Run Rachael Run v6j3c

RUN RACHAEL RUN Copyright © 2014, 2017 Patricia Paris All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without prior written permission of the publisher.

This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Published by Windswept an imprint of BHC Press

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017941243

Print edition ISBN numbers: ISBN-13: 978-1-946848-26-0 ISBN-10: 1-946848-26-3

Also available in eBook

Visit the author at: www.authorpatriciaparis.com & www.bhress.com

Edited by S.M. Ray

A Murderous Game

THE GLEBE POINT SERIES This Time Forever Letters to Gabriella Return to Glebe Point The Cottage

THE BONAVERAS Lucia Caterina

For Bobby and Jennifer

Life moves pretty fast. If you don’t stop and look around once in a while, you could miss it. ~ Ferris Bueller ~

Hot damn, give me some of that with jam!” “Shut it, Brad.” Rachael Gooding bent down to pick up the tiny black-and-tan dog shivering at her feet. The hem of her cherry-red dress inched higher up shapely legs that drew the subtle, and the not so subtle, appreciation from the male customers who had, for one reason or another, gathered at her favorite neighborhood cafe, the Stomping Grounds. She scooped up the pooch with one hand, the dress hugging her curves, and red became the color of a dozen fantasies. Tucking the dog into the crook of her elbow, Rachael rose back up to the full five-foot-eight inches of unattainable goddess that sometimes prompted men to say and do stupid things—things that sometimes prompted her to say and do things she might regret, but couldn’t always stop herself from saying and doing. She could, at times, be prickly. The dog licked her hand. Rachael nuzzled his ear with her nose. “You’re my good boy, Shelby.” Resettling him close against her side, just under her armpit, she angled her head a quarter turn and lowered her gaze to her target. He was a big man, this Brad…beefy. He wore a faded blue T-shirt, one size too small, probably to make his muscles, which he apparently had more of than manners, more apparent. The number 99 leapt off the front of the tee in oversized white block numerals. Tempted to ask if it stood for his IQ, she resisted. Shifting her gaze to the other man sitting at the small, window-side cafe table, she arched one perfectly shaped brow, compliments of Monique, who was, in Rachael’s opinion, the absolutely best stylist in Center City. “A friend of yours, Doug?” “He…uhm…he’s my brother-in-law, Brad, from Ohio. He’s visiting me and Carrie for a few days.” He gave her a please go easy on the guy look, and added, “It’s his first time to the big city. He’s young, you know, he…” Doug trailed off. He squirmed a bit in his chair, clearly embarrassed by his companion’s crude remark.

Rachael hiked her chin a notch and sniffed. She regarded Brad again, no humor in her eyes. He shot a questioning glance toward Doug, who said, “Apologize, and nicely.” The cock-sure grin decorating Brad’s face until that moment drooped, and the man actually huffed. “What the—” His expression clearly said Are you shitting me? And it made her want to smack him up the side of the head. Troglodyte. “You offended the lady.” Doug shifted again. “Now tell her you’re sorry before she cuts you up into tiny pieces, packages you inside little zipper baggies, and doles you out to her pooch as doggie treats.” Brad’s shoulders slumped. He moped a moment before mumbling, “Sorry,” with all the sincerity of a naughty child who really wasn’t sorry in the least but had just been brought to task by his parent. He slouched down against the chair back, not looking so big as before. He reminded Rachael of some of the boys from elementary school who used to try showing off to the other boys during recess by pulling her braids, and then crying when she kicked them in the shins. She wasn’t going to kick Brad in the shins. He was probably already swimming in confidence issues. Besides, if she wanted to punish the man, she didn’t have to resort to physical retaliation. She’d learned more effective ways to deal with bullies than when she was seven. “I like you, Doug, so your brother-in-law gets a hall this time.” She adjusted Shelby against her side. “But you probably shouldn’t let him out on his own until he improves his manners. Not everyone in the big city will be as forgiving as me. The boy might get hurt.” She’d let him off easy. She’d already wasted more time on Brad from Ohio than she had energy for tonight. If it hadn’t been such a long week, if she didn’t have bigger things to worry about, she might give him a side of buddy, you’re messing with the wrong woman to go with his grandé cup-of-joe. Right now she just wanted to decompress, have a glass of wine, and enjoy some reasonably normal conversation with some reasonably normal people. Turning so all Brad could see was her profile, she focused on Doug. His expression had relaxed, displaying a hint of relief. She winked at him, out of

Brad’s view. The corner of Doug’s mouth twitched with the hint of a grin. Satisfied to let it go, she spun on her heels and walked to the counter. The men who watched her progress took care to be a bit more discreet, less they, too, offend her. Drew, the owner of the Stomping Grounds, delivered a frothy cappuccino to a customer sitting at the end of the counter and then came over to greet her. “Hey, Blade, do you want something to eat, or did you just stop in to skewer the tourists?” Amused by the humor in his tone, Rachael offered up a smile. “I’ll have a burger and fries, and a Pinot Grigio. Make it a blue cheese burger. It’s been a rough week. I feel like treating myself.” “You got it.” He angled toward her and lowered his voice. “And thanks for sparing me the trouble of having to mop up 99’s blood.” She put Shelby’s mat on the floor next to one of the black-and-chrome swivel bar stools fronting the counter, and then sat down and crossed her legs. Leaning forward, she rested both elbows on the cool, grey-and-white top, and propped her chin in her hands. She stared off to her right, not really focusing on anything in particular, the chatter in the cafe fading to a non-distinct din. Restless and edgy, she’d felt that way all week, and maybe a little paranoid, too. She’d had an overwhelming sense of being watched after she and Shelby left the apartment. She’d looked around, even into the cars parked along the street on her way here, but she hadn’t seen anyone or anything unusual. Paranoid? Maybe. She didn’t know, but the feeling had been real. She hadn’t imagined that feeling, just didn’t know what had brought it on. Not knowing made her feel vulnerable. She didn’t do vulnerable well.

AN HOUR LATER, Rachael sprinted up the half-dozen steps to the brownstone apartment building where she’d lived for the last two years. Digging into her week-old red patent leather Kate Spade shoulder bag, she fished out her keys. She adored the purse; it had been a gift for her thirtieth birthday from her best friend, Abby Faraday. Rachael missed her. Other than their Tuesday girls’ night out, they hadn’t spent much time together since Abby and Gage had gotten married a couple of months ago. Gage was in Chicago on business, though, so she and Ab were meeting for dinner tomorrow night at Casa Bellino, one of their favorite restaurants in Philadelphia’s Old City. She looked down at Shelby. “Pretty pathetic, eh, boy? My two big dates for the weekend are you and Abby.” She gave his leash a gentle tug when he turned away from the door. The dog resisted, staring across the street and rolling an uncharacteristic, low growl around in his throat. Rachael squinted, trying to see through the darkness beyond the street lamps that lined the opposite sidewalk. She saw nothing but the looming bulk of what she knew to be well-fertilized rhododendron, azalea, and crepe myrtle, planted in thickly mulched beds and borders beneath massive oaks, golden maple, and sweet gum trees. In the light of day it was a beautiful park, bustling with joggers, dog walkers, parents with strollers, and the occasional visitor to the City of Brotherly Love who’d wandered off the beaten path. Tonight, with restless wonderings rattling through her brain, and Shelby a degree below snarling at her ankles, the shadows invited darker possibilities, ones she normally wouldn’t entertain. She leaned down to pick Shelby up and heard a rustling sound, like something or someone stepping on dry leaves. She looked back across the street. Shelby grumbled again. “Probably a neighborhood cat stalking mice, Shelbs…nothing we need to bother with.” Cats don’t usually make noise when they’re stalking, her inner voice piped up. Right, which is why I’m not hanging around out here to find out what does. With a last, darting glance, she turned and unlocked the front door. After

relocking it, she jogged up the stairs to the second of the building’s three floors. Two apartments were on this level: hers, which faced the front, and elderly Mr. Whitcomb’s on the back, which looked out over the brick-walled courtyard and alley beyond. Rachael loved this section of the city. Old brownstones lined the street, intermixed with a smattering of small shops and cafes scattered here and there that added to the neighborhood’s charm. Apartments in this area were hard to come by, especially on the park, and she’d been lucky to find one. She loved the apartment’s high ceilings, hardwood floors, and tall windows with their original, wavy glass, even if they were drafty in winter. Exposed brick ran the length of the front, street-side wall. Most of all, she loved the red, cast-iron pellet stove in the corner of the living room. Even on Philadelphia’s coldest winter nights it kept her apartment toasty warm, and she enjoyed little more than putting on some music and curling up on the couch in front of it to read. Setting her purse and cell phone down on the kitchen island, she got a bottle of water from the refrigerator. She’d be spending another Friday night alone, just her, Shelby, and the Home Channel. Wouldn’t that just blow everyone’s mind at the office? From comments some her coworkers at the news station where she worked as a reporter had made to her in the past, she knew they had a distorted view of her social life. Assumptions—people made them all the time, trying to fill in the blanks about things and people they knew little or nothing about. Slipping off her high heels, she padded barefoot to the closer of the two living room windows. With a reservation that felt foreign, she pulled the sheers open a few inches and looked across the street toward the park. A man walked down the sidewalk on the other side. He wore a hat, a cap, and the cloak of night made him indistinguishable from any other man his height and build. He appeared in no hurry…probably a neighbor out for a stroll, enjoying the pleasant autumn evening. She started to turn away when he stopped and looked up at her windows. Rachael dropped the curtain and took a quick step backward, out of view. Coincidence, she told herself, and then went to check the charge on her phone.

Sa turday dawned cold, gray, and wet, offering little hope the rain would release its clutches on the dreary October day. Rachael spent the morning cleaning her apartment and doing laundry. She phoned Abby early in the afternoon to say she’d decided to drive to the restaurant rather than take a cab, and offered to pick her up. A few hours later they pulled into one of the spots reserved for valet parking. The rain had stuck to the day like a leech, and she and Abby made a dash for the front door. Rachael gave her key to the parking attendant, took her claim ticket, and they entered the welcoming warmth of Casa Bellino. A large fireplace in the entry offered toasty warmth, divine on such a soggy, chilly evening. The restaurant’s plaster walls were painted burnished gold and glowed under the soft lights. Old wooden kegs and wine crates divided it into small, intimate areas, and customers could easily imagine they were dining in a wine cellar. Rachael gave her name to the hostess and then went to stand with Abby by the fireplace. “The hostess said our table would be ready in a couple of minutes. They’re just clearing it.” “I’ve been looking forward to dinner all day. I already know what I’m ordering.” “I know what you’re ordering, too—penne with chicken in vodka sauce. You order the same thing every time we come here.” “Yeah, I guess I do. It’s just so good. Do you know what you’re getting?” Rachael nodded. “Penne with chicken in vodka sauce. When I tasted yours last time, it was so good I wished I’d ordered it instead.” “Good evening, ladies.” The two turned in unison. “Hey, Gene!” Abby gave the man who’d come up behind them a brief hug. “I don’t see you for a month, and then I see you twice in the same week.”

Eugene Simms smiled at Abby, the corners of his mouth turning up to crease his ruggedly handsome face. Rachael observed the friendly way he and Abby greeted one another, and frowned. She knew the detective had become fast friends with Gage, something no one would have expected given their contentious relations during the murder investigation of Abby’s ex, and it bothered her that he and her best friend had welcomed this man into their inner circle. He angled his head her way. “Miss Gooding.” She felt the same underlying challenge that marked all their encounters, from the very first, when he’d come to Abby’s apartment and Rachael realized her friend was their primary suspect. Mixed in with her anger at him and his partner for putting Abby through such hell, was an uncontrollable, unwanted attraction to Simms that frustrated the hell out of her. She didn’t welcome it; it had unleashed itself against her will, and she hated that she seemed to have no power over the effect he had on her. Her only defense was to make him think she couldn’t tolerate him. She knew how to do that; she could excel at snarky. She made a point of glancing behind him. “Dining alone again, Detective? Too bad, and we’ve only reserved a table for two.” Abby jabbed her in the ribs, and Rachael bumped her back with her hip. She watched as Simms’s tongue peeked out between his lips, and wished she hadn’t. He grinned, seemingly amused by her jibes. “Actually, I’ve got a date for the evening, but thank you for your concern.” Probably another airhead like the one they’d seen him with several months ago, all beauty and no brains. Rachael cocked her head and eyed him with an air of sarcasm. “Hmmm. I’m sure she’s…charming.” “She is, and it’s her birthday, so it’s a special night for both of us.” Rachael felt a petty desire to snort in response, but beneath that, she felt something else—she felt deflated. He seemed to study her, probably waiting for her to toss back a smarmy remark, but nothing came to her. They’d never been more than acquaintances, adversarial

ones at that. It shouldn’t bug her so much that he’d be out with another woman. Another woman? God! She hated to it it but she was jealous! She didn’t want anything to do with the man, but the thought of him with anyone else disturbed her. “How nice for you,” she finally said, lifting her nose a few degrees. “Hopefully, she won’t keep you waiting too long. It would be a shame to lose your reservation.” “No need to worry, Miss Gooding. We came together. She’s just off powdering her nose.” His pleasant expression irritated her to no end. She looked down and studied her nails, searching for the perfect retort, one that would say, I couldn’t care less, but again, her usual quickness failed her. “Oh, Gene, who are these nice young ladies?” Rachael looked back up to see a small, elderly woman take hold of Simms’s arm. She glanced between Rachael and Abby, and then up at the detective. He laid his hand over hers, giving it a gentle pat. “Mom, this is Abby Carpenter and Rachael Gooding.” He nodded in each of their directions respectively. “Ladies, my mother, Allison Simms.” Rachael cautioned a glance at Simms. He stared right back at her, a knowing gleam in his eyes. If they’d had a chalkboard, he’d be putting a check mark in his column, and they both knew it. “What beautiful young women.” His mother sounded so sweet and endearing, it made Rachael feel like she should be grabbing the chalk and putting another check in his column. Mrs. Simms looked up at her son adoringly. “It’s nice to know you have such lovely lady friends, dear.” “Your table’s ready,” the hostess said from beside Rachael. Thank God! She caught Abby’s elbow and nudged her forward. “Nice to meet you,” Rachael told Simms’s mother.

“Yes,” Abby chimed in, reaching out and touching the woman on the shoulder. “And happy birthday, by the way. Enjoy your dinner.” “Well thank you. It was nice to meet you both, too.” “Happy birthday, Mrs. Simms,” Rachael echoed, giving the woman a smile she hoped didn’t betray what an ogre she felt like. She steered Abby away, following the hostess and wondering if they had crow on the menu. “Nice, Rach,” Abby mumbled as they were led to their table. “Okay, so I’ll change my name to Glenda.” “No, Glenda was the good witch.” “You know, this isn’t all my fault.” Rachael tossed another shovel of dirt out of the hole she was digging for herself. “Men like him shouldn’t have sweet little old mothers who can make a person feel like a toad.” “I just don’t get it. What is it with you and Simms, anyway?” “I don’t like him. Trying to pin a murder on my best friend didn’t endear him to me.” “He didn’t try to pin it on me. He was just doing his job, and if Gage and I were able to become friends with him afterward, I don’t understand why it’s so hard for you to get over it.” “Here you go.” The hostess extended a hand and placed two menus on a cozy corner table. Their server appeared a moment later. “Would you like to begin with something to drink?” “You want to share a bottle of Pinot?” Abby asked, and Rachael nodded. “That’s fine.” Abby picked up her napkin and smoothed it over her lap. “He came to our house the other night for dinner. He and Gage have started playing chess together when

their schedules allow.” “Hmmm.” Rachael pretended to study the menu. She felt like a jerk. Why did she have to be so prickly all the time around him? Simms probably thought she was a first class bitch, not that she really cared. “I thought you were getting the Penne with vodka sauce.” Rachael put her menu down. “I am.” A wrinkle of concern etched Abby’s forehead. “What’s wrong, Rach?” “Nothing.” She snagged a strand of hair and twirled it around her finger. “I don’t know.” She gazed at a small fountain near their table and frowned. “Do you think I’m a bitch, Ab?” “Of course not. Would I be your friend if you were?” “Then why do I act like that? I mean, I don’t like Simms, but that’s no excuse to be so...I don’t even know what to call it. God, he must hate me!” “I don’t understand why you get your back up like that, but you’re not a bitch. You just, well...you get a little testy sometimes, and mostly it’s just with guys. Not all—you never did with Gage—but some. And Simms doesn’t hate you.” Their server returned with the wine, poured them each a glass, and then took their orders. When she walked away, Rachael glanced after her and saw Simms and his mother being led into the dining area. Don’t let them be seated in our section, she prayed silently, noting the empty table next to theirs. Simms’s mother saw them and smiled brightly, waving her fingers as if delighted to see them again. Rachael smiled and waved her fingers back, trying to hide her complete lack of delight that they were headed in their direction. The woman looked very sweet, like someone who enjoyed baking cookies on the weekend and delivering them to her neighbors. Rachael had only baked cookies once in her life, and she’d burned them. The hostess veered left and led them to an ading section, blocked by several crates and wine barrels. Rachael blew out a breath of relief. At least the reminder of her peevishness wouldn’t be sitting two feet away sending her sweet smiles

and finger waves all evening. “Rach?” Rachael glanced across the table. Abby studied her with furrowed brows. “Oh. My. God!” She slapped a hand over her mouth and stared. “What?” Rachael asked, immediately concerned. “Are you feeling sick or something, hon?” For a moment she thought Abby was getting nauseous, but when she removed her hand, she was grinning. “I don’t believe it.” Abby leaned forward, pinning her with a probing green stare. “Why didn’t I see it before?” Afraid Abby had just guessed what she’d tried to deny for months, Rachael groaned under her breath. Here it came. “Who’s your best friend since forever, Rach?” Rachael picked up her napkin and snapped it open. “You are. And I’d prefer not to have this conversation right now.” “You’ve. Got. The. Hots. For. Simms. It’s all over your face! I can’t believe I didn’t realize that’s what all this…stuff between you two is about!” Rachael fingered the stem of her wine glass and rolled her eyes, but it didn’t dampen Abby’s persistence. “I’m right, aren’t I? You’re attracted to Gene. You’re supposed to tell me when you fall for someone, you know.” Abby sounded delighted; Rachael most definitely was not. “How am I supposed to help your cause if you keep something this important from me?” “I haven’t fallen for him, and there is no cause for you to stick your wellintentioned, but off base, nose into.” Rachael reached up and pulled her hair around her shoulder to rest on one side, tried to look unaffected. Abby chuckled. “You’re so busted, Rach!” “There’s nothing to be busted about. I find the guy mildly attractive, okay?

There, I itted it.” “Ha!” Abby retorted. “Mildly,” Rachael restated with a little more emphasis, and the voices in her head sang the liar, liar song. She ignored that, too. “It abrades me to it I’m no less susceptible to his physical attributes than the scores of women who probably fawn over him all the time. Which,” she emphasized to drive the point home, “there’s a chance you’d find me doing only if I’d just had a lobotomy.” Abby opened her mouth to respond and Rachael held up a finger. “I have no interest in any kind of relationship with the man. Any kind, Ab. Got it?” “He asked about you the other night, you know, when he came over to see Gage. He wanted to know if I’d seen you lately and how you were.” Rachael felt a brief rush. “Yes, well, he does know we’re friends. I imagine he’s picked up a few courtesies in the art of conversation over the years.” “I wonder if he knows.” Abby rubbed her hands together. “Knows what?” “That you want to jump his bones.” “Oh, that’s it! Just stop right there!” Rachael threw the napkin she’d just spread over her lap onto the table. “Did you not hear me say I want nothing to do with him? I think a lot of men are attractive. I don’t want to go out with, or have hot sex with any of them, either.” “So it’s hot sex you’re wanting with him? That’s even better.” Abby’s eyes danced with mischief. Rachael narrowed hers. “I don’t know why you’re giving me that stink eye. I just thought maybe you wanted a quick tumble and be done with it. You’re the one who said hot sex.” “This conversation is over, Ab, unless you prefer to eat alone.”

Abby screwed her mouth up. “Fine, but I don’t know why you’re getting so worked up. It’s not like there’s anything wrong with being attracted to him.” Rachael remained silent. She’d already divulged too much, more than she ever would have if she hadn’t been confronted with her own flawed humanity and suffered a few moments of guilty weakness. But there were things even Abby didn’t know. Things no one knew, could ever know. Things that would never allow her to get entangled with a man like Simms.

THEIR MEALS WERE served a short while later. Rachael almost groaned with pleasure at the first bite, the creamy vodka sauce complementing the chicken and penne to perfection. “This is so wonderful.” Abby picked up a garlic roll and broke it in half. “By the way, Gage’s company is hosting a charity ball and silent auction at Chantlewood Manor in three weeks.” Rachael’s antennae hummed. “Lucky you.” “Tell me about it. So, I was thinking—” “No. You know how much I hate those things.” “I know, Rach. I hate them, too. But I have to go, and Gage will be obligated to hob-knob with a bunch of uppity mucks. At least if you come, the two of us can hang out at the dessert table and stuff our faces on mini cream puffs and crème brulée shooters. It won’t be so boring.” Abby put half of the roll back on her bread plate. “Crème brulée is your faaaavorite.” Rachael glanced at Abby and smirked. Spending an evening fraternizing with high society ranked a few rungs below getting up at five thirty three mornings a week to go to the gym. Her job as a reporter occasionally required her to attend such functions. She could plaster on a smile and fake her way through them as well as anyone, but like her workouts, if she could skip them and not have to deal with the consequences, she would. She sighed. She wasn’t going to agree for the crème brulée, even though it was her favorite. She would dress up, smile, play nice, and stuff her face, because Ab was her best friend. Picking up the wine glass she’d been fingering, she took a sip. “Aww, thanks, Rach.” “I didn’t say yes, yet.” Abby gave her a warm smile. “Yeah, you just did.” They continued their meal in companionable chit-chat, catching up, joking, and

assuming a more lighthearted mood that suited Rachael fine. Abby’s cell rang and she took it, a call from Gage. After a brief exchange, she told him she was having dinner with Rachael and would call him when she got home. “How’s Gage?” Rachael asked, as Abby slipped the phone back into her bag. Abby got that goofy look only people in love can pull off without looking like total dweebs. “He’s good, but he said he’d rather be here with me than cooped up in a board room for a planning session.” “Imagine that!” Rachael forked up a bite of salad. “He’d rather be with his new wife than a bunch of pin-striped suits who will spend the next three days sucking up to and yessing him to death? There’s a surprise.” Abby laughed. “I don’t know why people get so nervous around him. Well, okay, I do. It wasn’t that long ago that I was working with him, and he could be pretty intimidating. But once you get to know him, he’s little more than a big teddy bear.” Rachael grinned as she sat back and listened to Abby extol Gage’s virtues. She was happy for her friend. Happy that fate had brought Abby and Gage together again, and that Abby’s first love had turned out to be her best love. She raised her wine glass to her lips. Not everyone could be so fortunate.

