect her. This was his fault. “Lie down. You’re hurt.” She pushed his hand aside and got to her knees. “I need to get to him.” “Oh hell, no. You’re not going near him.”

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She laid her bloodstained hand on his. “Please, Jack. I need you to trust me.”

Becca watched Jack war with himself. She’d explain it all later. Right now she needed to focus her energy on freeing the spirits of the murdered women. Somehow, they’d managed to distract the killer long enough to let Jack get the advantage. It looked like he was about to argue with her but instead slipped his arms under her and carried her to the other man. After he set her down, he stripped off his T-shirt and pulled it over her head. She wasn’t sure if he was attempting to preserve her modesty or hide what he considered his. At the moment, it really didn’t matter. Shoving her arms through the sleeves she reached out and unfastened the stolen jewelry. “Becca, that’s evidence,” he whispered in her ear. She silenced him with a glare. “There’s nothing you can do,” the other man taunted. “Their power has become mine. You can’t take it from me.” Ignoring his protest, she continued to remove the pendants. Holding them in her hands, she opened herself to the energy of the universe. Directing the flow from her heart to her hands, she cleansed the objects and peeled away the diseased tentacles of power that attempted to retain their grasp. The killer stiffened and attempted to kick at her. “No! I won’t let you.” One by one the white orbs of spirit detached from the killer to fade slowly from view. The man crumpled against the radiator, his skin grayish and damp with sweat, muttering unintelligibly. Or perhaps it just sounded unintelligible. There was a growing roar in her ears and the room had begun to spin. Freeing the spirits had taken more from her than she’d anticipated. Metal rattled to the floor as the pendants fell from her hands and she slumped backward against Jack. Sirens and flashing lights competed with the darkness that crowded closer.

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***** Jack shifted in his desk chair as he reread his report for the fourteenth time. His explanation of how he’d found the house Jeffrey Redding had used to perform his deadly rituals had taken more creativity than he’d known he’d possessed. But he wasn’t about to admit to using a pendulum for Christ’s sake. The chief had already bitched him out for going in without backup even though he realized there hadn’t been much of a choice. Jack could just imagine the look on the other man’s face if he mentioned the weird psychic aspects of the case. He scrubbed his hands through his still damp hair. He’d taken a shower as soon as he’d been debriefed. Like most guys, he had a spare set of clothes in his locker, which was good. He didn’t want to arrive to pick up Becca from the hospital covered in blood. God, when he’d seen her staked to the floor and bleeding, he’d nearly lost it. If not for his training, the fear and rage that raced through his blood might have paralyzed him. The thought of losing her literally made his chest ache. An exhausted laugh escaped him. It was crazy but he was in love with Becca Hamilton. For a ridiculous moment he wondered how she’d feel about going from Little Miss Greenpeace to Little Mrs. Greenpeace. Sudden worry gnawed at his gut. What if she didn’t feel the same way? What if he was just an available fuck to her? The real question was would he let fear and pride keep him from finding out? Movement at the doorway caught his attention. Gidget. She’d been more than happy to transfer Jeffrey Redding, psychopath extraordinaire to the county lockup. He’d be headed to the state penitentiary in Jackson soon enough. Jack hoped he’d make lots of new and interesting friends there. “What are you still doing here?” he asked. “I was about to ask you the same thing? Don’t you have a home, Duritz?” He did. Wherever Becca was. He hoped. “Actually, I’m heading up to the hospital.” She laughed and shook her head. “You’re really going above and beyond the call of duty on this one, aren’t you?” 116

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“You have no idea.” After Gidget left, Jack drove to the hospital only to find that Becca had checked out. Annoyed, he drove to her apartment. She’d been kidnapped, tortured, nearly killed and the hospital slapped some suture tape on her and called it good? He had half a mind to haul her pert ass back there and demand that they take proper care of her. He parked in the lot behind the store and entered through the back door, narrowly missing Moon Shine or whatever the hell her name was. She glanced over her shoulder toward several teenagers who wandered aimlessly around the shop. She shoved the Tupperware container he’d brought from Sid’s yesterday and a huge bottle of water into his hands. “Since you’re here, can you take these up to Becca?” Without waiting for an answer, she turned and walked into the store. Tucking the water bottle under his arm, he felt around on the ledge for the key he suspected was still under the flower pot. Pleased to find that it wasn’t, he climbed the stairs and knocked on Becca’s door. “Moon?” “It’s me, granola.” The lock tumbled with a hollow thud that reverberated in his gut and the door creaked open. Bruises circled Becca’s throat, wrists and ankles. Her skin was pale and purple smudges stained the area beneath her eyes. His heart ached for everything she’d been through but he’d rather have her bloodied and bruised than not at all. He set the food on the table by the door. Before he could manage coherent speech, she launched herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and loosening the knot around his heart. Cognizant of her injuries he pulled her closer and breathed in her spicy sweet scent. “God, Becca, I was so scared,” he murmured into her hair. She pulled in a shuddering breath. “Me too.”