Chantlewood Manor was a beautiful old mansion that had been purchased by a visionary entrepreneur, who then turned it into a five-star hotel and conference center in the late ’90s. It was located on the Main Line, which consisted of several suburbs, not actually a part of the city, but often referred to as Philadelphia’s Main Line. The area oozed wealth. Rachael had arrived fifteen minutes earlier but had yet to recognize anyone. Cocktails were being served in the expansive glass solarium where most of the evening’s crowd currently milled about, requisite drink in hand, openly eyeing the artwork with effusive benevolence, and one another more discreetly, in many cases with even more critique. On one side of the room, tables draped in elegant navy satin with champagne velvet runners showcased jewelry, sports memorabilia, and smaller pieces of artwork offered for silent auction. An ading library had been transformed into a gallery for the evening and displayed larger artwork and paintings that would no doubt raise beaucoup bucks for charity, thanks to deep-pocketed guests, many having been bred to philanthropy. There were two bars, on opposite sides of the room, for guests who wanted something stronger than the wine being offered from silver trays by staff in white tuxedos, male and female alike. Rachael made her way toward the closest one. “A chocolate martini, please.” The fresh-faced young bartender, who didn’t look old enough to partake in anything stronger than club soda, snapped up a bottle of vodka. “You got it.” He mixed it up in under a minute and handed it to her with a flourish. “No offense.” He flashed her what must have been his best smile.”But that’s a smokin’ hot dress.” She was usually a good judge of character. He was young and flirtatious, but she sensed kindness and sincerity in him. She gave him one of her best as well and added a wink just because he was so stinking cute, and she thought he’d get a kick out of it. “Thanks, none taken.” She took the drink and then ambled around the perimeter of the room, working her way back toward the auction tables. She perused several jewelry displays

and saw some lovely pieces, a few she wouldn’t mind owning. One particular ring caught her attention, a beautiful princess-cut ruby of pure, vivid red, her favorite color. She read the sheet describing the item and then turned over the bid card to see if it was within her budget. Two bids had already been placed, the highest for $150. A bargain if they got it for that. She loved the ring, and the money would go to a good cause. Checking the ticket she’d been given upon her arrival for the number she was supposed to use to place any bids, she wrote it down on the card before she could talk herself out of it, entering a bid of $160. She’d never bid at a silent auction. Was there some sort of strategy? She had no clue, but she felt a thrill of anticipation at being in the game. “Pretty piece.” Rachael froze. The voice created a ripple effect, a tingling along her nerves that started in her heels and skittered up the back of her legs. There was no mistaking who it belonged to. And just what the hell was he doing at a charity ball? She ground her back teeth, irritated that her first reaction had been an unguarded shiver of excitement. Damn, damn, damn the man. Setting her expression, she turned to face him. “Hello, Detective. What a surprise to see you here. Slow night on the streets?” Simms looked her in the eyes, no hesitation, no wavering, a habit he had that drove her absolutely crazy. She’d be damned if she looked away first, especially not when he was wearing that infuriating, lopsided grin, as if everything she said or did amused him somehow. “It’s my weekend off.” His unfaltering gaze unnerved her. Hadn’t that sweet little mother of his taught him it was impolite to stare? Of course, she was staring right back, but that had nothing to do with manners and everything to do with holding her ground. She gave her martini a swirl. “So you decided to attend a ball?” The tip of his tongue slid across his lower lip before gliding back in and leaving the slightest trail of moisture behind. Rachael swallowed. Double damn, damn, damn him! And damn her for noticing, and for being susceptible to such a

simple gesture. “Gage Faraday had a couple of extra tickets and offered me one. Since I didn’t have anything better to do, I thought I’d see how the other half lives.” Rachael eyed him over the rim of her martini glass. His charcoal black tuxedo fit to perfection, and he had an air of confidence that set him apart from other men. He didn’t fool her. “You’ve been to a few charity balls before.” He shrugged. “One or two.” He inclined his head toward the table. “Good luck winning the ring.” “Thank you.” She wrapped her free arm around her waist and glanced about the solarium. Where the hell was Abby when she needed her? She spied a woman several feet away whom she’d interviewed a few months back and seized on the out. “Excuse me, but I just saw someone I need to speak with.” She stepped away slowly, wondering if he would see it for the obvious escape it was. “Enjoy your evening, Detective.” He nodded, catching her eye before she managed to flee completely, and in his she saw knowing. That damned smile returned. She didn’t care. He could stand there and grin until his cheeks hurt; she refused to be charmed.

AFTER ALMOST TWENTY minutes of the most boring conversation she’d endured in years, perhaps her life, Rachael was finally rescued by Abby. Making what she hoped was a gracious, but hurried exit, Rachael grabbed Abby’s wrist and dragged her toward the closest bar, cognizant she’d spent the bulk of her evening so far trying to get away from people. “How anyone can seriously believe anyone else is that interested in their grandchild’s bathroom habits is un-freaking-believable!” She stopped and placed both hands on Abby’s shoulders. “If I ever have grandkids and you catch me giving a dissertation on how they did number two on the big potty, just please, stuff something in my mouth and put my victims out of their misery.” “I promise. Same here.” “Deal!” Rachael hooked elbows with Abby and continued forward. “Where have you been all night anyway? I thought my purpose for coming to this shindig was to keep you company.” “I know. I’m sorry. We were out on the patio. Gage kept wanting to introduce me to people. I got away as soon as I could. I hope you weren’t stuck listening to that woman’s stories since you got here.” Rachael waved a hand in the air. “No. And don’t get me wrong. You know how much I love kids, but I’m sure little Eric knows how to do more than poo poo on the potty, for God sake. Mark my words, she’s got naked baby pictures she’s going to embarrass him with at his wedding.” Abby started to giggle. Rachael pursed her lips and bit back a smile, but it did no good. They were both laughing when the bartender asked what they wanted to drink. A few minutes later, with cocktails in hand, Rachael took Abby over to show her the ring she’d bid on. She turned the card over and saw there had been three more bids after hers. One was a re-bid, but the others were new bidders who’d ed in. If she wanted to stay in the game, she’d have to up the ante. “Is it okay if I try this on?” she asked one of the women working the auction tables.

After getting permission, Rachael slipped it on her finger. A perfect fit. She held her hand out, studying the ring with a critical eye. The overhead light reflected in the vivid jewel, the ruby winking in temptation, its deep, rich red luring her in. “It’s gorgeous, Rach. And the cut is perfect for you.” Abby took hold of Rachael’s fingers and ired the ring. “The highest bid is still under two hundred, and the more I look at it, the more I want it.” Rachael turned it toward the light again. “Okay, I’m going to go for it. I love it, and the money is for a good cause.” She gave the ring back to the woman. “Thanks for letting me try it on.” As she wrote in her new bid, an announcement was made inviting guests to the ballroom, where the evening would continue with dinner and dancing. The two made their way, along with a few hundred other guests. Massive glass chandeliers cast a rainbow of prisms dancing around the ballroom. Sparkling crystal glassware and beautiful flower arrangements adorned elaborately set tables. Rachael took it all in and thought it looked magical, the stuff of a young girl’s most romantic dreams. “What table are you at?” Abby asked, just as the orchestra began playing Rachmoninov’s Rhapsody on a Theme of Paganini. Rachael took the name card with her table assignment out of her clutch. “Table three.” “Gage and I are at table one, so we should be close enough we can roll our eyes and make faces to each other when the boring speeches start.” Rachael gave Abby a fist bump. “Good to know dinner won’t be totally lacking in entertainment.” Abby wrapped an arm around Rachael’s waist. “I did call Grace earlier in the week and asked her to seat you with some interesting people. And once dinner’s over, we don’t have to stay at our assigned tables.” “Stop worrying, honey. I’m sure there’ll be at least one person at my table with more interesting things to talk about than their progeny’s bowel movements.”

They split up, and Rachael made her way to table three. As she wove through the crowd, she exchanged a few smiles with strangers, some brief hellos with a couple of casual acquaintances, and shared lovely gown compliments with the occasional women along the way whose dresses caught her eye. There were twelve place settings at her table, seven of which were already occupied when Rachael arrived. She’d just finished introducing herself to the others when someone pulled out the chair next to hers. She glanced around, ready to welcome the newcomer. Her breath tripped in her throat. There actually were worse things than being stuck listening to potty talk for an hour and a half.

IN THE FIVE months since he’d first met the woman seated to his right, Eugene had wondered on more than one occasion what it would take to crack her shell and touch the heart and soul of her. She was the kind of woman who made men want. It wasn’t because of anything she said or did. Rachael Gooding didn’t try to incite male lust. Although she used her physical gifts with the skill of a master when she felt inclined, it was his opinion she usually did so to intimidate and dissuade rather than attract. At some point in her life she must have realized the very attributes which made her a target for men were also her most powerful defense, and she’d learned to turn them into a powerful weapon. Yes, he thought about her often, had contemplated ing her a few times after wrapping up the Carpenter case. Every time their paths crossed, she got her back up. Anyone observing their interplay might think she despised him. He knew better. She might want to, try to, but loathing wasn’t what made the air crackle to life every time they came within ten feet of each other. He’d never forget the day she’d come to the station to defend Abby Faraday, then Carpenter, when her friend had been the prime suspect in Dick Carpenter’s murder. Their meeting had sorely tested his ability to resist temptation. There’d been enough sexual tension flying back and forth across his desk to set it on fire. If he’d known her better, if they hadn’t been at the station in the middle of the day, if he hadn’t sensed that by acting on the attraction in the moment she’d have cut him off before they got started, he might have given in to the need she ignited in him. But he hadn’t. Good thing. Very good thing, because in his mind, they were far from finished. There was a reason, aside from the obvious physical appeal, that he hadn’t been able to forget her. He appreciated beautiful women as much as the next guy, but he didn’t lie awake at night wondering what made them tick. With this woman, he had. This one was different. This one intrigued the hell out of him. And for a man who loved a good puzzle, she was an enigma he couldn’t resist. Gene leaned back in his chair. Their dinner companions comprised an interesting group, and conversation had been lively. Gooding had been involved in much of it, even presenting a lighter, more animated side he hadn’t observed in her

before, but she had also effectively managed to ignore him during most of her interactions. He crossed his legs, angling slightly toward her in his chair. That put her in his line of vision without having to turn his head. She wasn’t looking at him, but he knew by the almost immediate tightening of her body, she was aware of his perusal. He smiled. As dinner dishes were cleared away in preparation for dessert, the orchestra began to play again. A number of couples made their way to the dance floor. The two couples to Gooding’s right stood up. The woman who’d been sitting next to her looked between them. “Since neither of you came with a date, why don’t you us?” Gooding gave her a tolerant smile, a smirk really. She probably wanted to strangle the woman. As they walked away, she shifted in her chair, angling further away from him. Her displeasure at the prospect of possibly having to acknowledge his presence, now that she’d been left with four empty chairs on her other side, screamed obvious. He decided to raise the stakes. “Shall we, Miss Gooding?” “Shall we what?” she asked, without sparing him a glance. He waited, perfectly comfortable doing so. After about thirty seconds, with the silence punctuated by its length, she gave in and looked at him. Their eyes locked. Snap. Crackle. He embraced the charge. She resisted it. “ them on the dance floor?” Her nose twitched. He found it oddly attractive, but then, he found everything about her attractive. She glanced away. He swore she rolled her eyes as she did. She cleared her throat and looked back, her expression controlled. “Thank you, but no.” Her smile, although not a smirk this time, was tight. “You don’t like to dance?” “I like dancing fine. I just don’t want to right now.”

Gene leaned slightly forward. “At all or just with me?” “With you.” Her honesty didn’t surprise him in the least. “Afraid?” She laughed. “Of course I’m not afraid. I just don’t want to dance with you.” “You must have a reason.” She turned full toward him. “Okay. In case you haven’t figured it out yet, I don’t like you, Detective. I know you’re going to keep pushing until I give you a reason, so there it is. I’m not usually so blunt, but—” “You’re not? That hasn’t been my experience with you.” He detected a flash of amusement in her eyes. “Despite that, I have to disagree with you. You may want to dislike me, but you really don’t, and that’s not the reason you don’t want to dance with me.” He shook his head. “No, it’s because you’re afraid.” She rolled her jaw. “For what possible reason would I be afraid of dancing with you?” “You might enjoy it.” He reached out and lifted a strand of her hair between his thumb and index finger, drawing it across his hand. He heard her quick intake of breath before it slowed, and shifted his gaze to meet hers, her deep brown eyes telling him much more than she knew. “And I think that’s what you’re afraid of.” “And I think you may have had one too many glasses of scotch with dinner.” “Then prove it.” “Prove what?” “That I’m wrong.” He slid his fingers down the long, silken strand he still held. “Stop it!” She batted his hand away. “You want proof?” She stood up, her hands fisted at her sides. “Fine!” She walked to the edge of the dance floor, spun around and looked at him. With one hand on her cocked hip, she raised the other and crooked a finger at him.

Gene stood and started toward her. Their eyes locked. He knew she wouldn’t look away. She wouldn’t dare back down from him. His blood pumped faster through his veins. He’d known the woman wouldn’t be able to resist a direct challenge.

HE APPROACHED HER with the fluid grace of a large cat, a panther perhaps. Aside from his blonde, sun-streaked hair, which fit more with a lion, he was all long, lean muscle…so yes, a golden panther…stalking her. That’s what it felt like, and she didn’t like it, not the smallest bit. He stopped a breath in front of her, those damned, dark eyes, so sensual, so mesmerizing, threatening to throw her off her game. Throw her off? She wasn’t even sure what this game they’d begun to play was, or if she had the slightest chance of winning against him. Or for that matter, what a win would be. The only thing she knew was that Eugene Simms, unlike any man she’d ever known, had the unique ability to whip her emotions into a mass of confused turmoil and scatter her most solid defenses to the wind like a dandelion puff. Afraid of him? He scared the hell out of her. Simms placed one hand on her lower back, the other on her shoulder. Rachael swallowed the saliva gathering in the back of her mouth. They’d never touched. Not even a handshake. His fingering her hair at the table didn’t count; she hadn’t felt his hands. She felt them now. Heat sluiced through her body. It thread its way into her being, curled around every nerve, a caress, silent and dangerous as smoke coiling around kindling just before it ignites. He eased her forward, closer. His long, firm length moved against hers, the solidness of it a torture, tempting her to give in just a little to the uninvited ecstasy. And why not? How vulnerable could she be in a ballroom with a couple of hundred people? She could play nice for a while, for the course of the song, for the sake of the dance. She smiled at him and he raised his brows. “Have I done something to amuse you?” “No. I’ve decided to set my intense dislike for you aside for the duration of our dance. Brahms is simply too lovely to spoil with unpleasant thoughts.” He flashed a grin, dimples creasing his cheeks, and she couldn’t miss the fact that she’d amused him. As much as she wished she didn’t, she liked that about

him, the way he rolled with the punches, respected him for it even. He was comfortable in his own skin; he didn’t need her, or anyone else’s approval. He was so unlike most of the men she knew. “Ah, so you’ve called a truce?” Rachael cocked her head. “I didn’t realize we were in a battle, Detective.” “Battle may be a strong word.” He slid his hand down, over her hip, then back up, inched her even closer. Her body liked it, liked the raw heat of him, the feel of his hand molded against her curves. Her body didn’t know any better; her mind was being a little less slutty about things. She tried to concentrate on her breathing, to keep it even. “Cross purposes is probably a better term,” he said, and she watched, enthralled, as he circled his lips with his tongue, moistening them. Her own betraying mouth parted in response, as if in anticipation. She jerked at the realization. She damn well should look at their relationship as a battle, one she couldn’t lose. Losing felt like hell. It stung. It left you alone and hurting and hollow. She’d made a tactical error thinking she could lower her guard, even for a dance, even for a blink. She couldn’t afford to make another. “Cross purposes?” She leaned away from him. “And what is your purpose, Simms?” “To get to know you better—much better—because despite your professed dislike for me, I’ve developed an annoying attraction to you, Miss Gooding.” “An annoying attraction?” She frowned. How did she interpret that? “Not that I welcome your attraction, but what annoys you about it?” His arms enveloped her, pulled her all the way in, and held her there. He lowered his head to her ear, his breath warm and moist, encircling it. “Because you refuse to welcome it, Rachael, and until you do it’s likely to drive us both crazy.”

A SHORT WHILE later, Eugene stood near the side of the head table conversing with a small group of guests that included, among others, Gage and Abby Faraday, and Rachael Gooding, who had ignored him completely since their dance. He’d pissed her off—a mild term to describe her reaction to his response when she’d asked why he was annoyed. She’d backed away, narrowed her eyes, and left him standing in the middle of the dance floor, alone. And hadn’t said a word to him since. She’d asked his intentions, and he’d put his cards on the table. Maybe he knew more clearly how he felt and accepted the inevitability of it. There was an undeniable chemistry between them demanding to be explored, to discover where it might lead. She may not be happy about it, but if she denied it, she’d be lying to herself. It was her move now. She could shut him out, end any possibility for an intimate relationship, or it he was right and allow him in. Either way, he wouldn’t play a drawn out game of cat and mouse. It wasn’t a game he enjoyed for long, and he suspected, neither did she. “I hope you’re not too disappointed you didn’t win the ring,” Abby, who stood on Gene’s right, said to Rachael. Rachael shrugged. “Win some, lose some.” She shot Gene a glance, arched her brow as if making a point, and then looked away. It would take more than an arched brow to dissuade him. “I know.” Abby wrapped an arm around Rachael’s waist. “But I wanted you to get it.” “S’okay. Can’t miss what you never had, right?” Rachael pulled a frown. “It was pretty, though, and it looked nice on. Maybe I’ll check out Jeweler’s Row when I’m down that way, see if I can find something similar.” “Gene.” Abby turned to him. “In your professional opinion, as a detective, do you think it’s important for people to trust their gut feelings?” “As a detective,” he said, having picked up some hesitation in her voice. “I

always trust my gut, but that’s a broad question. Why?” Abby shot a glance toward Rachael, and whatever she had on her mind just got more interesting. He looked from one woman to the other. “Did something specific happen that you want my opinion about?” “Rach.” Abby elbowed her friend. “Tell Gene about that guy in the park and see what he thinks.” “Oh, jeesh!” Rachael rolled her eyes. “I told you it was no big deal.” “I know, but I think it was weird, and it worries me. And if you really believed it was nothing, why would you have bothered telling me about it?” “Temporary insanity,” Rachael offered. “I should have known I’d regret bringing it up.” “When Abby told me what happened, I wasn’t overly concerned,” Gage put in, addressing Rachael, “but I thought it must have made you uncomfortable to mention it. You’re not the alarmist type.” “See, even Gage agrees it was weird.” “I didn’t say that, Abby, but I do agree it doesn’t hurt to get Gene’s opinion.” He shifted toward Gene. “You’d know better than any of us if there have been reports of trouble in Rachael’s neighborhood.” Gooding frowned, probably more annoyed at being thrust into a conversation with him than at her friend. She was a self-sufficient woman, one who wouldn’t it insecurities easily. He ired her independence, but depending on the situation, that same independence could be dangerous. “I’m a firm believer in trusting one’s gut,” Gene said in response to Abby’s original question. “But since I don’t know what happened, specifically, it’s difficult to comment on the situation.” Taking his cue from Abby’s reference to a man in the park, he turned to Rachael. “Has someone been bothering you?” “No, Detective.” Her tone was cool, a holdover from their dance. He waited for her to say more. “Look.” She relented, her annoyance rolling off the word as if she’d just sucked a lemon. “It was nothing, just some guy, probably out for an

evening walk. No big deal.” “What happened?” He’d reserve opinion until he had more information. “Nothing! Nothing happened. If it hadn’t been for Shelby, I never would have given it a second thought.” “Who’s Shelby?” She gave an exasperated sigh. “My dog. I was unlocking the door to my building one night after we got home, and he started growling. I thought I heard something in the park across the street, but when I looked there was nothing there. It was probably a cat out prowling.” “Who’s the guy Abby referred to?” “Just some guy.” She shook her head as if everyone was making too big a thing of it. “When I got upstairs to my apartment, I happened to look out the window and saw a man walking down the sidewalk across the street. At one point he stopped and seemed to be looking up toward my window. And maybe he was, but so what? It doesn’t mean he was watching me, or that I should be concerned. Lots of people look up at windows when they’re out walking. I do it myself sometimes. No big deal.” Gene nodded. “You’re probably right.” Rachael turned back toward Abby. “See there, even the good detective agrees there’s nothing to be concerned about.” “Not necessarily. If this was an isolated incident, you may be right and it was nothing, but it never hurts to be careful. You live alone. And you’re usually there by yourself, correct?” Rachael gave him an assessing look, and he found himself holding his breath as he waited for her response. “Yes,” she said with a drawl. “Unless you count Shelbs.” “Your dog.”

“Umm hmm.” She gave him one of her it’s not going to happen, mister smiles, which only made him appreciate her more. She didn’t even pretend to misunderstand his interest in her answer. “A girl’s best friend.” He wanted to tell her a woman like her needed more than a dog to make her happy. Not that he had anything against dogs. He’d even thought of getting one a few times, but with his schedule it just wouldn’t be fair to the animal. What did she think he wanted from her—a one night stand, a brief fling that would no doubt prove satisfying but end quickly once their curiosity was satisfied? Was she really afraid of the spark between them, or did she consider it nothing more than a physical attraction not worth exerting herself over? His gut told him her resistance was too strong not to be based in fear. That pleased him. If it were a simple case of contempt, he’d let it go. But if her attraction was strong enough to frighten her, then that meant he had a chance. All he had to do was break down her barriers. Therein lay his challenge. Did he move slowly, gain her trust measure by measure, and patiently wait as she revealed another layer to him? Hell, no. He was going to have to crowd her space until they either came to blows or she threw her arms around him and demanded he make it worth her effort. She narrowed her eyes and he realized he was still staring. He shifted where he stood. “I wouldn’t be overly concerned about an isolated incident. But I do believe in erring on the side of caution. You’re a woman living alone in the city.” She started to object, and he held up his hand before she could continue. “I’m not being sexist. I recognize you’re perfectly capable of taking care of yourself, Miss Gooding, but you are a woman. The fact is, a single woman living alone in the city needs to be extra vigilant about her immediate surroundings. There are a lot of crazies out there. If you’re ever in a situation and get the slightest sense something’s off, even if you can’t identify a reason, be safe and get the hell out of there.” “I agree.” Gage slipped his arm around Abby’s shoulder. “We all know you’re a formidable woman, Rachael, but no sense taking chances.” He looked down at his wife. “That goes for you, too.” “I know. I learned that the hard way, but Rachael shrugs things off too easily sometimes. She thinks I’m worried too much over nothing. I just thought it

would be good for her to get a professional opinion since she won’t listen to me.” “Okay, okay. I’m standing right here, so you can stop talking about me in the third person, thank you. I’ve been duly ganged up on, seen the light, and you can drop it now. I’ll stock up on mace and be extra vigilant from now on.” She smirked at Abby. “Satisfied?” Abby gave an abbreviated nod. “For the moment.”

HE FOLLOWED HER home, keeping a safe distance to avoid detection. He didn’t plan to do anything, just wanted to see exactly where she lived, gauge how easy it would be to follow her unawares—or perhaps gain access to her apartment without sounding any alarms. She’d never know he’d been anywhere nearby. He stayed two or three cars back. When she turned onto a brick street that bordered a park, he guessed they were close. He counted to ten and then turned off his car lights before making the turn. He saw her blinker come on halfway up the street and backed into the next available parking spot, several cars back. She didn’t get out of the car for a few minutes. What was she doing during that time? Had she been on the phone? Was she leaning over to the enger seat, maybe down to the floor to retrieve something…a handbag perhaps, some paperwork? Were the car doors locked, or could someone gain easy entry and overtake her while she was distracted? Slouching down in his seat, he watched her run up the steps of a brownstone that had been converted to apartments, like so many others lining these streets. A minute later, two windows on the second level illuminated. He knew where she lived, which apartment was hers. He looked up and down the street. It was late, almost midnight, and he saw no one. She’d been gone for several hours. She had a dog, so she’d probably be coming back out so it could do its business. From the corner of his eye he caught a movement across the street. He peered through the dark. About twenty feet away on the opposite side of the street from where he’d parked was a bench. It was situated in front of some bushes, and unless one knew it was there it could easily be missed in the night shadows. Someone had been sitting there. He never would have known had the person not drawn his attention by standing up before disappearing into the cover of the park’s thick plantings, no longer visible. A man, based on the size. He was about to get out of the car when he heard two short barks. Gooding stood on the stoop of her building, her dog, not much more than a handful of dark fur at the end of a leash, at her feet. She walked down the steps and headed up the sidewalk in the other direction.

He kept a visual on her, occasionally glancing across the street for any sign of the man he’d seen. The dog stopped every ten feet or so to sniff the base of one of the trees planted along the street. After several minutes, she turned and started back in the direction of her apartment. Apparently the dog was being picky. He hoped it found a satisfactory spot to relieve itself before they got too close. He wasn’t a small man and could only slump so low. The dog circled near a tree about ten feet away, and she pulled a little bag out of a pouch on its leash. False alarm. They were on the move again, about six feet away. He whispered a curse and tried to make himself smaller, an impossible task. They were now only two feet in front of his car. He didn’t move, barely breathed. It seemed they would by when the dog gave a sharp bark and started to whimper. The only movement he allowed was a sideward glance, at which point he saw her stop. She bent forward and peered through the enger window. Frowning, she tapped on it and he obliged, pressing the control button to lower it. She leaned her forearm against the frame and arched one of her perfect brows. “I can’t wait to hear what you’re doing sitting in a car outside my apartment, Detective.”

THERE WAS NO chance that Simms, being in her neighborhood, so close to her home, was coincidence. He must have followed her home, which begged the obvious question—why? If it were some other man, she might wonder if he were stalking her. She wasn’t stupid. She knew he was interested in her, but she couldn’t fathom this man slinking around in the dark if he’d decided to actively pursue her. Not Simms. He’d come at her straight on, staring her right in the eyes, wearing that infuriating grin, daring her to take a chance. Hadn’t he done just that earlier tonight? He rubbed a hand over his mouth and blew out a sigh. Yeah, caught you, she thought, but the question remained. What was he up to? “It’s not what you might think.” He turned his face toward her. “I’m not stalking you, and I had no intention of knocking on your door.” She clucked her tongue. “Dream crusher.” He gave an abbreviated chuckle and she grinned to herself. She may not want to like him, but she liked that he appreciated her humor. “If it makes you feel better, I did follow you home.” “Yeah, I already figured that out, and it doesn’t—make me feel better that is— but I am wondering why.” He looked across the street toward the park, his head turning by degree, as if he were scanning the inky darkness beyond the trees. When he returned his attention to her, he frowned. “I think we should talk.” It didn’t sound like a come on. In fact his tone took her a bit by surprise. She glanced toward the park and her eyes widened. Was Simms worried about her? Had he followed her home out of concern? “Is this about that man Abby mentioned this evening? If so, I’m sorry I told her about it. I don’t need protecting, Detective.” She didn’t, but an unwanted softening took the edge off of her tone. “Really, Simms, Abby worries too much about me.”

He got out of the car and walked around the front of it to her where she stood. “Her worries may not be unwarranted.” He half-turned and took a few steps in the direction of her building, then looked at her. “You coming?” “Coming where?” She stared back at him, stuck on his prior comment. “Up to your apartment.” She stood where she was, Shelby shivering at her feet. Simms walked back to stand in front of her. “Look, I’m not trying to lure you up to your place in the hope of getting lucky. Like I said, we should talk. I think it would be better if we did so out of view from anyone who might be watching.” Okay, that was unsettling. She glanced around. Did he think someone was watching them? She gave Shelby’s leash a tug and began walking. Simms took hold of her elbow, keeping pace beside her, occasionally looking over his shoulder or toward the park. She saw urgency in the set of his jaw and felt it in the gentle but firm grip of his fingers. Rachael suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable. Not something she was used to, and definitely not something she’d accept. This was her neighborhood. She’d never felt uncomfortable here, day or night. She wasn’t about to let some unseen threat change that. They jogged up the steps to her building side by side, Simms never letting go of her arm until they reached the door. Rachael fished the key out of her pocket. “This better not turn out to be some stunt, Simms.” “It’s no stunt.” He took a final look across the street as she pushed the front door open, and then followed her inside. Rachael locked the door, turned, and their eyes connected. The spark was there. It was always there, much to her displeasure, but she could see he was serious. “Lead the way.”

She started up the stairway, every nerve in her body tingling, on high alert.

PUSHING THE HAIR back from her face, she ran her hands over the crown of her head and down to the back of her neck as she processed what Simms had just told her. She stayed there a moment, then dropped her arms and turned around to face him where he stood on the other side of the kitchen island. “So you saw a man in the park across the street from my apartment. What am I supposed to do, arm myself with guns and knives?” “It’s not what I’d advise,” he said, and she could tell he meant it. “But it wouldn’t hurt to take some precautions. It could just be a coincidence some man seems to be hanging out across the street from your apartment at night, but tonight’s the second time it’s happened…that we know of. That warrants you practicing caution.” “Okay, I’ll play along, Detective.” Rachael leaned onto the counter across from him. Apprehension gathered in the back of her throat in the form of saliva. It unsettled her to have Simms in her apartment. There was too much unwanted energy between them, but this story about the man on the bench, melting into the park shadows, concerned her more right now. He didn’t need to know how much since it could all turn out to be nothing. “Are you going to teach me some moves, Simms?” She put some sultry into her voice to cover any concern her expression may have given away. He indulged in the habit of running his tongue along his front teeth, the tip of it just visible against his upper lip, and despite the possibility some weirdo could be stalking her, it had the effect of distracting her. She was, after all, a woman, one who enjoyed making love to a man, and when it came to pleasuring a woman, she had a feeling this one would be la crème de la crème. A thread of lust uncurled in her gut. She wondered how unconscious he was of the gesture, if he only did it when he was around her, or if being around her triggered a mutual feeling of desire and that was how it manifested itself. She kind of liked that thought, that she caused him to lick his lip unawares. Anticipation, Simms? She wondered, and smiled to herself at that. She hadn’t made love to a man in ages, and yes, he tempted her dangerously. If he were any other man, she might consider a quick romp, get it out of her system. She felt long overdue. But he wasn’t just any man, and she wasn’t

willing to face the turmoil a man like him could cause her heart. Nope, Simms was a gamble she didn’t think she should risk. “Self-defense moves, Detective, just so we’re clear.” “Might not hurt. Would you let me?” She shrugged. “I’d have to think about it. What else did you have in mind?” “A whistle. A can of mace.” He walked to the end of the island and looked down at her feet. “And when you take your dog out at night, wear some flat shoes.” Rachael turned her ankle, iring the Jimmy Chous she’d picked up for a steal last month at a going-out-of-business sale in Center City. Even at a steal, they were the most expensive pair of shoes she owned, but she regarded them as an investment in style, and she’d never regretted the splurge. “You don’t like my heels? I thought they were perfect with this gown.” She angled her foot once more for his benefit. Risky? Not if it gave her the upper hand. “I like your heels fine, Rachael. They complement your dress exquisitely, and you look sexy as hell in them.” He pinned her with dark, molten chocolate eyes. Fire…careful, Rach baby…you’re playing with fire. “Would you rather me tell you just how sexy, and what thoughts watching you walk around in them all night have been playing through my head, or would you rather hear about some things you can do to protect yourself in the event of trouble? Choice is yours.” She looked away when she felt the heat rise up her cheeks, hating that he was right, that he read her so well. He was good at that, reading people. And it didn’t matter what she said or did to put him off, he kept advancing, undaunted. She couldn’t manipulate or intimidate Simms, not like most men. She needed to that. “Look,” Simms said, his tone less challenging. “There’s a chance you’ve attracted a stalker. We don’t know for sure at this point, but you should still be vigilant about your personal safety.”

If he was right, it would be foolish not to take his advice and any techniques he could give her to protect herself. He was a cop. He knew a hell of a lot more about this stuff than she. “Fine.” She closed her eyes a moment at the prospect some weirdo might have invaded her private world without permission. “Okay.” She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the counter. “I’m all ears. What do you suggest I do?” “First off, it’s okay to be scared.” “I’m not scared.” She flattened her palms against the counter. “I’m angry! I don’t like feeling threatened. I especially don’t like feeling threatened by some coward who hides behind trees in the dark and doesn’t have the balls to show his face to me in the light of day.” “How do you know he’s never shown himself to you during the day?” Rachael was taken aback. “Are you suggesting I know the creep? Assuming someone really has been watching me and all this isn’t the result of a couple of overactive imaginations.” “The man I saw in the park wasn’t a figment. And yes, if you picked up a stalker, there’s a good chance you’ve had at least one encounter with the person before. It might have been brief. Could be someone you on the street occasionally and say hello to just to be friendly, or someone you brushed the wrong way who’s trying to intimidate you.” It sounded to her like he considered the last scenario entirely too possible. An image of Brad from Ohio popped into her head, and she drew her brows together. The night she’d seen the man looking up at her apartment window had been the same night she’d gently skewered Doug’s brother-in-law at the Stomping Grounds. Simms cocked his head. “Someone come to mind?”

THEY’D BEEN IN her apartment almost half an hour. From this vantage point, well-concealed behind an accommodating cluster of tall bushes, he had a clear view of her windows. Most evenings, he could see her through the sheer curtains, moving about. On a few warmer nights recently she’d opened the windows, the faint strains of Rachmaninoff, Beethoven, Tchaikovsky, drifting through them. Sometimes she would dance, unaware she had a captive audience. She’d always been graceful. He looked forward to the day she might dance for him again. Squinting, he watched closely for some sign of activity. With the exception of the first couple of minutes when the lights had come on and the man she’d taken upstairs had looked out the living room window, he hadn’t caught sight of either of them. What were they doing? Was this some new boyfriend who could threaten his plans? The light in her bedroom hadn’t come on yet. He shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans and frowned. He shouldn’t have waited this long to make his move.

RACHAEL SHOT GENE a look that told him he was right. Her lashes dropped, shielding her eyes, and she glanced away. He frowned at her evasiveness. He’d had more success getting hardened criminals to open up than this woman. “If you’ve thought of someone, why not tell me about him? I’m not going to rush out and arrest the guy.” “I would certainly hope not, although I imagine it’s difficult to restrain yourself if you think you’ve got a hot lead. That’s what cops live for, a chance to catch the bad guys, right?” “Look, do you want my advice or not?” Was that really what she thought about him? Of course he wanted to catch the bad guys. They were bad, they deserved to get caught, but he wasn’t reckless about it. She tossed her head back, her hair falling like a waterfall over her shoulder and down her back. “You followed me home and asked if you could come up here, Detective. I don’t recall asking you for anything, advice or otherwise.” Gene ground his back teeth. He couldn’t force her cooperation. “You’re right. Accept my apologies. If anything else happens and you want to get in touch with me, you know how to reach me.” He gave her a nod then turned and walked toward the door. “Enjoy the rest of your evening, Miss Gooding.” As he reached for the deadbolt, she covered his hand with hers. “Wait—please.” He looked over his shoulder and their eyes connected. “That was rude of me.” She stepped back and looked down. “I’m sorry. If you stay, I’ll try to be a little more gracious.” “Do you have that in your skill sets?” He knew she’d feel more comfortable with his sarcasm than his forgiveness. “Touché.” Her lips quirked and gave way to a soft smile. “I said I’d try.” Her eyes came back up, meeting his. “I didn’t say it would be easy.” She extended her hand toward an overstuffed sofa in the middle of her living room, and he took her cue.

“I think I could use a glass of wine. Can I get you a drink, Detective?” He glanced over at her and she said, “A peace offering,” and gave him an offcenter smile. “As long as it’s not one of those concoctions you offered Baker and me when we dropped by Abby’s the night Carpenter was murdered.” She chuckled and slanted him an unapologetic grin. Spitfire. “I have wine, beer, a decent bottle of scotch, and some rum. Or if you consider this official business, water and orange juice.” Gene sat down and stretched his arm across the back of the couch. “A scotch and water on the rocks would be good.” Rachael ed him there a few minutes later. She set a small tray with a bowl of mixed nuts and their drinks on the coffee table, then handed him his scotch. “Thanks.” He tilted the glass toward her. “To becoming friends?” She picked up her wine glass and tapped it against the edge of his rocks glass. “To considering the possibility.” She kicked off her heels and tucked the incredibly gorgeous legs he’d been trying to ignore all night up under her. “So tell me,” he began, focusing back on the matter at hand. “When I said your alleged stalker may be someone you’ve met, did someone come to mind?” “Yes, but I don’t consider him a serious possibility.” “Who is he?” “Some guy named Brad. He was visiting people I know from the neighborhood.” “Why did you think of him?” She lifted a shoulder in an abbreviated shrug. “He’s from Ohio, a relative of theirs.” Gene crossed an ankle over his knee and turned his back into the corner of the couch so he could face her more. “Okay, but what made you think of him? You

have something against people from Ohio?” She rolled her eyes. “Funny, Detective.” She took a sip of wine and then sniffed. “We had an unpleasant encounter one evening.” Rachael proceeded to tell him about what had transpired at a local coffee shop she frequented. As the story unfolded, Gene got the gist of it. The man had crossed the line with his crude comments and disrespectful attitude, and she had stopped short of skewering his manhood. She cleared her throat. “He was young and immature. And I figured he’d get an earful from Doug when they got home. I let him off easy.” “Hmmm.” Eugene rubbed his thumb across his mouth. “It’s possible the guy wanted to get back at you for embarrassing him. Maybe he thought you needed to be put in your place.” “Put in my place! Are you kidding me? He was way out of—” Gene held up a hand. “I was just suggesting he might have thought that. Based on the comments you said he made and his behavior when you called him out, it would fit his profile.” She leaned back against the couch and smirked. “Maybe…but even so, I don’t think he’s stalking me. He was just here for a short visit; he’s probably already gone back home to Ohio.” “Maybe he extended his visit.” She shook her head. “Even if he did, I don’t think he’s a strong consideration. Doug and Brad were still there when I left the Stomping Grounds that night, and I came right home. Shelby started growling at something or someone in the park and acting uncomfortable before we ever went inside.” “So?” “So whoever was in the park that night was already there…before we got home. There’s no way it could have been Brad.” He tended to agree the guy from the coffee shop was an unlikely candidate, but

he’d do a little digging on his own about that. He glanced at his watch and was surprised to see how late it had gotten. “I should be going.” He drained the last of his drink, set the glass on the tray, and then stood up. Rachael tilted her head back to look up at him. Christ, she was beautiful. His fingers itched to reach down, run through her hair, pull her up to him and devour that mouth, the one that tried to put him off with every other word it uttered, but that he knew would be like nothing he’d ever tasted in his life. Ask me to stay. She glanced away and stood, reaching for the tray and holding it between them. “Yes, it is getting late.” She stepped sideways, away from the couch, and carried the tray over to the counter. It had been wishful thinking at this stage of their relationship, and he knew it. “I wouldn’t be overly concerned at this point.” He moved around the coffee table and walked to the door. She waved a hand in the air. “I’m not. It’s probably nothing more than coincidence.” “Probably, but you should still start doing some of the things we talked about. Any woman living alone needs to be vigilant.” “Got it.” She sounded a little impatient, but then gave him a half smile. “I’ll be a model of awareness.” He gave her a nod and opened the door. “Detective.” He hesitated, his fingers gripping the knob. “Yes?” he asked without looking back. “I know you felt some kind of duty to make sure I got home okay after Abby’s comments tonight. It wasn’t necessary, but—” “Goodnight, Rachael.” He stepped into the hallway and pulled the door shut

behind him. No, it wasn’t necessary, but he was glad he had.