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Burying his face in her neck, he murmured, “I’m so sorry.” “For what?” He framed her face with his hands and stared into her clear gray eyes. “I never should have left you. You got hurt. You nearly died.” Her expression softened and her eyes filled with tears. “You aren’t responsible for the actions of a psychopath.” A small smile curved her lips. “Besides, you saved me.” Her brow furrowed as she continued to stare at him. “How did you find me?” He reached into his pocket and withdrew her pendulum letting in dangle in front of her face. “You did not.” He nodded. “It was rolling around on the floor of the SUV and I was desperate.” A delighted laugh escaped her as she caught the carved stone. Her fingers closed around it and she gifted him with the most beautiful smile he’d ever seen. “Thank you.” Stretching, she pressed a kiss to his lips and his arms closed around her again. Now that he had her back, he wasn’t in a hurry to let her go. Her mouth opened beneath his and she swept her piercing across his tongue as he delved inside to taste her sweetness. Her quiet groan vibrated through him and he pulled back, remembering her injuries. “You should be lying down,” he scolded. She gazed up at him, a sexy smile tilting her lips. “Make me.” It was so tempting to drag her to the bedroom but he resisted. “No way, granola. You need to rest.” She lifted her tank top and showed him her stomach. “Superficial wounds.” Knowing how much worse it could have been, a huge lump rose in his throat at the sight of those cuts.

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Mystic Circle

Frowning, she shut the door behind him and turned the deadbolt. She slipped her delicate hand into his and led him to the bedroom. She climbed onto the bed and patted the mattress. “I’ll rest better if you’re with me.” He didn’t believe her for a minute but there was also nowhere else he’d rather be. Lying down, he wrapped his arms around her and kissed her forehead. “I’m not gonna lie. I’m glad your vision about me was wrong.” She shifted in his embrace to meet his gaze. “It wasn’t. When I was on the stretcher, I saw you reaching toward me, covered with blood. Only it wasn’t your blood—it was mine.” A chill skated down his spine and he tightened his arms around her. “That wasn’t the only prediction that came true.” Her brows furrowed. “What are you talking about?” “Remember your card reading?” She nodded her head, confusion written across her face. “What was the last card—do you remember?” he asked. “Yeah. The two of cups but we decided that was crazy. I just didn’t shuffle the deck enough.” He shook his head. “’Fraid not, granola.” “What are you talking about?” He traced her mouth with the tip of his finger. “Well, see…I met this woman. She’s absolutely gorgeous, hotter than a wet dream, intelligent, apparently psychic and a bit flaky. Know anyone like that?” Becca shook her head. “Anyway,” he continued, “this woman predicted that I’d get laid which certainly happened and between you and me, I can’t wait ’til it happens again.” She pressed her lips together as if she tried to keep herself from speaking. He could tell she was dying to interject but she held back. 119

Bronwyn Green

He kissed the side of her neck, careful to avoid the bruises that twisted his gut every time he saw them. “If I remember right, the next card was some burning building that indicated very bad things were going to happen.” Jack raised his head and stared into her eyes. “And they did. I almost lost the most amazing woman I’ve ever met.” He swallowed hard and pushed past the fear of rejection, the fear of Becca turning away from him. “I almost lost the woman I love.” Her eyes widened and welled with tears. “Jack—” He laid his finger across her lips. “I’m not very good at this—let me finish.” “Okay.” Her voice was little more than a squeak. “I love you, granola. You’re where I want to be for the rest of my life.” He laughed ruefully. “I never thought I’d say this to anyone but you’re my happily ever after.” The tears that had gathered in her eyes spilled from the corners and dripped into her hair and she wrapped her arms around his neck in a stranglehold. “I love you,” she whispered. “I think I’ve been half in love with you since I met you.” She pulled back and frowned at him. “But I’m still pissed that you put my brother in jail.” He shrugged. “I’m still pissed that he didn’t tell the truth and roll on Nikki like he should have. But none of that matters.” Brushing her tears away with his thumbs, his kissed her and raised his head. “The only thing that matters is us. I love you and not a damn thing is going to change that. We’ve done that burning building thing. Now I’m ready for a whole lot more of that other card.” “Two cups,” she told him. “Happily ever after.” He buried his face in her neck, inhaling the sweet scent of forever. “Yeah. Happily ever after…with you.”

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About the Author Bronwyn lives in Michigan with her wonderful husband, two amazing sons and seven somewhat-psychotic cats. When not tormenting her characters, she can usually be found helping with reading and writing projects in her sons’ classrooms as well as providing child care and tutoring for several daycare children. Besides writing, she also enjoys reading, knitting, sewing, cross stitching, pottery, drawing—basically anything that helps her avoid cleaning and cooking.

Bronwyn welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email address on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.

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Also by Bronwyn Green I Put a Spell on You Overlord’s Vessel Ronan’s Grail

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