He avoided the station on Sundays unless he was on duty, but he’d woken up early, unable to sleep, and with the ever-accumulating backlog of paperwork, had decided to go in and spend a few hours catching up. He was glad he had. It was just past ten, the day was still young, and he’d knocked out more in less than four hours than he normally could in days between everything else. He caught a yellow light and merged right onto Market Street, glancing into the rearview mirror as he made the turn. The light green Honda that had been behind him ran the red, hugging his bumper to avoid giving right-of-way to oncoming traffic. Horns blared, mingling with hand gestures and exchanged curses that flared and died from one city heartbeat to the next. Eugene shook his head. If he’d been in a cruiser, the other car would probably still be sitting at the light. People took fewer chances when they knew they were in front of or behind a cop. Human nature. He took a quick visual in the rearview. The driver was wearing a cap, so he couldn’t make out if it was a man or a woman. No matter, he didn’t equate squeaking through on red with assault and battery. He turned his thoughts to Rachael Gooding, the reason he hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. He knew she could take care of herself, but if she’d picked up a stalker—he had no physical evidence she had, or that she was in any real danger. Someone had been in the park last night, though, and they hadn’t wanted to be seen. Fifteen minutes after leaving the station, he pulled into a parking spot half a block down from Gooding’s building, got out of the car, and crossed the street. He continued down one of the paved walkways that led into the park. It was mid-November, and depending on the fickle month’s whim, Philadelphians could be shoveling out from under a foot of snow or dining alfresco at a sidewalk cafe. The last two weeks had been unseasonably warm, temperatures in the mid to upper sixties. That could change in a day, but not this day. Today the mild weather had lured a fair number of people out to enjoy it while it lasted. Unfortunately, the more people treading the area near where he’d seen the man last night, the more likely any evidence he may have left behind could be destroyed. As he got closer to the place he’d seen the guy disappear, he exited the path and

walked through the grass, looking down as he went. He scanned the ground, taking in every detail, searching for anything that seemed out of place. A dense group of bushes gave way to the opening with the bench that he was looking for. The mass plantings were close enough that anyone wanting to fade into the cover of the park could do so in a few steps. He saw nothing out of the ordinary. Sitting down on the bench, he looked up and ran his eyes over the row of second story windows on the other side of the street. Rachael’s were directly catty-corner from where he sat, within clear view. A cab stopped on the street and a blond woman got out and went into the brownstone next to Rachael’s. She was young, attractive, and although he was sitting in the open less than twenty feet away, he was positive she didn’t know he was there. Did she live alone? With their buildings connected, if the man last night was a stalker, he could just as easily have been watching for this woman. He got up and walked back to the nearby cluster of bushes. Gooding’s apartment was directly across the street now. At night, with the lights on and curtains open, anyone would be able to see into her rooms. Even with the sheers drawn they’d be able to make out someone moving about. The ground around the bushes was littered with maple leaves. Gene moved them around with the toe of his shoe. He swept it back and forth, covering a few feet at a time before moving on. His foot kicked something small. He got down on his haunches and brushed away a few leaves with the back of his hand, exposing a dark green lighter with a white Eagles head and team logo. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a plastic bag and slipped it over his hand. He picked up the lighter, turned the bag inside out, tied it off, and returned the bag to his pocket. Another fifteen minutes turned up nothing else worthwhile, and he headed back to his car. Looking down the street as he crossed, he saw a woman walking in the opposite direction. Even from half a block away he knew it was Rachael. Her hair was pulled back into a long ponytail that hung down past the middle of her back, bobbing back and forth with each confident stride of her mile-long legs. He sprinted down the brick sidewalk after her, felt the rush of anticipation over the impending encounter. She wore jeans tucked into knee-high brown leather

boots and a lightweight navy-blue down vest over a white blouse. She had her hands tucked into the pockets of the vest, and with every step she took, the temperature of his blood inched higher. “Rachael!” he called out when he was less than ten feet away. She spun around. Her ponytail whipped out to the side and whirled over her shoulder to drape down her chest. Her mouth parted in surprise, and her eyes flared with unguarded excitement when they met his. Body language—as a cop he trusted it more than words, and hers only confirmed his belief that she was as attracted to him as he was to her. ‘Eugene,” she said, using his name for the first time since they’d met. She inhaled sharply, as if she’d just caught herself making an unwanted ission, but recovered quickly. She reminded him of a warrior, an Amazon goddess, ready to battle him at every step, and it only made him want her more. If she were true to form, her next move would be to go on the attack. “Where are you headed?” His eyes feasted on every detail of her stunning face. With her deep brown, almost black eyes, and high cheek bones, he found it hauntingly exotic, despite the current smirk of annoyance on the mouth that he would patiently wait to claim. “To the market for some dog food.” She cocked her hip, and the smirk twitched a little tighter. “Just happened to be in the neighborhood?” she asked with a punch of sarcasm. He grinned. Yep, true to form. “Something like that.” He stepped closer, cupped his hand over her elbow, and nudged her back around in the direction she’d been headed before he’d intercepted her. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.” She flinched, but didn’t jerk away from his touch, which both surprised and encouraged him. “So do you just happen to be in my neighborhood on business or pleasure?” “A little of both.” He enjoyed the brush of her hip against his with each opposing step. He wanted to slide his hand up her arm and pull her closer against his side, as if he’d already hurdled her barriers and earned the right to do so; however, he knew better than to test the meager intimacy she’d already allowed him. “And does your business have anything to do with me, or is running into you so

close to my apartment after last night a cosmic coincidence?” “There are no coincidences in life, Miss Gooding. If you know someplace we can get a cup of coffee and talk, I’m more than happy to tell you what I was doing in your neighborhood.” Rachael regarded him a moment before nodding her head. “Okay, there’s a coffee shop across the street from the market. We can stop in there after I pick up Shelby’s food.” “Lead the way.” He was mildly surprised she hadn’t given him a harder time. The woman was quick, and she probably already suspected he’d been scouting around the park. Perhaps she was more concerned about the man he’d seen than she let on. She wouldn’t like feeling vulnerable, but he doubted she’d it that the prospect of a stalker frightened her. When they reached the corner, Rachael stopped and hitched her chin forward. “It’s near the end of the next block.” He nodded, but something made him hesitate before continuing on. He turned to look behind them. A man in a red cap stepped off the sidewalk near where he’d parked and walked between two cars to cross to the other side of the street. His cop radar went up. He watched him for a second, but the guy never looked their way. Gene narrowed his eyes. Something about the man bothered him. There was nothing in his actions that justified concern, though. And the guy he’d seen get up from the bench last night had been taller, probably near his own height of sixthree. This one was closer to five- ten and of a slighter build. “Hello.” Rachael snapped her fingers in front of his eyes, and he looked down at her. “Lose you for a second there, Simms?” “Sorry.” He slipped his hand to the small of her back and crossed over to the next block. “Had a sense of déjà-vu or something there.” She gave him a questioning look and arched her brows. “Like you’ve been here with me before?” “No. It had nothing to do with you. It was just a sense of something familiar, but

it was gone before I could identify it.” He decided to let it go. After a short distance, Rachael stopped in front of a pair of double doors that had Pauley’s Market painted on the glass in black letters. “There’s the coffee shop.” She pointed to a cafe that was catty-corner to the market. “I’ll meet you there in a couple of minutes.” Gene gave a nod and turned to go. “What do you want to drink?” he asked over his shoulder. “Cappuccino,” she said, and then disappeared into the store. He walked into the Stomping Grounds a moment later. The rich, nutty aroma of freshly ground coffee beans seduced his nose. He looked over the menu, which listed a wide array of hot and cold sandwiches, homemade soups, gourmet salads and sides, and a decent selection of wine and beer. It was more like a neighborhood cafe than a pure coffee shop, but at the moment, with the scent of some heady brew tempting him, a cup of coffee sounded damn good. A wavy-haired blond man came out of the back room. “Hey, buddy, what can I get you?” Eugene placed his order, including a side of french fries. The man started grinding some beans. “If you want to sit down, I’ll bring your order out when it’s ready.” Gene chose a table in the corner by the window and watched the people walking up and down the street. He saw Rachael come out of the market with another woman. The two talked for a minute before she waved goodbye and crossed over. The bells on the front door rang out her arrival as she entered. A spattering of patrons scattered around the cafe looked up and then went back to their own business. “Hey, Drew,” she called to the man behind the counter. “Who’s your money on this afternoon?”

The blond laughed. “Eagles, sweetheart. Same as it always is!” He set some mugs on a tray and started around the counter. “How’d you survive the shindig last night?” “I made it through without throwing my wine in anyone’s face if that’s what you’re asking.” She waved to one or two other people she seemed to know in the cafe before looking around and spotting him by the window. She nodded to let him know she’d seen him. “I’m with him,” she told the blonde, hitching her head toward Gene. The other man gave him a closer appraisal than when he’d first come in, and Gene recognized a protective assessment when he saw one. He watched the interactions with interest. She had connections here, to this neighborhood. She seemed comfortable with these people in a way he hadn’t seen her before, relaxed. It gave him a small sense of comfort to know there might be someone she could call for help if the need arose. Rachael put the bag from the market on the floor beside the table and then pulled out the other chair and sat down. “This is Eugene Simms,” she said to the blonde. “And this is Drew.” She flicked Gene a grin. “He owns this t.” Drew smirked at her and then set the tray on their table. He reached out to shake Gene’s hand. “You a friend of hers?” Gene picked up his coffee and took a sip, looking over the rim at Rachael as he did. He set it back down and glanced up at Drew. “She’s still deciding.” Drew laughed and headed back to the counter, but when Eugene looked across the table at Rachael, she didn’t look amused.

IT DISRUPTED RACHAEL’S peace of mind to realize she’d actually enjoyed her impromptu coffee date with Simms. As much as it galled her to do so, she had to it he was growing on her. Forget the intense attraction that flared and had been building between them since their first encounter. Forget he was deliciously easy on the eye. With sunkissed hair and lose-yourself-in gorgeous, dark eyes, he had the rugged yet sophisticated good looks marketers paid big bucks for to sell everything from shaving cream to entice a woman’s touch, to boxers that would…well, best not to linger there if she were smart. She could resist a good-looking man, but she couldn’t deny the clawing desire he triggered in her core that only grew deeper each time she saw him. The one that made her toss and turn at night…thinking about him…wanting him. She’d gotten a deeper look into the real man behind those killer eyes and under all those well-toned muscles last night, and again today, and he was so much more than she had wanted him to be. Attraction was one thing, but what she felt had begun blossoming into a need, sinking its roots insidiously against her will and weakening her resolve to resist the magnetic pull of him. That very need—the stupid, foolish, woman part of her need—had her cursing herself this very moment. Why the hell had she agreed to go out to dinner with him tonight? She watched his car turn the corner and drive out of view. She’d had another moment of weakness. He had a knack for catching her in them, or creating them. Either way, she’d let her guard slip too much with him. Fait accompli. Maybe it would be okay, enjoying the attention of a man she found herself drawn to, as long as she didn’t let him in too deep. She couldn’t even come up with an arguable reason against having a more intimate, physical relationship, as long as he understood it came with no strings attached. Rachael turned sharply and unlocked the front door to the brownstone. It was already past noon, and Simms would be picking her up in less than five hours for their date.

Date. Ugh! She hadn’t been on a date in over a year, and the last one had been a disaster. The guy had gone from charming, to mildly offensive, to lecherous in the course of an evening that ended with her getting out of his car in the middle of Chestnut Street after he informed her he’d taken the liberty of reserving them the penthouse suite for the night in one of the city’s most luxurious hotels. And that was supposed to impress her! The utter gall of the man. Presumptuous loser. It was her first, and would remain her one and only, blind date, the brother of a coworker who used to be a friend but who now didn’t speak to her after pushing Rachael for details. Little sisters who idolize their big brothers don’t like hearing that their hero’s a scumbag. Not that she expected Simms to mutate into dirt tonight. She’d gotten a good enough sense of the man to know he had more respect for women than her coworker’s slimy brother. Simms was a man, but he had proven himself a gentleman. He was confident, amusing, intelligent, and eerily astute, too astute for her to become too comfortable with him. He saw things, saw things she didn’t want him to see. Short of coming down with the stomach flu in the next couple of hours, or being kidnapped, there was no way to get out of their date without being obvious. If she called and cancelled, he’d know it was a cop-out, and even if he didn’t say anything, she knew that he’d know that she knew he knew. No, there’d be no backing out now. The time to do that would have been when she could have said no to his face, when she’d had the chance to say no with honor. Unfortunately, she’d been looking into his eyes when he asked, and feeling all warm and wanting, and imagining he’d know exactly how to soothe that want… and she’d said yes. She’d been weak and now she deserved what the night would hold, more temptation and unsatisfied desire. Although she just knew in her bones Simms would be a generous and thorough lover, she didn’t know if she could afford the price a night in the man’s arms might extract. “Serves you right for letting your guard down,” she mumbled under her breath as she climbed the steps to her apartment. Ten minutes later she walked back outside with Shelby. A long walk would do them both good, and the fresh air might help her sort out her thoughts on Simms,

which right now her brain had filed under what the hell am I getting myself into? She circled two square blocks. She’d never met most of the people who didn’t live on her street. Those she had were, for the large part, other dog owners she’d gotten to know on her walks with Shelby, and a few, like her friends Doug and Carrie, because they were regulars at the Stomping Ground, like herself. As she neared her front steps, she debated doing another lap. She’d planned to spend the afternoon catching up on some paperwork. That was before Simms showed up, and now, with their looming date, she didn’t feel like getting into it. She crouched down to scratch Shelby’s neck. “Are you up for another turn, boy?” Shelby angled his head and gave her his undivided attention, his tail quivering in anticipation of her next move. Rachael swore he understood every word she said to him. She chuckled at his excitement, although it didn’t take much. She loved that about dogs; they lived for every scrap of love they could get and gave it back one hundredfold. “Excuse me.” Rachael looked up and assessed the man standing a few feet in front of them. She didn’t recall seeing him around the neighborhood before. She stood up and held Shelby’s leash close, keeping him at her feet. “Can I help you?” He had striking blue eyes. Jet black hair formed soft ringlets that stuck out from under a red Phillies cap and encircled the back of his neck. She’d give a week’s salary for curls like that! “Do you know if there’s a grocery store nearby? I just moved to the area a couple of days ago, and I haven’t had a chance to find my way around yet.” She turned and pointed behind her. “Go to the end of the next block and turn left. There’s a market about halfway down on the left. Pauley’s. It’s not huge, but unless you’re looking for specialty items you should be able to find most of what you need there.” “Appreciate it.” He gave her a friendly smile. “I’ve lived in Jersey most of my life, but this seems like a nice neighborhood. You lived here long?”

“A couple of years.” “Do you like it here?” She nodded. “It’s quiet most of the time, and the park’s nice.” “Yeah.” He glanced across the street. “You’re lucky to be right on the park.” He stuck out his hand. “My name’s Rick, by the way.” “Rachael,” she said, and shook his hand. She didn’t feel like getting into a conversation with some guy she didn’t know, and she had her date with Simms looming. “Look, I’ve got to go.” She pointed down the block. “Just that way two blocks and turn left; you won’t be able to miss it.” She met his gaze and was struck again by the color of his eyes. They were such an extreme, beautiful blue it was hard not to stare. Rick smiled again, and for some reason she was very glad she didn’t have a fifteen-year-old daughter. It was an odd thought, and she didn’t know why it had popped into her head, except that she could imagine a lot of women falling for those mesmerizing blues. “Nice to meet you, Rachael.” He touched the rim of his cap. “You too.” She bent down and picked Shelby up, then mounted the steps to her building. Before opening the door she looked over her shoulder. Rick was still standing there with a smile on his face. “Good luck settling in,” she said, thinking it wouldn’t have hurt her to be just a little more welcoming. “Thanks. See you around.” Rachael gave a parting wave and went inside. She hadn’t been very friendly. She didn’t make a practice of talking to strangers, didn’t like them asking her questions, but that was her. She didn’t recall seeing any moving trucks on the street this week. That didn’t mean much, though. He could have moved in while she was at work…or onto one of the neighboring blocks. He hadn’t actually said he’d moved onto her street. She frowned. She should have asked him where he lived. Why was she even wasting time thinking about it? All the talk about stalkers with Simms was making her overly suspicious of people. Rick was probably just some poor lonely guy who’d moved into the neighborhood and was looking to

meet a few neighbors and find a place to get a loaf of bread. She ed when she first moved to the neighborhood and how long it took her to meet people here. She wasn’t going to invite the man up to her apartment, but if she ran into him again, she’d make more of an attempt to be friendly, maybe introduce him to some of the other neighbors, or steer him to the Stomping Ground where he’d meet many of them if he made a habit of stopping in there. She’d be helping Drew, too. The cafe did a good business, but new customers were always welcome. The rest of the afternoon went quickly, her encounter with her newest neighbor forgotten. Rachael hopped toward the kitchen island on one high heel, slipping the strap of the other over her heel with one hand and holding her cell phone to her ear with the other. Simms would be there any minute, and her mother picked that moment to call for a check in, so she was in multi-task mode. Assure mom her life was rich, full, and beautiful, while adding the finishing touches to her ensemble. The intercom bell rang, announcing Simms’s arrival. “I’ve got to go, Mom.” Rachael leaned against the island and further adjusted the strap on the back of her shoe. “It was the intercom,” she said in response to her mother’s question. “It’s just a friend; we’re going to get some dinner. I’ll call you in a couple of days.” She pulled a lip gloss from her clutch and unscrewed the applicator. “Love you too. Mwuah.” She pressed the intercom’s call button. “Friend or foe?” “Friend.” Recognizing his voice, she sucked in a fortifying breath and buzzed Simms in. At the knock on her door a moment later, she took in another, deeper breath. She smoothed her hands down the sides of her best little black dress. Relax. It’s Simms, not God. She squared her shoulders—just an everyday, ordinary man. She lied; she knew he was far from ordinary. Straightening her shoulders, she lifted her chin and opened the door. He stood on her threshold, one hand in his pocket, the other holding a bouquet of longstemmed red roses, looking like every woman’s dream date in a dark navy suit cut to perfection, and even she, with all her armor, felt the punch of the onslaught.

He held out the flowers. “I hope these aren’t too cliché.” They probably were, but she’d never gotten flowers before. Not from a man, not ever, and there was a lump the size of a walnut forming at the back of her throat that prevented her from giving a quick response. She took the bouquet, their fingers brushing. “Did your mom tell you to bring these?” “Yeah. She said if I wanted to score, I should bring flowers.” Rachael’s heart deflated as she looked up at him, but she recovered quickly. “You weren’t supposed to it it, Simms. The idea was to make me think you were being romantic and thoughtful.” She left him standing in the doorway while she went to the kitchen to put the roses in some water. She pulled a vase from the cupboard under the sink and heard the apartment door click shut. Their evening was starting out just dandy! She was sure Simms’s mother hadn’t put her suggestion in those exact . She’d met the woman. She was a sweet little old lady. She wouldn’t have discussed getting lucky with him. Did it matter? No. Who cared how she’d phrased it. Simms came up behind her and laid his hands on the sides of her waist. She fought the thrill of his fingers holding her just tight enough she knew they were there, light enough to make her wish for more. He leaned toward her ear. “I was teasing. I haven’t spoken to my mother in over a week.” Rachael stretched her neck to the side, her emotions foreign. She swallowed again, upset she’d let it matter. She should have known he was joking, especially since she’d thrown out the first crack, but she was off her game. She’d slipped up. Even if he’d been serious, it was stupid to care. She didn’t need flowers from a man. She wasn’t one of those women who expected or needed to be wined, dined, and romanced. Simms reached around her and took the vase of flowers from her and set it on the counter. He turned her to face him and she looked up, annoyed. “What?”

“I’m sorry.” He rubbed his thumb along her jaw. “For what?” She angled her face away from his hand. “Upsetting you. It was a bad joke.” “Who says I’m upset? I love roses, and red are my favorite. I don’t really care who came up with the idea to bring them.” He was studying her intently, probably trying to read her thoughts. She arched a brow in challenge. “I’m glad you like them. The apology holds. I was trying to keep things light.” Rachael smirked. “Why, it’s just dinner. You’re not taking this date too seriously, are you, Simms?” He gave a light chuckle. “Rest assured.” Rest assured? God, she hated when he threw things like that out that she didn’t know how to interpret. She disliked it more that, again, she even cared what he’d meant. She wouldn’t ask; asking would be akin to itting it mattered. If it did, that was her problem. He didn’t need to know it. He brought his thumb to her cheek again, stroked it back and forth, a slow, sensual brush against her skin. Her body reacted against her will, giddy with desire. His breathing sounded shallow, and she thought he was going to kiss her, but he surprised her by dropping his hand and stepping back. Disappointment and relief filled her with equal measure. She was half-tempted to grab him by the collar and pull him into a lip-lock just to get the damned anticipation over. Not knowing was half the problem. Maybe he’d kiss like a toad. Simms cleared his throat. “We should get going if we don’t want to lose our reservation.” Rachael reached behind her, grabbed her clutch off the end of the island, and made for the door. It was going to be one hell of a long night.

IN A STRATEGIC move, before they ever got to the Mexican restaurant he’d chosen for dinner, Simms suggested they ban for the evening any discussion of stalkers, the probabilities for or against, or anything else on the subject of the man in the park. Rachael realized within two minutes of agreeing that she’d slipped up. Without the veneer talking shop gave their date, she couldn’t pretend it was anything else. It was deliberate of course, a tactical step on his part. He was already outmaneuvering her. Once she decided to make the best of it and see where the night led, they settled into an easy exchange she hadn’t expected, even enjoyed. “How did you feel about being an only child?” Simms asked when the conversation turned to family. “Are you kidding? My parents adored me, and I was happy to have them dote exclusively on me.” “You never wanted a brother or sister?” “Only for a very brief period when I was about five and told my parents I wanted a baby for Christmas.” “What happened when you didn’t get one?” “I believe I threw a fit and told them all the toys Santa brought were stupid, and I hated everyone and everything.” “Major brat fit, huh?” “Pretty much. I think I spent a couple of hours in my room sulking before I ventured downstairs to apologize.” “And was that the end of the baby demands?” She nodded. “Yes. Then they went out to the garage and brought in the puppy I didn’t know about. I got a live-in playmate to love and take care of. The next year I started kindergarten and met Abby. After that, I didn’t need a sister. We became so close it was like having one.”

Simms leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest, a grin playing on his lips. “What about you?” she asked, anxious to shift the focus. “Do you have any siblings?” “Three sisters—two older and one younger.” That surprised her, but it explained a lot. “Are you close to them?” “I am. My oldest sister lives in Jersey, so I see her several times a year. She’s got two boys, six-year-old twins. They’re pretty cute.” “What about the others?” “The other two live in Denver. They started an outdoor adventures company together about four years ago leading kayak excursions.” “Sounds like fun. Have you ever gone on one?” “Once, and that was enough. If anyone ever tells you the only thing you need to do to successfully navigate rapids in a kayak is to keep paddling, and you decide to trust them, put on a lifejacket and a helmet first.” “Spent a lot of time in the water, did you?” “In the water, under the water, on the rocks, you name it. Everyone else seemed to do fine, most of them women half my size. It was a blowing crush to my manhood, especially when one of them had to fish me out of the river while another chased down my kayak.” “And you’re still close to them?” “We’re still close, despite them almost drowning me. My capacity for forgiveness would astound you.” Their eyes met in mutual humor as the rest of the world faded into the background. The evening slipped by as they dined on an assortment of shared tapas and a pitcher of sangria, ending their meal with one baked caramel flan, two spoons, and two rich cups of Mexican coffee that had the perfect blending of tequila,

Kahlua, ice cream, and a sprinkling of cinnamon. “That was wonderful.” She spooned the maraschino cherry that she’d saved until the end out of the bottom of her coffee mug. Picking it up by the stem, she raised it to her lips and watched Simms watching her. She grinned, slipped the fruit into her mouth, closed her lips around the stem, and plucked it off, chewing the tiny delight slowly. Simms ran his tongue along the inside of his cheek. “I suspect you know exactly what you’re doing right now.” She did. She wanted to experience more of this man, and at some point during the course of the last three hours, she’d made the choice to take a chance and let him in. So yes, she knew what she was doing, and she was letting him know what she wanted. It would be on her , though, and in her time. She leaned forward and put her elbows on the table, holding his gaze. “Exactly, Detective.” He regarded her through narrowed eyes, but they glowed with a warm intensity that suggested their thoughts were in perfect alignment. He signaled to their server, who was just leaving a nearby table. The man hurried over. “Yes sir, can I get you something else?” “The check, please,” Simms said without looking away from her, and a coil of anticipation unraveled low in her belly to weave its way along her nerves. About twenty minutes after they left the restaurant, Simms parked his car in a spot halfway down her block. He reached into the backseat and pulled out an umbrella. “Wait there.” His fingers hesitated a moment on the latch before he got out. “I’ll come around for you.” When he did, he opened her car door, and she took the hand he extended to help her out. As she stood up, they came face-to-face, mere inches a flimsy barrier against the mutual desire she’d felt building like thunderclouds all evening. His expression was intense, and for the second time that night she thought he would kiss her, right there, right then, in the rain, with the light from a nearby

streetlamp turning the sidewalk’s wet bricks into bars of liquid gold and angling their shadows in watery relief against the front of the century-old brownstones that marched up the street. They stood motionless, their measured breathing and the subdued drumming of raindrops against the umbrella’s meager shelter the only sounds on the momentarily, save them, deserted block. Time could have stopped, if only for a few seconds, as if waiting for them to make a decision—what they wanted, in which direction would they take this ion that had been leading them to this moment for months. Simms broke first. He darted a glance across the street to the park and then stepped back. He took her hand. “Let’s go.” He started to walk, his steps quick and determined. Disappointment mocked her, and she narrowed her eyes as they hurried toward her building. She would have let him.

GENE FOLLOWED RACHAEL into the apartment, pushed the door shut behind them with his foot, and spun her into his arms, hard against him, and they locked eyes. Desire flooded him, a surging tide battering the dam of his control. “If you don’t kiss me now, Simms, I’m filing charges against you,” Rachael said in a rushed whisper, and he had to ask. “On what grounds?” “Cruel and unusual punishment.” “And here I thought that was your specialty.” His lips twitched with a grin of pure male satisfaction. She rose up on her toes and wove her fingers through his hair. “Maybe you should just shut up now, Detective. I’m trying very hard not to dislike you.” He decided to follow her advice. She angled her mouth over his in searing exploration—and the dam burst.

THE MAN IN the park reached into the pocket of his jacket for his cell phone. After following them to the restaurant, he’d had to bide his time in his car for over three fucking hours. Who the hell needed three hours to eat tacos? He turned the screen on and checked the time. They’d been up in her apartment now for almost half an hour. He wasn’t sure how long the two of them had been an item, but he’d seen them together twice now, looking pretty damn into one another, so he had no doubt they were one. It galled him to think they were probably up there screwing each other right now. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket with a curse. He might as well beat it. The rain was coming down more heavily, and there was no reason for him to continue crouching out here in the cold when he’d already confirmed what he wanted to know. He pulled the collar of his jacket up over the back of his head to avoid any scrapes or cuts to his face and then picked his way back out of the shrubs that had provided the perfect cover for him to observe things without being seen. He glanced around to make sure there weren’t any nosey dog lovers out walking their precious mutts in the rain, who might have seen him and get suspicious. Some people didn’t know how to mind their own damn business. He saw it all the time. Stupid fools. If they insisted on getting involved where they didn’t belong, they deserved whatever happened to them. A few minutes later he was in his car and on his way. As he ed her building, he leaned forward and took a final look up to the windows on the second floor. An eye for an eye, he thought. That’s what his mother had always told him.

Rachael reached up into the cabinet and took down another bowl. She wrapped it in newspaper and put it in the box on Abby’s kitchen floor. With Gage out of town so much this month, getting everything ready to move out of the townhouse she’d lived in before they met had fallen mostly on Abby. They were purchasing a new one near Rittenhouse Square, one that didn’t hold memories of Abby’s past life, and settlement was next week. Rachael knew her friend had spent the last two nights alone, packing boxes until after midnight, so she’d dropped by an hour earlier with a bottle of pinot grigio and an offer to help. “Hello, planet Earth and Abby to Rachael.” Rachael glanced over her shoulder to where Abby stood wrapping a stack of dishes on the kitchen island. “What did you say?” “I just asked twice if you wanted me to order a pizza and you didn’t respond. What’s up, Rach? You’ve seemed distracted since you got here.” “Sorry.” Rachael pushed a hand through the length of her hair, twisting it at the ends. “I am a little distracted. I had an odd phone call at work yesterday that I’ve been trying to make sense of.” “Odd in what way?” Rachael turned and leaned her hip against the counter. “I was getting ready to leave for the evening when this guy called. He said he worked at the Tenth Street train station and that someone had found my wallet and turned it in at the ticket booth.” “Wow, lucky for you someone honest found it; otherwise, you’d have to go through the whole mess of canceling your credit cards and replacing everything else.” “That was my first reaction, too. The guy said the booth closed at six, but he could stay until eight if I wanted to come pick it up. He told me he’d lost his wallet a few months back and knew what a hassle it was, so if he could save someone else the trouble, he didn’t mind waiting if I promised I’d be there. I told him I was just leaving and could be there in twenty or thirty minutes.” Rachael stretched her neck from side to side, trying to work out the stiffness that

had settled there. “After I hung up, I had a weird feeling about the call. The only time I’d taken the train was Tuesday morning when I had to go into Center City to do an interview. And I’d gone to the Stomping Ground that evening and had it with me then.” Abby gave her a puzzled look. “That doesn’t make sense.” “Right. So I checked my purse, and sure enough, my wallet was there.” “Rach, this is starting to sound really creepy.” “Yeah, and it gets creepier. I called the port authority right away and told the woman who answered about the call. She said their policy is to turn all lost items in to the main office. If information is available, someone from their central office would try to reach the person to notify them. She asked me if the caller gave his name. When I said no, she said identifying themselves is standard practice for their employees. She also said she was going to notify transit security of the call and suggested I report the incident to the police.” “The police! Oh my God, are you serious?” Rachael hesitated a moment before answering. If this had been the only strange event over the last few months, it might not disturb her so much. But it wasn’t. There had been a series of things, starting with a picture of Shelby she’d found under her windshield a few months ago. Not that she’d been worried then; it had just been a picture of a dog that looked like hers, and nothing had come of it, but still, with all the stalker business…and now this. “The woman said it was possible someone was trying to lure me to the station at a time when there weren’t many people there, or perhaps so they could follow me home to see where I live.” Rachael gathered her hair back away from her face again and held it in a ponytail at the back of her head. She didn’t want to worry anyone needlessly, especially Abby, but she had to it it felt good to talk to someone about it. “She was just speculating, of course, but—” Abby stared, her mouth open, eyes filled with concern. “Rach, that’s more than creepy; it’s scary! And how did the guy get your work number?” “I have no idea. Somehow he also knew I’d ridden the train this week, even though I usually drive. It makes me wonder if he saw me at the station and

assumed I took it every day. That doesn’t explain how he knew who I was, though.” Rachael kneaded the back of her neck where the tension had begun to intensify into a headache. “It could have been one of my coworkers pulling some lame-brained prank. If it was, and I find out, they’ll be seriously questioning their sense of humor when I get done with them.” “That’s not funny, Rach, it’s dangerous. What if you had gone to the station? At that time of night, on a weekday, it’s practically deserted. The only people down there then are the homeless and a few straggling commuters. I think the woman from the port authority is right. You should tell the police.” “And say what? That I think some man’s trying to lure me to secluded places so he can…I don’t know what? They’ll probably think I’m some hysterical woman with an overactive imagination. And it’s not like they’re going to do anything when nothing has actually happened. Well…nothing substantial…or that I can prove. They’ve got their hands full trying to deal with actual crimes.” Abby pinned her with probing green eyes. “You’re not telling me everything. What else has happened, Rach?” “Nothing. Aside from the possibility there’s a Peeping Tom in my neighborhood, which you already know about, who may or may not be peeping on me, and, or, one or several of my neighbors. And okay, I it that’s got me a little spooked, to the point I’ve imagined that I was being followed a couple of times, but again, no proof.” “Somebody’s been following you!?” Abby’s eyes practically bugged out. “I don’t know. Maybe, or it could just be my imagination. All this damned talk about Peeping Toms and stalkers—hell, it’s enough to make anyone a little paranoid.” Abby frowned, her brows knitting together in thought. “I think too many things have happened to keep brushing everything off. The person in the park, this phone call, and what about that strange business a few months back, you know, when you found that picture of Shelby on your car window?” Rachael twisted her mouth into a frown, trying to think of an explanation with no real success. “That was months ago, and nothing ever came of it. It’s irrelevant.”

“Maybe, maybe not. If someone has been watching your apartment and following you, it would explain how they might think you took the train if they followed you there one day.” “Like who, Ab? And what reason would anyone have to follow me?” “I don’t know.” Abby started chewing her bottom lip, looking truly concerned, and Rachael regretted saying anything. Ab had enough on her mind right now trying to manage the move. “Look,” she said, hoping to downplay things so her friend didn’t get too upset. “I’m sure we’re both overreacting. The park is a public place, and if someone wants to walk around in there at night, it doesn’t mean they’re up to no good.” “Maybe, but it isn’t just someone in the park anymore. You can’t brush off that phone call as meaningless. The guy tried to get you to go to the station, right?” Rachael sighed. Give her a bone…”Right.” “Right! So don’t tell me we’re overreacting. Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. If all this had been happening to me, you probably would have called in a SWAT team by now.” She probably would have, but that was different. “Well, it’s no different, Rachael. There are plenty of crazies out there: criminal crazies, ex-boyfriend stalker crazies, creepy coworker crazies, love-struck stalkers and lonely heart crazies, and your plain old everyday garden variety just crazy crazies. Take your pick, but you’ve always had keen perception, so if you sensed someone was following you, I think you should trust your instinct.” “Noticed you got a category for Billings in there.” Neither of them had ever liked Abby’s old coworker. Slime didn’t come much slimier than Billings, unless they were talking about his best friend, Abby’s ex, and even then it would have been hard to crown the slime king. “Yeah, well there you go. I mean, we both knew the guy was a creep, but I never would have imagined he’d go off the deep end the way he did.” “Me either. Maybe I should start watching my coworkers a little more closely.

Although,” she said with a smirk, “I already think a couple of them are a little bizarre. If I look too closely, I may find out more than I really want to know.” “Seriously, Rach, you should talk to the police. It can’t hurt, and what if there’s some sicko on the loose trying to lure women into dangerous situations? Whoever’s been hanging out in your park could be stalking other women in the neighborhood, too. You don’t know, and some of them could get similar calls, and if none of them reports it—or worse, one of them actually went to meet the person—” Rachael held up her hands. “Okay, okay. You’ve convinced me. I wouldn’t want to feel responsible if your scenario turned out to be right and someone got hurt because I didn’t say anything.” She reached into the cupboard and pulled out a couple of more bowls, not wanting to dwell on such disturbing possibilities. “I’ll tell Simms what happened and get his take on it. If he thinks I should file a report, then I will.” Abby’s eyes brightened. “You’re going to talk to Eugene? I thought he was on your people and things to avoid more than dresses with horizontal stripes and the bathroom scale list after the charity ball last week. At least that’s the impression I got from the looks you were giving him.” “Yes, well, some things are more difficult to avoid than others.” She cleared her throat. “Especially when he keeps showing up on my street to look for evidence because a certain blabbermouth friend of mine told him someone might be stalking me.” “Aww, that’s so sweet! He’s worried about you. You see, I told you he didn’t hate you. In fact, I wouldn’t be surprised if he isn’t working up the courage to ask you out.” Rachael rolled her eyes. “Do you think he’s as concerned about my safety as you are about the possibility I’d shoot him down if he asked me to dinner.” “If I am, it’s because I have two very good reasons: First, he’s a friend and an amazing man, and if you shot him down, he’d probably be really disappointed, and I’d feel bad for him.” “And second?” Rachael hiked a brow in question.

“Second, you’re my very dearest friend, and if you shot him down, you’d be missing out on an amazing man, and then I’d feel very bad for you.” “Hmmm.” “Hmmm? That’s all you’ve got? Hmmm?” “Yeah, that, and—” Rachael held her hand out in front of herself and pretended to study her nails. “I didn’t shoot him down when he asked.” It took a few seconds before she got a reaction, but she saw the moment her meaning became clear. Abby began to smile from ear to ear. “Oh, Rach! You’re going to go out with him?” “Already did.” “What!?” Abby’s surprise was genuine. “And you didn’t tell me? When? Where? I want details, girlfriend!” “Calm down, honey.” Rachael knew Abby would already be off in her head planning brunches and weekend getaways with her and Gage. “It wasn’t the history-altering event you may be hoping for, but since you’re going to badger me until you get the lowdown, I’ll tell you. We went to dinner last weekend, to Cantina Del Sol—it’s that new Mexican restaurant on Front Street. We shared some great food, a pitcher of sangria, ended with a to die for caramel flan and some Mexican coffee, and managed to get through all the courses without throwing any of it at each other.” Abby gave her a disapproving look and Rachael chuckled. “Actually,” she conceded, “we had a good time. We’re both a little skeptical, though, so we’re going out again Friday night to make sure it wasn’t a fluke and that we really do loathe each other.” Abby wadded up a piece of newspaper and chucked it across the room at her. “You’re horrible.” Picking up the paper ball, Rachael tossed it from one hand to the other. “Are you happy now?”

“Yes,” Abby said, then cocked her head and asked, “Are you, hon?” “For the moment.” Rachael lobbed the newspaper ball back across the room. “Now, did you mention something about getting a pizza?”

THURSDAY MORNING RACHAEL arrived at work at seven forty-five to find two people already hovering around her desk, both with urgent requests and noon deadlines. Several hours later, she escaped to the building’s main floor coffee shop, ready to kill for a cup of coffee and some carbs. “Hey, Rachael, you’re coming down late this morning.” Dory, the woman who managed the shop greeted Rachael with her usual good mood and friendly manner. “Yeah, I got bombarded before I even had a chance to take my coat off this morning. If I don’t get some coffee and food into me soon, bad things might start happening.” Dory laughed. “Okay, large cup of black and—?” “A toasted bagel with cream cheese,” Rachael finished. They chatted until her order was ready, then she found a small quiet corner table by the window to enjoy her late-morning breakfast. She sat with her back to the rest of the room, a subtle message to anyone who might think of ing her that she wasn’t interested right now. In general, she liked her job. Some days it could get crazy hectic, and she’d eliminate certain facets if she could, but all jobs had pluses and minuses, so she tolerated the bad with the good. She liked and respected her boss and got along with most of her coworkers. A couple she could do without but tried to be civil with for the sake of office relations. Taking a long drink of coffee, Rachael willed the caffeine to do its thing. Sleep the night before had been fleeting, ragged between periods of lying awake thinking about her conversation with Abby, and disted dreams that made no sense, only leaving her anxious. With everything that had happened recently, it was no wonder she hadn’t slept well. If she only knew why, or who was behind some of it, she might be able to put a stop to it. She didn’t know either, though, and she hated the lack of control not knowing gave her. She’d considered the possibility someone at work had made the call she’d gotten

on Tuesday. It would explain how they’d gotten her work number, but she realized anyone could just call the station to get it. It wasn’t confidential information. The bigger mystery was how the caller even knew her and where she worked. Rachael was still pondering those two questions when she walked into the Stomping Ground later that evening. She’d decided to get dinner there and hang out with Drew for a while rather than spend the evening at home, stealing peeks from behind the new curtains she’d hung over the sheers on her living room windows, and wondering if some creep was in the park watching her. She sat at the counter so she could chill with Drew when he wasn’t waiting on other customers. Pulling a small, plush, red-and-black plaid mat out of her bag, she unfolded it and put it on the floor. Shelby took five or six turns on the mat, then, satisfied he’d found the most comfortable spot, lay down and looked up at her. “Good boy, Shelbs.” The dog gave a soft snort, tucked his head under his front paws, and settled in for a nap. Rachael smiled. He was as accustomed to spending time at the cafe as she. “Hey, Rach, what’s up, girlfriend?” Drew set a rack of clean mugs he’d carried out from the back room onto the shelf under the counter. “Not much.” Not much she felt like talking about. What would people think if she preceded that response with: Well, there’s a chance I’m being stalked, or in the least picked up a Peeping Tom, and apparently someone’s trying to lure me to deserted locales for who knows what purpose—aside from that, not much. Drew would think she was being a wiseass at first, but if he knew she was serious, he’d probably start coordinating a watch patrol and buddy system for her and all the other women in the neighborhood. “You looking to get something to eat or just hanging tonight?” “Both. I’m hungry for some good beef stew, and yours is always so much better than mine.” “That’s because I cook it slow all day so the flavors blend together. Gives it more depth.”

“There’s that, plus you don’t get all those big chunks of meat and fresh vegetables from a can.” “When are you going to learn how to cook, girlfriend?” He ladled a hearty bowl and put it in front of her. “When you close the Stomping Ground and I have no other choice. Speaking of which, I saw a sold sign on the shop window next door. Any idea what’s going in there?” “I do. The new owner stopped in to introduce herself yesterday—her name’s Miranda. She’s a witch.” “Doesn’t sound like she made a good first impression.” “No, I mean she’s a witch. Actually, she called herself a Wiccan. I liked her. For a witch she seemed very sweet. She’s opening a gift shop, but in addition to candles, cards, and your typical gift items, it sounds like she’ll be carrying some funky, witchy kind of stuff as well.” “Perfect.” Rachael spooned up a bite of stew. “I could use a few good spells.” Drew shook his head and chuckled. “Plan on practicing on anyone in particular?” “No, but it might be nice to have some in case I need them.” “She did say something about Wiccans not harming anyone.” “Yeah, I know, I’ve heard it before. It’s called their rede: ‘An ye harm none, do what ye will.’ And I’d never dream of harming anyone.” She gave him a crooked smile. “Although harm is open for interpretation.” “Hi, Rachael, I thought it was you when I came in.” She spun around to see the man she’d run into the prior weekend on her walk with Shelby. He had on the same Phillies cap he’d been wearing then, and between that and his unusually striking eyes, she recognized him immediately. “Hey…Rick, right?”

He nodded, looking pleased she ed his name. She sensed Drew watching them and turned his way. “Drew, this is Rick. He recently moved to the neighborhood. Drew’s got the best coffee in town, along with great food and free advice whether you want it or not.” She aimed a grin Drew’s way. “Good to know.” Rick reached over the counter and shook Drew’s hand. “Shelby, stop that grumbling.” Rachael looked down at the dog and frowned. “Nobody meant to wake you. He’s gotten crotchety in his old age.” Drew leaned over the counter and looked down at Shelby. “I know you’ve had him since you’ve been coming here, but he still looks like a pup. How old is he now?” “People think he’s young because he’s so small, but he’s almost ten. He was a gift from—someone, my senior year of college.” “Maybe it is old age. Ten’s getting up there in dog years.” Rachael didn’t like thinking about that too much. In a lot of ways, she and Shelby had grown up together, and if anything happened to him, it would leave a big hole in her heart. “He’s a cute dog,” Rick said, then looked at Drew and hitched his head toward Rachael’s stew. “Think I could get some of that?” “Coming right up.” Drew got another bowl out from under the counter, filled it to the rim, and put it in front of the new arrival. “Where’d you move from, Rick?” “Jersey. Lived there most my life and thought the city would be a nice change of pace.” Drew took some rolls out of the warmer and, putting them in a basket, set them down between Rick and Rachael. “What part of the block are you on?” “I’m a couple of streets over, actually. Still learning my way around.” He spooned in some of his meal. “Been meaning to stop in here. Stew’s good, glad I did. Noticed the place last week, thanks to Rachael.”

She glanced over at him, furrowed her brow. “Grocery store across the street, ?” “Oh yeah, yeah.” She gave a nod. Drew left to take care of another customer, and Rachael and Rick chatted casually for a couple of minutes about nothing significant. Drew returned shortly and leaned against the counter. “So how are you and your cop getting along? Or are you still deciding if you’re going to be friends?” “I’m keeping the door open…for now. We’ll see how it goes. We’re going out again tomorrow night. If we get back early enough, maybe we’ll stop in for a nightcap.” “Again?” Drew raised his brows. “That sounds serious for you, Rach.” She gave an abbreviated shrug. “Like I said, we’ll see what happens.” She hadn’t talked to Simms since he’d called her Monday evening to ask if she wanted to go see Jersey Boys on Friday night. After their last date, they’d gone back to her apartment, and months of wondering what it would be like to kiss the man were finally answered. She hadn’t been disappointed. He was definitely in a league by himself, and if she weren’t such a control freak, she probably would have led him into her bedroom to test his other skills. She had wanted to, considered it, but she hadn’t, and this early on she was glad. That kind of intimacy changed relationships, sometimes for the better, sometimes not. She’d take her time to decide if Simms was worth the risk. Rick’s cell rang and he pulled it out of his pocket. He looked at the screen and then put it away without answering it. “I’ve got to roll.” He took a twenty from his wallet and laid it down on top of his check. Take Rachael’s out of that, too.” She looked at him, surprised. “You don’t need to do that, Rick.” “My pleasure, my treat. I enjoyed the company.” He gave Drew a parting glance and nodded. “Thanks. The stew was good; I’ll be back.” He slid off his stool and started toward the door. “See you around, Rachael.” “See ya.” Rachael watched him walk out and turn left, toward her street. Drew

cleaned the dirty dishes from the counter and put them into the wash bin. “Where’d you meet Rick?” “In front of my building when I was out walking Shelby. He said he’d just moved to the area and was trying to find a grocery store nearby. We exchanged a few words about the neighborhood, but that was about it. I felt a little guilty afterward, thought maybe he’d been trying to make a friend, and I sort of cut him off.” “You must not have been too rude. He seemed friendly enough tonight. In fact, I think you may have picked up yet another irer.” She frowned. “I don’t know about that. I think he was just trying to be friendly. It’s tough moving to a new place when you don’t know anyone.” “Careful, Blade, you’re showing your soft side.” “I’ll have to stop in next door when Miranda opens to see if she has a potion to help with that. In the meantime, I think I’ll have a glass of wine.” “The usual?” “Yep.” “An ye harm no one.” He smiled and gave her a wink. An ye harm no one. It was a nice thought, but what if you had no choice? What if you were defending yourself from being the one harmed? She knew damn well what she’d do, but she would call an ambulance afterward to assist anyone who messed with her. She wasn’t without mercy.

The fingerprints on the lighter he’d found in the park matched Anthony Parker, a thirty-eight-year-old male who’d recently moved to Philadelphia from New Jersey. On paper, the guy came across as your average Joe, a college professor, divorced, with nothing much in the way of run-ins with the legal system. He’d had a few traffic violations, mostly parking tickets, and an old arrest when he and some buddies had gotten busted for smoking pot at a college frat party. The way things were going that would be legal in several states soon. His most recent driver’s license photo portrayed a clean-cut man with curly dark hair and blue eyes. After college, he married, earned his doctorate, and landed a job teaching Marketing and Communications at Temple. He worked there for almost ten years, then had a ten month gap between leaving Temple and taking a job as a department head at a small college in New Jersey, where he’d been for the last three and which was listed as his current employment. His address of record was only a couple of blocks from where Rachael lived, less than a five minute walk to the park. Eugene rolled his chair away from the desk and angled it toward the window. He leaned back, crossed his ankle over his knee, and filtered through what he knew as fact. On the surface, nothing in Parker’s profile would have jumped out at him —nothing out of the ordinary, no red flags. His recent move to the same neighborhood and losing his lighter near a clump of bushes that afforded a protected view up to Gooding’s apartment windows could be nothing more than coincidence. He tapped his pencil against the legal pad he’d propped on his knee and gazed out the window through a haze of dust motes that had been exposed by a late afternoon sunbeam. He’d never been a big believer in coincidence. Leaning forward, he picked up his phone and placed a call to his sister. “Hey Josey, it’s Gene.” “As I live and breathe,” she said in an exaggerated tone he knew was solely for his benefit. “I do still recognize your voice, Gene, although you’ve been so

scarce the last few months, I’m not surprised you thought I might have forgotten what you sound like.” “Things have been a little crazy with work, but I do miss seeing you guys.” “Things are always a little crazy with work for you. And we miss you, too. The boys were just saying the other day they haven’t seen you since forever.” Gene smiled. “Since forever, huh?” “‘Since forever and ever,’ to quote Dillon.” “Well, I’m thinking of driving to Jersey Monday to check something out for a case. If you and the boys are going to be around, I thought I’d swing by for a visit afterward and take you to Applebee’s for dinner.” “They’d love that! We’d all love it.” After wrapping up the call, Gene spent some time going through the file on a double murder. It wasn’t one of his, but Jack Allen, the detective running the investigation, had run into a wall and asked if he’d take a look to see if a fresh set of eyes might pick up on something he’d missed. Gene didn’t mind, and aside from being a damn good detective, Jack was a friend, and they often discussed their cases with each other. A few minutes after four, he shut down his computer and got ready to leave. “You cuttin’ out early?” Baker asked him when he walked out of his office and slipped his coat on. “Don’t worry, kid.” Gene looked over at him. “You know how to reach me if anything comes up.” “Yeah, like needing help wiping his nose,” Rourke, one of the veterans cracked, and got a round of sniggers. “Kiss my ass,” Baker retorted. It had been a slow day and the guys were getting punchy. Gene checked his phone for messages, slipped it back into his pocket, and walked out, leaving

them to their banter. He had just over an hour to stop at home, grab a quick shower, and get to Rachael’s by five fifteen to pick her up for their date. They had five forty-five dinner reservations at Moriority’s, earlier than he was used to, but they were going to the seven-thirty show at the Forrest Theatre afterward, and that had been the latest guaranteed seating he could get, so it was what it was. With five minutes to spare, he drove up Rachael’s street just as a car exited a spot in front of her townhouse. Must be my lucky day. He backed in, got out of the car, and jogged up her front steps. The evening was off to a good start.

HE SAW THE old geezer coming up the sidewalk. He had one of those collapsible wire carts, filled with several bags, pulling it behind him. He stopped in the middle of the block and stood there, as if needing to catch his breath, body drooped, head hung, looking down at his feet. Oblivious. The man got up from the park bench and cut an angle across the street. He walked up the steps of Gooding’s building. In his peripheral vision he could see the man with the cart had started walking again. He waited until the old fart was within fifteen feet or so and then, for good measure, pretended to push the call button. He waited a few seconds before turning around and walking back down the steps. The elderly man seemed surprised to see someone standing in front of his doorway. “Can I help you?” His voice sounded thin and a little breathless, as if he had no energy left to waste on words. “Oh, hey, I was looking for Rachael. I was hoping to catch her at home and see if she wanted to go out for a bite to eat, but she isn’t answering her page.” The old man furrowed his brow. “Are you that new boyfriend of hers? The policeman?” “You must mean Simms. I think that’s what she told me his name was. No, I’m an old friend from college.” “Simms…yes, that sounds familiar.” The old man reached down into the cart and lifted out one of the bags. “You’re Mr. Whitcomb, right? Her neighbor.” He nudged his sunglasses up with his knuckle. Whitcomb looked at him, his expression one of confusion. “How do you know me? Have we met before?” “No, but Rachael mentioned you a couple of times. She’s very fond of you.” “She’s a good girl, that one, always checking on me, seeing if I need anything. Not too many young people want to bother with you when you get to be my age.” He set the bag down on the middle step and reached for another one.

“Let me help you with those bags, Mr. Whitcomb. I was going to wait out here for Rachael to show up, but I can carry your groceries up first.” The man adjusted his gloves then picked up the bag on the step and deposited it back into the cart. He collapsed the handle and lifted the cart like he would a box. Whitcomb looked unsure for a moment but then nodded. “I appreciate the offer, and since you’re a friend of Rachael’s, I guess it would be okay. Thank you, young man. I bought a little more at the store than I intended.” “No problem. You get the door; I can manage these.” The older man took hold of the handrail and climbed the steps. The younger one looked up and down the street. The only other people he saw were a woman putting a kid into a stroller near the end of the block and a teenage couple on the edge of the park, too absorbed in each other to notice or care about anything else. After Whitcomb locked the door behind them, the other man followed him up the stairs. He hadn’t expected it to be so easy to get into the building.

“I TOLD DREW we might drop by the Stomping Grounds if it wasn’t too late when we got back.” Rachael turned the collar of her coat up against the evening’s chill as they walked down the sidewalk, the sound of her heels clicking out a quick pace against the bricks. The closest parking spot they’d been able to find after getting back from the show had been two blocks away, and she was feeling the cold. “That’s fine with me. It’s down the next block, right?” “Yes, but I need to stop at home to take Shelby out first, and then we’ll bring him with us.” “Drew’s okay with that?” “He’s pet friendly, and Shelbs has better manners than some of his other regulars.” Simms grinned. “And you’re not biased at all.” “Of course not.” When they got to Rachael’s building, they saw a piece of yellow legal paper taped to the front door.

To all residents: Please DO NOT FORGET to lock this door on your way in or out. It was not locked when I got home tonight. This kind of carelessness affects all of us.

Thank you, Carl Burke

“Thank you, Carl Burke,” Rachael mimicked, after reading the note, and then pulled it off the door. “Does that happen often?” Simms asked.

“It’s the first time I know of for the door, but Burke puts out a building memo if someone drops a cookie crumb in the hall.” “He is right, though. If this door isn’t locked, anyone could roam in off the street.” Rachael rolled her eyes. “That’s true, and I’d agree with saying something if it had happened a few times, but it hasn’t. The guy just likes to spout off.” “You know him better than I do, but it is wise to be prudent about security.” She waved the note in front of him. “Do you also think it was prudent to post this on the outside of the door so anyone walking by could see that it was left unlocked, instead of taping it on the inside?” “No,” Simms agreed. “That was neither prudent nor very smart.” “It was stupid. I guarantee you he cared less about the door being unlocked than the opportunity to bitch about it.” As they walked up the stairs to the second floor they could hear Shelby’s muffled barking. Rachael started to jog up. “He probably heard my voice. He must really need to go outside; he usually doesn’t bark like that.” They were still a few feet from her apartment when Simms’s arm shot out in front of her, stopping her short. She darted him a look and picked up on his heightened awareness immediately. “What’s wrong?” “I think you’ve had a visitor.” He nodded toward the apartment. Rachael jerked her head in the opposite direction and saw her door stood slightly ajar. “I’m positive I locked up when we left.” “I that you did, too.” He took hold of her arm. “Look, it’s unlikely if someone broke in they would leave the door open if they were still inside, but stay here until I check it out.” “Like hell I will.” She tried to push around him, but he held her back. “Don’t get all Rambo on me.” He stared at her to make his point. “I doubt

they’re still here, but if they are they could have a gun.” She realized he was right. She didn’t have experience dealing with things like that; he did. If she charged in there ready to take the creep on, it could make the situation worse. She gave a reluctant nod. “Be careful.” He moved to the door, silent as a shadow, and inched it open; then, after a quick visual scan of the interior, he slipped inside. Rachael held her breath, listening for any sound that would indicate a struggle. It was difficult to hear much, though, over Shelby’s continued barking. Less than a minute after Simms went in, the dog came running out into the hallway. “Shelbs!” Rachael stooped down and scooped him up. “Thank God you’re okay.” The little thing whimpered and wiggled in her arms, noticeably agitated. “It’s okay, baby.” She hugged him closer, running her hand over his trembling head. The apartment door opened further, and Simms looked out from the opening. “It’s all clear in here.” Rachael rushed forward, anxious to discover whatever awaited her. Standing in the middle of her living room, her eyes darted around the apartment, to the coffee table, the kitchen island, the closed drawers of her treasured, shabby chic white weathered antique hutch. Nothing seemed amiss. There were no overturned photos, no crooked cushions, no papers flung around the room. She made for the open bedroom door and was greeted with the same thing—nothing unusual or out of place. Marching to her dresser, she pulled open the top drawer, home to all her intimate wear. It was a jumbled mess of silk and lace, the same condition as always. Unfortunately, if some pervert had broken in to get their jollies by stealing some of her bras and panties, she would be none the wiser. Spinning around, she took in her bed. It was made. The new blue and green paisley duvet she’d gotten from IKEA last month still nestled the double-layered feather comforter it had taken her over an hour to get tucked inside properly. No feathers had been ripped out by the slash of a blade to mar its inviting appeal.

There were no threatening messages written in blood across her headboard, only the dozen or so plush pillows she often propped against at night with a book when sleep eluded her. “Are you okay?” She turned to look at Simms, standing in the bedroom doorway. He regarded her with a look of concern, for her she could see, and it touched her. “It doesn’t look like anyone was here. Everything is just the way I left it. Maybe no one broke in. Maybe the door wasn’t fully closed when I locked it and it drifted back open.” Simms frowned. “You didn’t leave Shelby shut up in the bathroom, did you?” Rachael narrowed her eyes. “What! Someone locked him in the bathroom?” “That’s where I found him.” “Bastard! No wonder the poor thing was barking.” She held Shelby a little tighter. “If I find out who did this…urgh.” She growled then took a steadying breath. “No-good bastard.” He walked over and looked more closely at her door. “It’s been jimmied.” She straightened and her eyes went wide. “Mr. Whitcomb, my neighbor. He’s old and lives alone. If it was a robber, he might have tried to break into his apartment, too. We need to check on him!” She ran from the room and out into the hallway, Simms a breath behind her. Whitcomb’s door was closed. Rachael knocked but got no answer. She pressed her ear against the door but heard no sound within. She knocked again, more loudly. “Mr. Whitcomb, please come to the door. It’s Rachael.” It was almost ten o’clock. He might already be in bed, but she needed to make sure he was okay. He was probably fine, but if he wasn’t, it might be days, or weeks, before one of his daughters bothered to check on him.

AFTER A MINUTE or two with no response, Gene reached past Rachael and tried the doorknob. It turned freely. Rachael looked at him and shook her head. “He always keeps it locked.” That wasn’t a good omen, and his gut told him it wasn’t just a case of an old man forgetting to lock his apartment door. He put a hand on Rachael’s shoulder and held her to the side of the door to let her know he did not want her pushing inside. Her neighbor’s door hadn’t been jimmied like hers had, but that didn’t mean someone hadn’t gained entry into his apartment. Eugene saw who he assumed to be the neighbor almost immediately after stepping through the doorway. The elderly man lay crumpled on his left side in front of an island counter that separated the kitchen from the living room, much like the one in Rachael’s apartment. There was blood on the right side of his head. A wire cart rested at an angle on the floor next to him. A couple of bags had spilled out of the cart, their contents scattered nearby. He hurried forward and dropped to his haunches next to the body. “Oh my God!” Rachael cried out softly, coming up behind him. Gene looked over his shoulder and took in her look of horror. “He’s alive,” he said, and she breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “He’s got a nasty gash on his head that’s probably going to need stitches, but his pulse seems strong, and I don’t see any other obvious injuries.” She knelt down beside him as Gene pulled out his cell to call for an ambulance. Concern colored her expression, and she reached out and lightly touched the man’s chest, leaving her fingers to rest there, as if trying to let him know he wasn’t alone. “Why do you think he’s unconscious?” she asked after he’d placed the call. “I’m not sure. We’ll know more after he can be examined.” Gene stood up. “I’m going to take a quick look around. Try not to touch anything.”

“Okay.” Rachael sat back on her calves, her hand still planted on the man’s chest. “I’ll stay here with him in case he comes to.” Gene nodded. She looked like a worried mother fretting over one of her charges. The woman could be tough as nails, but when it came to those she cared about, she was all heart. He checked out the other rooms. Whitcomb’s apartment was slightly larger than Rachael’s, having two bedrooms instead of just the one, both of which had windows that looked out onto a small courtyard behind the townhouse. A brick wall surrounded the courtyard. In the center of the back wall was a tall wrought iron gate with access to a narrow alleyway that ran the length of the street. Both bedroom windows were still locked, so whoever attacked Whitcomb and broke into Rachael’s apartment hadn’t gained access from the rear, unless they’d done so through one of the first floor apartments. When he walked back into the living room, Rachael glanced over at him, a question in her eyes. “Nothing of note. I want to check on the other residents to see if anyone saw or heard anything. Will you be okay here alone for a few minutes?” “Of course I’ll be okay.” She looked at him as if he’d just insulted her. “Just checking. Coming home and finding your apartment was broken into and one of your neighbors was attacked can be a frightening experience.” “I’m not frightened, Simms, I’m pissed off. Don’t think I haven’t already considered the possibility whoever’s been spying on me is the same person who broke into my apartment. If I’m right, the scumbag made his first big mistake tonight.” “Which mistake would that be?” He wondered if she’d picked up something he’d missed. “For whatever reason, I’m the one he’s fixated on, but tonight he crossed the line. Because of me, somebody I care about got hurt, and nobody hurts my friends and gets away with it, not if I can help it. So when you find the bastard who did this, I want first dibs at teaching his sorry ass a lesson.”

Gene arched a brow at her. He didn’t have to stretch his imagination too far, given the right circumstance, to cast her in the role of vigilante. “When and if I find him, it’ll be my responsibility to ensure he’s entitled to the same rights of fair trial and sentencing as everyone else.” Her response was an eye roll. “Look, I’ve seen a lot of things that made me want to take the law into my own hands and beat the crap out of someone for their cruelties, so don’t think I don’t get it. I understand your anger, but don’t let it fuel your actions. I wouldn’t want to end up having to arrest you, too.” She looked down at Whitcomb and sniffed. Her emotions were raw right now, and of course she was upset, whether she wanted to it it or not. By tomorrow, after a good night’s sleep, they’d probably be a little more tempered. Hopefully, he wouldn’t have to worry about her doing something rash, and they could leave it at that. “Then you better hope you find him before I do.” From the firm set of her jaw it looked like she meant it. For everyone’s sake, they’d have to continue this conversation before he left tonight, before she did anything that could put her at risk. He left to check on the other residents. He was lucky to find someone home at each apartment, but not lucky enough to find anyone with information that might help. The only person who had anything to offer was Carl Burke in 1B, who said the front door of the building had been carelessly left unlocked by one of the other residents and that must be how the intruder got in. Gene had already determined the perp had come in through the front door, but he was inclined to disagree with Burke on how or why. Based on what he’d seen upstairs, he had his own theory about what happened. He’d have to wait until he could talk to Whitcomb to confirm it though. He heard the sirens as he was about to go back upstairs. He turned around and opened the front door to see the ambulance pulling up outside the building. The EMTs spotted him in the doorway and waved. “Is the patient mobile?” one of them yelled to him, and Gene gave a negative. They followed Gene up to the

apartment. Rachael stood up but hovered nearby as they checked Mr. Whitcomb over quickly to make sure there were no broken bones or other obvious injuries. “Be careful with him,” she instructed when they lifted her neighbor onto a stretcher, even though they were being exceptionally gentle and dealt with this kind of thing every day. Gene smiled. There was nothing amusing about the situation, but every time he saw this overprotective, mother hen side of her, it touched something in him. She was independent as hell…a lone she-wolf. And like a mother wolf would fight to the death for her cubs, he had a feeling Rachel would be just as fierce when it came to those she loved. “I’m going to ride with him in the ambulance,” she proclaimed as the EMTs loaded their patient into the vehicle. Gene threaded his fingers through hers and gently pulled her over to the side. “Let the medics take over now. He’s in good hands, and there’s nothing more you can do tonight.” “I don’t want him to be alone. I don’t want him to wake up and not know what’s happening. He might be confused, or afraid.” He squeezed her fingers. “He’ll be fine. He’s going to be in emergency for a while getting stitched up, and then in recovery, so it’s unlikely he’ll be waking up for some time. And besides, you’re not family, so they probably wouldn’t let you see him tonight anyway.” “How do they know I’m not his daughter?” He gave her a look and hiked his brows. “Don’t give me that look, Simms. I’m not interested in your moral crap. Telling the nurses I’m his daughter won’t change the course of world history or disrupt the natural order of things.” “No, but the truth is you’d be in the way, and there’s nothing you’re going to be able to do tonight anyway.” “You don’t know that.”

“I do. I’ve spent enough time in the ER. It’s best to let them do their work and stay out of the way as much as possible. Your spending the night pacing the waiting room just to end up pissed off because you spent the whole night pacing the waiting room and didn’t get to see him isn’t going to help anyone. Stay here, get some sleep, and go to the hospital in the morning. Whitcomb should be settled into a room by then, and you can spend the entire day with him if you want.” Her lips parted, as if she would retort, but no words came out. She looked away, swallowed, her breath coming out in slow, shallow drags. He felt her fingers slip out of his and she turned away, walked over to the sidewalk. Gene slipped his hands into his pockets and stood where he was, not quite sure of her changing mood. She climbed the front steps and then turned her head to look over her shoulder at him when she reached the landing. “You coming up?” He gave a single nod and followed in her footsteps as the ambulance pulled away.

THEY HAD BEEN back in her apartment for almost fifteen minutes. Gene was sitting on the couch, and she stood facing him in the slip of black seduction she’d worn to the play. The dress was made from some kind of stretchy, puckered material that mimicked her every move. It had tempted him all night. She had tempted him all night, but the break-in and finding her neighbor bleeding in his apartment didn’t exactly set the stage for a romantic evening. “Do you think I’m right?” She hooked her thumbs on her hips and eyed him as if he might disagree. “If someone has been watching you, yes, it could be the person who broke into your apartment and attacked your neighbor.” Eugene watched her closely. He didn’t expect she’d it it, but the night’s events had to make her feel vulnerable. “Don’t start getting all if on me. You told me I need to take things more seriously. Well, I’m taking them more seriously.” She frowned, her eyes darting to his then away. “Something else happened earlier this week. I was planning to tell you tonight, get your take on it, but with everything that happened I didn’t get a chance until now.” She started to pace. He leaned forward and threaded his hands together, resting them on his knees. “Whenever you’re ready.” She spun and stopped, facing him again, and he could see whatever it was had disturbed her. “Someone called me at my office one day this week and claimed to work for the transit authority.” She blew out a breath before continuing, as if it had been weighing on her. “He said someone had found my wallet and turned it in at the ticket booth—” Gene knew what was coming. “They didn’t have your wallet, did they?” She looked down at him and shook her head. He thought he caught a shadow of insecurity, the first he’d picked up on, flicker in those downcast eyes before she blinked it away. “No, it was in my purse.” “Did he offer to meet you somewhere to return it?” “At the ticket booth.” She confirmed his suspicion. “How’d you know?”

He reached up and rubbed his jaw, his concern for her escalating. “It’s not the first time I’ve run across it—different line, but similar scenario. Person gets a call someone found something that belongs to them. A wallet’s a common one because it contains so much of who we are and a lot of what we need to conduct our daily lives. It’s natural for people to immediately go to just wanting it back rather than questioning the validity of the call. They offer to meet the person somewhere to return it, usually with a short turnaround so their target doesn’t have too much time to think about it.” “Yeah, that fits.” She pushed her fingers through her hair. He wondered if she was thinking about what might have happened if she’d gone to meet the guy. He could give her a pretty good idea, but he thought she already had one, and after everything else that had happened tonight, he didn’t want to add to her worries. “Tell me what else happened.” Maybe the guy said something to give himself away. Rachael walked over and sat on the couch beside him. She filled him in on the rest. Fortunately her instincts had kicked in, and she’d checked her purse instead of rushing off to meet the guy. When she told him about calling the transit authority, he was glad to know the woman she’d spoken to recommended she call the police, instead of just telling her that wasn’t their procedure. Would she have told him otherwise? He’d like to believe she would have, but he couldn’t be sure. He frowned. She was too independent for her own good, and it worried him. “With everything that’s happened, I think you need to take extra precautions to protect yourself.” He took her hands. “I’m not trying to frighten you.” She started to object. “I know, I know. You’re not frightened, you’re pissed. That’s fine, be as angry as you want, but if all this is related then whoever is behind it is someone to be afraid of, because he’s already proven he’s not beyond hurting people.” Her eyelids fluttered downward but she held her tongue. “There’s nothing wrong with being afraid, Rachael. Fear can be a good thing, as long as you don’t let it incapacitate you.” He didn’t want her to start tuning him

out, a risk he suspected was real if he scratched the surface of her insecurities. He decided to move away from that line of discussion. “There are a couple of simple steps you can take to protect yourself.” He gave her several suggestions, pleased she didn’t argue with any of them. When he’d originally asked her out for tonight, he’d hoped they might reach another, more intimate, level in their relationship. Looking at her now, he knew better. The night had taken a toll on her, despite her denials. She might welcome his arms around her, an opportunity to be held, comforted, and to escape the ugliness that had invaded her world. He didn’t want her that way. He wanted her whole, strong, on equal ground. “It’s getting late. Why don’t I get out of here and let you get some rest.” He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and gave her a brief hug. She leaned into him, laying her head against his chest for a moment. He felt her nod against him. “I am a little tired.” Gene brought his other arm around her and held her another minute. He could be patient. He’d waited months to get this far; he could wait a little longer. She walked him to the door, her arm around his waist, and he knew he’d made the right decision to leave. She was more vulnerable right now than she realized. “I think it would be a good idea to install a keyless deadbolt. You can turn the latch on the inside to keep it locked when you’re home alone, but without a keyhole on the other side it’ll make it harder for anyone to get in.” She frowned up at him. “What good is that if I can’t lock it when I leave? They’d still be able to jimmy the door if they wanted to break in.” He pulled her to him. “Yes, but if they’re trying to get in while you’re home, it will keep them out or buy you time to call for help.” “I suppose. I could call someone next week to come put one in.” He rested his chin on her head. “I’ll come by tomorrow and do it.” “Such a strong sense of civic responsibility. Do you go out of your way for all your cases?”

“You’re not one of my cases.” “No, then what am I?” He ran a finger along her jaw, lifted her chin and looked down at her, capturing her gaze. “Never mind, I don’t want to know.” Despite her words, she pushed up on her toes and angled her head. “Kiss me goodnight, Simms.”

It didn’t surprise her to find Simms sitting at Mr. Whitcomb’s bedside when she walked into his hospital room the next morning. He’d been popping up everywhere she went lately: the restaurant, the auction, the park across from her apartment. He was like the persistent weed that kept coming back until you got tired of trying to eliminate it and just accepted its presence in the landscape of your life. It did surprise her, however, that he appeared to be out cold, and what finding him here, like this, did to her. She approached the bed silently, a barrage of conflicting emotions slamming into her as she glanced from one man to the other. Mr. Whitcomb seemed to be resting peacefully, but how much of that was the result of the meds? An IV dripped a clear liquid through the tube connected to the back of his hand, and a wide bandage covered the angry gash she’d seen on his head last night, a faint red blotch visible where it had bled through. Rachael fisted her hands at her sides. What kind of scum attacked a defenseless old man? Whoever it was, she’d been their target. She believed that. There were too many indicators pointing in her direction not to. Unfortunately, her neighbor had somehow gotten in the way, and the creep who’d been stalking her had hurt him. She couldn’t just accept that. She stopped next to the bed and covered Whitcomb’s hand with hers. He looked so frail. A surge of protectiveness washed through her. “Whoever hurt you won’t get away with it,” she promised him softly. “I won’t let them.” Rachael didn’t see, but sensed Simms stir in the chair behind her. She angled toward him and arched a brow. “Sleeping on the job, Detective?” The corners of her lips lifted into the barest of smiles, despite her mood. She enjoyed poking him. He didn’t take the bait. He was good at that. He straightened in the chair and glanced at Whitcomb. “He hasn’t woken up yet, so you didn’t miss anything.” “Well, hopefully, he didn’t wake up when he was alone and didn’t know what was going on.” “He didn’t. He’s been asleep since they brought him to the room.”

“How do you know? When did you get here anyway? Visiting hours just started.” “A while ago. I exercised police privilege.” Simms stood up, stretched his arms over his head and twisted to the left, then right. His white shirt stretched with him, pulled taut against his broad shoulders and chest, then relaxed again when he did. The shirt was wrinkled, as if he’d slept in it, and he was wearing the same pants he had on last night. Suspicions aroused, she narrowed her eyes. “Back up, Jack. Don’t tell me you’ve been here all night.” He stretched his neck to the side. “Okay.” “You have been.” She shook her head, not sure whether to be upset or not. “I don’t get you. You told me not to come because I’d just be in the way.” “You would have been. You would have been trying to intimidate the nurses for updates all night, accosting anyone in scrubs, probably even trying to bribe the cleaning staff to see what they could find out, and making a general nuisance of yourself.” She put her hands on her hips and glowered at him. “Do you prefer the hand gesture or a verbal response to that?” He laughed. “Not necessary. The daggers shooting from your eyes are enough.” “So explain to me why your coming here was okay, but my coming wasn’t? And you can leave out your opinion of me being a bothersome bitch this time. I get it, thanks.” He glanced sideways at her. She looked away, blinked back the vulnerability that came out of nowhere. She hated the lack of control she had around him…hated that his opinion mattered so much, and that apparently it amounted to so little. “Bad joke. I’m sorry.” She dropped her arms. “Forget it, it doesn’t matter.” “It does. I forget sometimes that you’re—” He hesitated and she could see him

trying to choose his words carefully. She didn’t think she wanted to hear them, didn’t want any more insight into what he thought of her right now. “Just answer my question, Simms,” she said, going for unfazed. “You were here all night because…” “In the event Whitcomb came to, I hoped to find out what happened before too much time ed. Obviously, that didn’t happen yet.” “Are you saying you were assigned this case? I’m surprised. I thought you mostly worked homicides.” Simms reached up and rubbed his chin. “Homicide and violent crime, but no, it’s not my case.” “Then what the hell—” she started, but he held up a hand to stop her. “I’ve got a vested interest!” He sounded slightly irritated and it caught her off guard, he was usually so unflappable. He pinned her with dark chocolate eyes, some emotion smoldering in them, but she was at a loss to label it. Anger, frustration…ion? She knew she should keep her mouth shut, but that didn’t come easy for her. No, she’d always excelled more at pushing the envelope. She’d never gotten a glimpse of this raw emotion in him. He was, if nothing else, so evenly tempered that it sometimes made her feel like a pool ball, taking shots and banking them right back. How could she not push back? “A vested interest?” she asked, slightly nervous, but much more intrigued. “Do enlighten me, Detective.” He rolled his jaw. Not a good sign, but interesting. “It’s Gene, Rachael, or Eugene, or an endearment of your choice.” He didn’t blink, and she couldn’t detect a trace of the humor she often saw in his beautiful eyes. “And if I have to spell it out for you, then you haven’t been paying much attention these last several months.” Rachael swallowed. ion. It had been ion, and maybe a little bit of anger with her for not putting more trust in him.

Damn, damn, damn. She did want him. She wanted to trust she’d become a much better judge of men than she’d once been. She wanted to let him in. Or she could refuse and end up the bitchy eighty-year-old woman at the nursing home whom nobody sat with at lunch because she was so miserable to be around. Alone.

A MOAN FROM the man in the bed beside them broke the tension. Rachael sat on the edge of the mattress and took her neighbor’s hand again. “Mr. Whitcomb, are you awake?” She kept her voice soft, not wanting to startle him. “It’s Rachael.” He seemed to struggle to raise his eyelids, as if they were anchored down with invisible weights, but slowly managed to drag them up. His pale blue eyes took a moment to focus before he looked at her. She stroked the back of his hand with her thumb, to offer some comfort, to give him time to get his bearings. His eyes widened and he sucked in a breath. He started coughing, wheezing a bit, and she patted his chest, tried to calm him. “It’s okay, breathe easy.” Simms poured some water from the pitcher on the bedside table and handed her the glass. Taking it, she helped her neighbor take a small sip, just enough, and then another as he regained his breath. Once he’d settled, she took his hand again and gave it a light squeeze. “Take a minute to relax, Mr. Whitcomb. You’re in the hospital right now, but you’re going to be okay. Everything will be okay.” She hoped she was right. She hadn’t talked to any of the doctors or nurses, but she would go on that premise. He sank back down into the pillow, turned his head toward her and then noticed Simms. His eyes wavered then came back to her. “This is Detective Simms. You don’t need to worry about him. He’s a friend. He was with me when we found you last night.” Simms pulled the chair closer to the bed and sat down. “How are you feeling, Mr. Whitcomb?” “I’m…not sure yet. Head’s a little…fuzzy. Sore, too.” He reached up and touched the bandage, then winced. “You got a nasty cut, but the doctors stitched you up and you should be good as new soon.” Simms leaned forward. “Do you what happened last night?”

“You don’t have to talk about that yet if you’re not up to it,” Rachael told him, and shot Simms a warning glance. Really? She said with her eyes. Is it too much to give him five or ten minutes to gather his wits? Oh yeah, forgot, cop. Story first. “I some,” her neighbor said on a thin voice. He drew his brow together. “Your friend, he… he said he’d take the groceries up.” Rachael and Simms looked at each other. “Whose friend?” She asked. Whitcomb blinked at her. “Yours, the one from college…the one who came to see you.” He took a few breaths before saying more. “He…he was there when I got back from the store.” She glanced at Simms, shook her head, clueless. She hadn’t been expecting anyone, and it had been ages since she’d talked to one of her college friends. “So you got home from the store and someone was there, a friend of Rachael’s.” Simms placed a quieting hand on her knee. She brushed it off, message clear. She’d let him finish. “Where was this man when you got there?” “Outside, on the steps.” His gaze shifted to her. “He’d rung you up but you weren’t there.” Whitcomb closed his eyes, scrunched them up, whether from pain or the effort to clear his mind, she wasn’t sure. “He knew who I was.” It took several minutes, but he gave them the rest of the story, what he could , right up until the point his attacker had forced him back into his apartment and hit him on the head with the grocery cart. “I’m so sorry.” Rachael leaned forward and planted a kiss on his cheek. “I can’t believe one of my friends could have done this, though.” She looked at Simms. “It doesn’t make any sense.” He leaned back in the chair and frowned. “You said the man carried the cart up to your apartment and then left. You went to lock your door and heard a noise in the hall. You thought Rachael had come home, but when you looked out, you saw the same man trying to force her door open.”

Whitcomb nodded. “Yes. And I didn’t think that was right.” “So you asked him what he was doing, and that’s when he forced you back into your apartment and hit you with the cart.” Again, Whitcomb confirmed the story. He gave Rachael a worried look. “I made a mistake, didn’t I? I shouldn’t have let him in, but I thought it would be okay since he was your friend.” “I don’t think he was a friend. I think he just said that to trick you because he wanted to get inside.” “I’m sorry.” Whitcomb looked down and his eyes filled. “He seemed nice. I thought—” “You don’t have to apologize. It’s not your fault. I’m the one who’s sorry. He took advantage of you, and you got hurt because of me. All that matters now is for you to get better.” “We’re going to try to find the man so he doesn’t hurt anyone else.” Simms gave him a minute to compose himself. “Can you anything about him that might help? Race, color of his hair, eyes, build, that kind of thing?” Whitcomb concentrated. “He was a white guy, I’m sure of that. Well, fair skinned, anyway. He was wearing sunglasses, though. A hat, too, dark color, maybe black, and a dark jacket. His hair might have been brown, but he had a hat on, so…” He reached up and rubbed his face. “I had to look up at him, so he was taller than me. Not too much though—average height, I guess.” He shook his head, looked frustrated in the ing. “I’m sorry. I don’t think I’m being much help.” Rachael ran a hand down his arm. “It’s all right. You’ve been a big help. And you’ve had quite an ordeal, so we don’t want to wear you out right now. If you something else when you’re feeling better, you can let us know. Right, Detective Simms?” Gene nodded. “Rachael’s right, Mr. Whitcomb. You should try to relax now. We can talk again later.” Rachael patted the man’s hand. “We’re going to go get some coffee now, let you

rest up a bit so you’ll be ready to face the nurses when they come in and start flirting with you.” She winked at him. “Are they pretty?” Whitcomb smiled for the first time since they’d arrived. “Pretty as a spring morning.” She caught Simms grin from the corner of her eye. “Okay then, you and…” Whitcomb looked at Simms. “Oh…Simms…you’re the new boyfriend.” He raised his finger and shook it. “She’s special, Rachael is. So you better be good to her or you’ll have to answer to me for it.” Rachael rolled her eyes. Oh Christ Jiminy Christmas, as if things weren’t complicated enough with the man. “I’ll be back in a little while, before they bring your lunch,” she told her neighbor, not sparing Simms a glance. She spun on her heels and walked out of the room. The detective followed. She just knew he was wearing one of those infuriating grins. Most likely, laughing behind her back.

“WIPE THE DAMN smirk from your face, Simms.” Eugene tried, he really did, but he couldn’t help himself. She’d told Whitcomb he was her new boyfriend. An interesting tidbit she’d do her best to deny, he knew. “Sorry, dear, just enjoying my elevated status. You didn’t have to be shy about telling me how you feel, though.” She jerked to a stop in the middle of the hallway. Her hands went to her hips, fisted there, eyes narrowed. A man taking his IV for a walk ed to their right. A nurse followed close behind, gave them a curious look. “Morning,” Gene said to the woman. She threw Rachael a cautious glance and then continued on. He looked back at the stewing storm and smiled. She glared. “I never told Mr. Whitcomb you were my boyfriend, so you can scratch my name off the list of hearts conquered. I don’t do boyfriends, Detective.” “You’re pissed, so I’ll let that slip, although I can’t understand why it’s so difficult for you to my name. You’re not a stupid woman.” “Eugeeene,” she purred, dragging it out. She reached out and laid her palm against the side of his face. Heat sizzled where the soft pads of her fingertips slid over the day-old growth on his cheek. She smiled—slow, sexy, dangerous. “Bite me,” she whispered. And damn if he wasn’t tempted. Right there. In the middle of the hallway. With the man in 214 cursing and yelling out to whoever walked by that his goddamn eggs were overcooked again. “Tonight,” he said, and she growled at him. It shouldn’t have turned him on, but as growls went, hers was pretty sexy. And although he’d been pissed when she refused to it he had a right to be there, to be concerned about her, that they’d started something between them whether she wanted to it it or not and that damn well gave him some rights, he’d let it go pretty quickly. Watching her hover over Whitcomb, full of concern, filled with gentleness, he hadn’t been able to hold onto the mad. Now she was back to her prickly self because, despite it all, she cared about him, too. He fought back a grin.

She stomped off toward the elevator. “I need a cup of coffee,” she threw over her shoulder. “And in case you forgot, a crime’s been committed. One I intend to get to the bottom of before that creep hurts any more of my friends.” He found her in the cafeteria fifteen minutes later, staring out one of the large windows that marched down the side wall. He grabbed a cup of coffee and ed her there. “I talked to Whitcomb’s doctor a minute before I came down.” He watched her expression shift from pensive to concern. “He said he took a hard hit, but aside from a scar he shouldn’t have any lasting effects.” “Are you sure?” The worry in her voice touched him. She talked a tough game, but she was much more sensitive than she ever let on. “That’s what the doctor told me, so I’m inclined to believe him.” Relief washed over her, lifting some of the shadows that had dulled her beautiful eyes. He reached across the table and took her hand. She flinched, but he held on. “It’s not your fault.” She glanced away, back out the window. “He was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It happens.” “That doesn’t make it all right.” “No. It doesn’t. But it doesn’t make it your fault, either.” She looked back at him and sighed. “I know. I told myself that already. It doesn’t make me feel any less responsible. Not for the attack, I know that wasn’t my fault, but for trying to find out who’s behind it. To find out what they’re after and try to stop them before someone else gets hurt.” “You need to leave that up to me…to the police.” “But it’s not your case; you said so.” “I’m involved. And I will be. I told you I’ve got a vested interest.” He stepped out on a limb. “Whether you want me to or not, Rachael, I care about you, and I’ll do everything I can to find this guy and keep you safe.” He watched her struggle to accept the truth of it. She swallowed, looked back out

the window, and pursed her lips. Mulling, processing, dealing. Drawing in a breath, she faced him again. “Okay.” She hesitated, seemed to consider something else, looked back. “Just…okay.” “Oh my God! Rachael, you should have called me last night!” Abby Faraday stormed their table, dropped into the chair next to Rachael, and threw her arms around her. “I’ve been so worried about you!” “I’m fine,” Rachael assured her. “It was just a bit of a shock, and poor Mr. Whitcomb, you know. But I’m fine. You didn’t have to come.” “Of course I had to come!” Abby leaned back, her hands still holding Rachael’s shoulders. “I was going crazy not knowing if you were really okay or just didn’t want me to worry. Your message this morning was so sketchy.” She hugged her again for good measure. “And, oh God, Mr. Whitcomb, what happened to him? Is he going to be all right?” “Yes…yes. He’s a little battered up, but he’s going to be okay.” Abby’s husband walked up to the table a few seconds later. Gene greeted him with a nod. “Gage, have you eaten yet, or did Abby whisk you here before you had the chance?” “I’m lucky she let me finish dressing.” He rubbed his wife’s shoulder. “Do you feel better now that you’ve seen for yourself Rachael’s still in one piece?” He grinned down at Rachael. “You are still in one piece, I presume.” She looked down and then back up. “As far as I can tell, thank you.” Abby took Rachael’s hands. “Well, that’s a relief, but we still don’t know what the hell happened. Your message only said someone broke into your apartment last night and you were at the hospital with Mr. Whitcomb.” “Rachael and I can fill in the gaps,” Gene offered, “but why don’t we do it over some breakfast. I need some food, and I don’t think I’m the only one who could use a meal.” “I’m in.” Gage gave him two thumbs up. “We went to a French restaurant last night that Abby wanted to try. I think they measured the portions out with teaspoons. I don’t feel like I’ve eaten since lunch yesterday.”

“The food was delicious, though, you have to agree.” Gage snorted. “What there was of it.” Rachael stood up. “I could eat, too, but if it’s all the same to everyone, I’d rather walk across the street to the diner than eat heat lamp scrambled eggs.” “Let’s go then.” Abby got up and looped her arm through Rachael’s. The two of them set off toward the exit door, leaving Gene and Gage to follow. Gage raised a brow. “Shall we them?” Eugene extended an arm. “After you, my friend.”

The busy corner diner bustled, a steady stream of customers coming and going, tourists and locals alike, the groggy, the hungry, the lonely just wanting to be where others were. The four of them huddled over their booth table. The din of dishes being picked up and laid down, orders being called out, and the steady hum of a dozen other conversations swallowed their words into the mix to become indistinguishable to all but them. The scent of bacon sizzling on the grill and good, strong coffee in their cups made Rachael glad they’d opted to find their breakfast here rather than settle for hospital fare. She’d always loved diners. They reminded her of her youth, drives to the Jersey shore, which always included a stop at one. The sounds, the scents, the casual feel and energy of them were imprinted on her brain, as much a part of those halcyon days as the beach, the boardwalk, summer’s lazy comfort…good times, good memories. “Do you have any leads on this guy?” Gage asked. “Not a lot, not yet.” Simms took a sip of his coffee. “Hopefully, I’ll know more after tomorrow.” Leaving her reminiscence to lie in the sands of a time gone by, Rachael glanced over and caught his frown. She watched him for a few seconds, felt his avoidance. “What happens tomorrow?” He lifted a brow. “What’s that?” Nice try, she thought, but like he’d said earlier that morning, she wasn’t a stupid woman. He was holding back. “Don’t try to bullshit me. You said you’re hoping to know more after tomorrow, so what’s happening tomorrow that could be important?” He shook his head. “You’re reading too much into my words. Each day that es is a chance to gather information, go over what we know, get lucky and find a fingerprint, whatever.” He raised his cup again and looked at her over the rim. “So, of course, I hope to know more with each day that es.”

She looked across the table at Abby and rolled her eyes. “Men. They think a woman can’t tell when they’re not dealing straight with them.” “I always deal straight with you, Rachael.” She angled him a glance. “And you haven’t found any evidence you’re holding back on, nothing you suspect but haven’t shared?” “Nothing conclusive yet, nothing that ties anyone to last night.” His expression gave nothing away. Yet, she thought, but something…he had something. From what, or where, she could only wonder. Had he or one of the other investigators who combed the apartments last night found something? She’d let him off the hook for now, think on it, but this conversation wasn’t over. She had a right to know, and once they were alone she intended to find out what he had. The waitress arrived with their food. She set a plate of French toast, bacon, and fried potatoes down in front of Rachael. The others had all opted for various egg combos, but French toast was her go-to diner favorite. She drizzled maple syrup on top until it started to spill over the sides and form small, dipping pools of warm, amber ambrosia. Cutting into it, she speared a piece with her fork, dabbed it in extra syrup, and popped it into her mouth. Heaven on a plate. She closed her eyes and licked her lips. She was hungrier than she’d realized. When she opened them again, she caught Gene staring at her, his lips parted, fork suspended in midair. Desire burned in his gaze. The heat of it caught her off guard. Flames of want, need, raced through her, raw and unfiltered, shattering the delusion she could temper what raged between them. They would , soon, and it would be fierce, wild, a storm unleashed that would forever change who and what they were together. For better or worse, it would be. Gage cleared his throat, and she swung her head to look at him, still half-dazed. He politely tried to veil his amusement, but she saw it in his eyes, a spark of a smile, and realized he and Abby had both been witness to her lapse, to Gene’s. How long had they sat there staring at each other to the point of making it

obvious? She shifted, faced Abby, her forever friend, whose emerald greens sparkled with delight. She leaned into her corner of the booth, grinning broadly. Rachael gave her the stink eye, wagged her fork in the air in warning. Abby started laughing and Rachael narrowed her eyes further. Some BFF, taking pleasure in her downfall. Gage picked up his coffee cup and cleared his throat again. “Mind your manners, sweetheart.” “I always mind my manners, Gage.” Abby gave him a glowing smile from across the table, love in her eyes but meddling on her mind. “It’s just, the energy between you two, whew!” She looked from Gene to Rachael and shook her fingers in the air, as if extinguishing a flame. “Thank God you finally hooked up before one of you exploded.” Gene reached up and rubbed his chin. Rachael ground her teeth. Abby glanced between them again and then gaped. “What! Don’t tell me you haven’t…with all the heat you two throw off…I mean, not that it’s any of my business…except you know I love you both dearly, and… it’s so obvious you’re both—” “Abby,” Gage broke in. “You were right, it’s none of your business.” “Second that,” Rachael ground out. She was going to kill her best friend. Right after she went to the ladies’ room, released a very long stream of obscenities even she wouldn’t usually utter, and tried to pretend the last five minutes hadn’t happened. She slid toward Gage and nudged him with her elbow. “Would you excuse me? I need to go powder my nose.” He stood to let her out. “Oh, wait, I’ll come with you.” Abby grabbed her purse and scooted toward Gene. Rachael glanced over her shoulder. “If you do, I can’t be held responsible if you

don’t return in good health. Just saying.” Abby hesitated, looked up, considered her, smiled. “Okay.” As they started to walk away, she heard Gage say to Gene, “Sorry that was so awkward. Abby means well.” “She just calls it like she sees it,” Gene responded. And although Rachael wanted to bury her head in the sand, it was true. Their unrealized ion was beginning to consume them, and they were wearing their desire for each other like neon flashing signs.

HE CAME TO her apartment late that afternoon to install a deadbolt. She’d forgotten he’d offered. A vested interest—he’d told her he had one. Like it or not he cared about her, and she’d begun to feel it, beyond the physical chemistry. She just didn’t understand why. Why would he care, actually care about her as a person? She knew men were attracted to her physically, but she wasn’t sweet and kind and lovable, not what most men seemed to want in a woman. She didn’t think most people would choose any of those adjectives to describe her. Not that she was a bad person—she didn’t think that at all—but she certainly didn’t fall into the demure little woman category. She’d let him kiss her…okay, had demanded it. That had nothing to do with… caring, wasn’t motivation enough for a man to install a new deadbolt without being asked and without wanting thanks. “Thanks,” she said with genuine appreciation. And she did appreciate it. She just wasn’t used to being in the position to thank a man for something she wasn’t paying him to do. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded. “I’ll feel better knowing you have an extra level of security when you’re here alone.” She watched him put the hole cutter thing and other tools he’d brought with him back into a black plastic tool box. “Will you let me get you dinner?” She’d feel less indebted if she could pay him in some way. “Payback for the favor.” “No payback necessary. If you want to make dinner, though, I’m not one to turn down the offer of a home-cooked meal.” “Not make.” She laughed at the notion of cooking a meal for him. “After all, I offered because I want to show my gratitude, not give you indigestion or food poisoning. I was thinking the Stomping Grounds.” “Are you really that bad in the kitchen?” She grinned, put some spice into it. “Depends on what we’re talking about. If it involves cooking, the answer’s yes. If you had something else in mind, depends.” He started towards her, his warm chocolate eyes glowing, and heat raced through

her veins like lightning, quick as that. “I’m more interested in what you’ve got in mind.” He held her gaze, his holding both a question and a promise. She was more intrigued by the latter. Reaching out, she drew the nail of her index finger along his jaw, a light scratch, just enough to spark the sizzle. Dangerous…she was playing with fire again, but the light, the heat of the flame, drew her, and she longed to burn. It had been too long…too long. She could wait a couple of hours, just that and no more. She would prepare her mind, prepare her heart, and she would have no regret come the dawn. “Dinner. I’m interested in dinner.” She flicked him under the chin. “And then, I want dessert.” She stepped back, let her finger drop to his shoulder, run down over the contours of his chest. He didn’t move, just stood there letting her take the lead. Patient, always patient, always in control, but no, not completely. She’d felt the mad beat under her fingertip and knew it for what it was. She’d thrown him off his stride, too. Rachael smiled. She liked knowing she could. It wouldn’t be right that he could disrupt her peace of mind so easily if she weren’t able to reciprocate in turn. A short while later, they walked into the Stomping Ground, Pat Metheny fingering “Letter from Home” through the sound system’s speakers, and a smattering of familiar faces greeting her with a nod or hey Rach. They took a couple of stools at the counter, where Drew was talking to an attractive redhead she hadn’t seen before. “Hey you two.” He gave them a once-over and then said to Gene, “Looks like you ed the friend test.” Simms curled his lips into one of the amused, but all too sexy grins that could either infuriate her or make her toes curl. Her toes twitched. She wanted to lean sideways and nip that grin, taste it, run her tongue over the curve of it, and then turn it into something else entirely. Something hot and hungry. They both knew what she’d started back in her apartment. Dinner wasn’t just a thank you; it was foreplay. “This is Miranda.” Drew hitched his head toward the redhead sitting next to them. “She’s getting ready to open the shop next door.” He looked at Rachael. “I

told you about her, ?” but stopped short of saying, you know, the new witch on the block. “A pleasure.” Miranda leaned forward, reached beyond her and shook hands with Simms. “And you.” She smiled, warm, open, and Rachael picked up a good vibe from the woman immediately. Miranda took her hand as well, but when she did, her eyes flared and she drew in a quick breath. She may have imagined it, probably did, but Rachael thought she’d felt a pulse, something akin to a low-level shock when their fingers touched. Weird. “You have strength and intelligence,” Miranda said, as if she knew her and could make that determination. “It’s good; you’ll soon need both.” Considering everything that had happened recently, her words were disconcerting. She’d never given much thought to the supernatural, didn’t know if she believed in it or not, but the woman claimed to be a witch, and although she was inclined to brush it off, she had felt that strange energy there a second ago. “Drew told me you practice Wicca. I don’t know what I believe about that sort of thing, but you certainly got my attention with your comment.” Rachael tried to make light of it without sounding judgmental. “Do you have some kind of magic sight thing that showed you something bad in my future?” Miranda shook her head. “No, just...I know we’ve just met, and at the risk of losing a friend before I can make one, I feel a responsibility to tell you I sense danger around you. I only practice white magic, and although I’m a strong sensor, I can’t see into the future. My powers lie in a different direction.” She glanced around, took in the three people watching her. “I don’t want to frighten you, but there’s someone out there, someone who watches.” Miranda drew her brows together. “Even now…he watches, and he waits.” Rachael stared. This was bizarre. How could she know that? “Okay, wait a minute. I get it, Drew said something, right? He told you someone was stalking me.” “What the hell!” Drew burst out, and then glanced around the cafe. He lowered

his voice. “Someone’s been stalking you and you didn’t tell me?” Her eyes flicked to his, saw something that resembled hurt there, and realized her mistake. She hadn’t told him about any of it, hadn’t wanted him to worry about her if there was no real reason. There were already too many people doing that. “I was going to, after what happened last night, but…well…now you know.” “How long has this been going on?” “I don’t know, and stop looking so hurt. I didn’t half believe it myself until last night.” Drew frowned. “So what happened last night that you finally decided to let your friends know you were in danger?” “I didn’t think I was in any real danger, so stuff the guilt trip, Drew, or I might have to un-friend you.” “You’d never do that. Who else would feed you? And besides, I’m one of the few people who get you.” He did, and she appreciated him for it. “Yeah, you’re right. I’ll keep you on the people-I-like list. And I’ll tell you about last night in a minute, but first—” She swiveled on her stool to face Miranda. “How did you know? That someone’s been watching me.” “It was just there, when we touched. A negative energy, but it’s confusing.” She glanced at Simms. “You’re…you’re involved somehow, and closer to the source than you realize.” Rachael narrowed her eyes, her thoughts going back to their conversation that morning. “He’s a cop, Miranda. I don’t know if you picked up on that, you know, through your touch thing.” Miranda smiled softly. “No, it doesn’t necessarily work that way.” “But you picked up something. Like he knew something, had some evidence or a suspect, something, and whatever it is, he’s on the right track.” Rachael frowned

at Gene. That’s right, Detective, something you’re still hiding from me. She gave him a raised brow, to which he just shook his head. He’d been quiet, just taking things in, probably thought this entire conversation was nothing but a bunch of woo woo bunk. Rachael wasn’t so sure it wasn’t either, but the witch had called it, and she’d been pretty damn spot-on. “I can’t say.” Miranda picked up her wine glass and took a sip. “Maybe… although, it feels more like a connection…to someone you both know, but somehow, not. I’m sorry. I can’t make any clearer sense of it.” Drew eventually got the details of the break-in, the attack on Whitcomb, and the events leading up to them. He suggested instituting a neighborhood watch program, which Gene agreed couldn’t hurt, and offered to talk to anyone who wanted to get involved if Drew could coordinate a meeting. Drew said he’d put together a notice and volunteered the Stomping Ground as a meeting place. Miranda offered to help get the word out, distributing the notices to neighbors, and asking local shopkeepers to post a bulletin in their windows. They agreed on Wednesday night at seven, and when she and Simms left a half hour later, Rachael wasn’t surprised that Drew had roped them all into helping coordinate and hold a town watch meeting. She had no doubt he’d manage to recruit a good number of neighbors and merchants to the cause. She’d been a little hesitant to involve so many at first, but when she thought about Mr. Whitcomb, realized others could be at risk, she knew Drew was right. It wasn’t just about her. And whoever had been stalking her wasn’t the only bad guy out there. Having neighbors watching out for one another, keeping their eyes and ears open, it couldn’t hurt. Gene would talk about the kinds of things they should be aware of, safety, and setting parameters. He’d gone along with the idea, but she was convinced one of the main reasons he volunteered to come talk at the meeting was that he didn’t want them stirring up all the neighbors and having any of them trying to play cop. By the time they got to her apartment, she just wanted to push it all out of her mind for a while. She needed a respite, an escape, a way to release the stress and tension that had been building for weeks, despite her efforts to shake it off.

She turned the new deadbolt to lock it, and then faced Gene. “I don’t want to deal with anymore of this tonight.” He took a step toward her, and she draped her arms over his shoulders. She took in his face, the chiseled good looks, just rugged enough to keep it from being too pretty, just pretty enough to keep it from being too tough. And then there were those eyes—deep, rich and dark, as rich and dark as her favorite chocolate truffles and a hundred times more tempting. They seduced her, full of invitation, full of promise, and all she had to do to satisfy the aching need he stirred in her was to reach out. Just reach out. “Do you know what I could use right now?” He slipped his hands around her waist and drew her close. “I’m pretty sure I do.” “I don’t want any strings, Simms. There don’t need to be, but that doesn’t mean we can’t enjoy each other’s company. We’re both reasonable adults.” “I won’t argue with that.” “You’re not going to disappoint me, are you?” “Only one way to find out.” “Okay then.” She took his hand and led him toward the bedroom. “It’s time we dealt with this distraction.”

FOR ALL THEIR urgency, they started out slow, undressing each other, layer by layer, appreciating each new revelation as it came—the lean muscle that rippled under her fingers, the delicate curve of her hips beneath his searching hands. They explored, satisfying their curiosity by degrees, heightening their desire by leaps, and then, slow and easy suddenly shifted gears. Need heated their skin, desire swept through their veins. The air around them began to pulse, echoing the pace of their hearts, a wild and pagan drumming that urged them on. They became the rhythm. They were the beat. They embraced it, racing toward the crescendo, toward the culmination of months of want, need, and desire too long denied, now unleashed. “I knew you would feel like silk.” He dragged his lips down the side of her neck, buried them in the curve at its base. Pleasure shivered through her body in waves. It washed over her until she thought she might drown in it, and still, she craved more. “Oh God,” she moaned, going under. His mouth was magic and she wanted to feel it everywhere, dragging her under its spell, hot on her skin, against her lips, tasting every dip and swell that wept for his attention. He backed her up against the bed, rested one knee on the edge of the mattress, and then took her down with him onto the thick cushion of her layered paisley duvet, the mountain of pillows that defied his understanding, and into each other’s arms. “Smooth,” she managed, as he half-covered her. “I try.” He angled his mouth across hers, drank her in, and she couldn’t help but wonder how many women he’d kissed to have become such a master. He was good, damn good, maybe in a league by himself. And regardless of what tomorrow brought, or the day after, or the week after that…tonight he was all hers, and she would enjoy every minute of him. She arched into him as his hands claimed her breasts. His thumbs circled her nipples, teasing them until she was ready to beg. He slid down to take one of them into his mouth, tugging and suckling while his talented fingers toyed with the other until she could bear no more.

“Please,” she gasped, lifting her hips against him. “Please.” Gene traced a hand over her stomach, down to the center of her desire. She rose against his palm, wet and warm. He slipped a finger into her heat, and her throbbing desire undid him. She thrashed beneath him, pleading for his touch, for all that he would do and give and take. He drove her higher, drunk on her need, driving her to the edge over and over, withdrawing just before she could fall, until she sobbed with want and he thought he would go crazy if he didn’t fill her. “Enough,” she cried out, and took hold of his head, pulling him up to her, faceto-face. “It’s payoff time, and it better be damn worth it, Simms, or I won’t forgive you for torturing me this way.” He rose above her, knowing he’d never forgive himself either, but he didn’t intend to let her down. Poised, he held steady a moment. “Look at me, Rachael. I’ve fantasized about this for months. I want you to be looking at me when the fantasy comes true.” She gave him a low growl and glared up at him. “Now, Simms,” she demanded, and he buried himself in her heat. The glare turned to shock, then to wonder as her eyes glazed over and filled with pleasure as they drove each other on. They flamed together, rising higher and hotter than any fire could sustain for long. They were an inferno, she fueling him, he fueling her, until neither could contain the inevitable explosion. They crashed in a heap of arms and legs, gasps and pants, atop the rumple of comforter and the few remaining pillows that had weathered the storm. Rachael sighed and Gene opened his eyes, looked at her. She turned her head, eyed him, too. A slow, sensual smile pulled her mouth into a delicious curl of pure feminine satisfaction. She reached up and touched the side of his face, as soft as a caress. “You’re forgiven.” He leaned toward her and brushed his lips across hers. “Hold me,” she said, and

he turned on his side, wrapped his arms around her and cradled her against him. Rachael closed her eyes. Yes, tonight he was all hers, and she would enjoy every minute of him.

HE WOKE SLOWLY, caught between a dog-dead sleep and the pleasurable reality of Rachael’s very lovely behind nestled against his stomach. Slivers of a sunny Sunday morning winked through the slats of the crisp white shutters covering her bedroom window. They offered more privacy than the sheers she had in her living room, but at least she’d added curtains over those that could be drawn at night so no one could see inside. He pushed the thought away, not wanting it to intrude on an otherwise perfect morning. He closed his eyes again and soaked her in—her feel, her scent—and thought about the night they’d just spent together. She had been more than he ever could have imagined, and he’d imagined a lot. He’d expected hot, and hungry, and satisfying beyond anything he’d ever known. He’d expected her to take her pleasure, without being shy or coy, and with no excuse. He hadn’t expected what she gave in return or the tenderness in her touch as they lay spent in each other’s arms after almost killing each other with the ion of their lovemaking. His stomach growled and he realized he was hungry. Starving, actually, and he wondered what a woman who said she didn’t cook might have in her kitchen that he could forage. Gene lifted up on one elbow so he could see Rachael’s face. She was still asleep, breathing deeply, as exotically beautiful in slumber as when she was awake. He slid backward, edging away from her so he didn’t wake her, and then slipped out of the bed. He picked up his boxers off the floor and pulled them on, and then going to her closet, found a robe that covered most of him. He left the room, closing the door without a sound behind him. Flipping the light on in the kitchen, he decided to search the refrigerator first. Half a carton of eggs, some milk, several containers of yogurt, a couple of Styrofoam take-away containers, and aside from a few condiments, that was about it. He pulled out the eggs, milk, and some butter, put them on the counter, and reached in for the two take-out containers.

One of them had some leftover pasta and a roll. He set it aside and opened the other one. There was half of a baked potato and a good portion of steak. He lifted the container to his nose and sniffed. It smelled fine. He put the pasta back in the refrigerator and started looking for what else he might be able to use. After a few more minutes, he had the makings for a pretty decent breakfast, and unlike his hostess, he had enough skill in a kitchen to put it together. Probably came from growing up in a house full of women. He smiled to himself as he cut several thick wedges of bread from a baguette he’d found next to a bowl of fruit on the counter, and then he started whipping some milk into the eggs. He’d been at it for about ten minutes when he heard the bedroom door open and glanced over his shoulder to see Rachael shuffle out in a Temple T-shirt that barely covered her clearly naked ass, and a pair of red feather flip-flop slippers. “You’re still here,” she said matter-of-factly, but gave him a grin that was half you know I gotta yank your chain and half damn good night had by all. She sat down on one of the island stools and propped her chin in her hands. “Smells good. What are you whipping up there, Emeril?” “Stuffed French toast with a side of steak and potatoes.” He gave the toast a flip. “Hope you don’t mind I made myself at home in your kitchen.” She laughed. “I let you make yourself at home in my bed last night with me in it. You want to whip us up a magical gourmet breakfast this morning, from nonexistent ingredients in my kitchen, you won’t hear any complaints from these lips.” He glanced over his shoulder. “I figured we needed to eat, and I thought I’d surprise you with breakfast in bed, but, here you are.” “Nice thought, but I’m kind of getting a kick out of watching you putter around my kitchen. It’s so…domestic of you.” Her eyes roamed down the length of him and she grinned wickedly. “And just saying, I’ve got some adorable bunny slippers that are the perfect shade of pink for that floral robe.” Gene turned to model it for her and saw her pick up her cell phone. “Don’t even think about it. Take a picture and your breakfast goes into the

trash.” “You wouldn’t.” “Try me.” She put the phone down. “Damn. And you look so sexy!” “Yeah.” He grinned back at her. “I know, but it’s that other thing I’m worried about.” She cocked her head. “What?” “It’s called blackmail.” “Are you worried I’d hold it over you? Use it to make you satisfy all my lusty demands? Turn you into my love slave?” “If I believed that, I’d be up on the countertop posing and dancing for you.” She laughed, sultry and rich, and then combed her fingers through her sleeprumpled hair, pushing it back. It fell in silken waves around her. If he wasn’t so damn hungry, he’d let breakfast burn and take her back to bed. Then he reminded himself he was merely a man, not a superhero, and there was no way he’d have enough stamina for a second round if he didn’t eat something first. “I don’t smell coffee. Did you make coffee?” She looked hopeful. “Couldn’t find any.” He’d love a cup himself, but he’d searched all her cabinets, and although she had one of those fancy machines that looked like it could brew everything from espresso to foaming cups of cappuccino and latte sitting on the counter, he hadn’t been able to find the one ingredient needed to kick-start the day. Rachael slid off the stool and padded around the island, the feathers on her slippers taking flight with each step she took and then floating back down in a mound of airy red fluff. “The beans are already in the machine.” She stopped beside the counter and pressed a button on the coffeemaker. It whirred into action, the scent of freshly

ground coffee hitting him almost instantly, and he breathed it in. She reached into the cupboard above it and pulled down two oversized cherryred mugs. Placing one under the machine, she pressed another button, and steaming, dark coffee streamed into the cup, topped off with a delicate froth. She picked it up, handed it to him, and then made a second cup, all in about three minutes. Gene took a sip, closed his eyes, and sighed. “This is some damn good coffee. I’ve got to get me one of those.” Smiling, she looked at him over the rim of her cup and then took a sip. “Drew hooked me up with it. It’s the same kind he uses at the Stomping Ground. I told him I wanted one, but they’re pretty expensive, so he got it for me at wholesale.” “It’s nice to know people,” he said, savoring the perfectly brewed cup. “If you’re serious, I’ll ask him to order you one. He’ll only charge you his cost, about three fifty, but you’ll still be saving several hundreds.” “Holy hell.” Gene practically choked on the coffee he’d just begun to swallow. “I think I paid thirty bucks for the pot I’ve got now.” “Does it taste anything like this?” “After waking up and drinking this, it’s probably going to taste more like downing a cup of motor oil tomorrow morning.” He took another sip of the heaven in his cup and sighed. “How long do you think it would take for him to get one in?” Rachael chuckled. “I’ll give him a call in a bit. If he puts in the order tomorrow, he’ll probably have it by the end of the week.” She took her coffee over to the island and sat back down. “Trust me, you won’t regret it. There are just some things a person shouldn’t settle for. Good coffee is one of them.” When breakfast was ready, Rachael set out placemats, napkins, plates, and silverware on the island, and Gene plated the food. “It looks amazing. I can’t believe you whipped this all up from stuff I had here. I didn’t even know I had stuff.”

“You had stuff, not much, but some. It’s more a matter of knowing what to do with the stuff you have.” She cut into the fruit stuffed French toast and took a bite. “Damn.” She licked her lips. “This is nothing short of orgasmic!” He swallowed the bite he’d been chewing and speared another. “That’s what I aim for, an orgasm in every room.” She let out a burst of laughter and then punched him in the arm. “Oh. What? Did I say that?” He leaned in close and nipped her ear. “Stop that. You’re going to get syrup in my hair.” She elbowed him away. “Speaking of which, where did this syrup come from? I know I didn’t have any; I never buy it. Why would I when I don’t cook?” “I made it.” She gaped at him and then twirled her fork in the puddle on her plate. “You made this? You found more miracle ingredients in my kitchen and just whipped up a batch of golden goodness out of…stuff and things? Wait. Don’t tell me— you’re a witch, too. Jesus, they’re popping up everywhere.” “It’s a lot less complicated than witchcraft. Some butter, a little sugar—brown or white, you only had white—and a little water. Normally I’d add a splash of vanilla, but I couldn’t find any, so I added a splash of your rum. Heat it up, just enough so the sugar isn’t gritty but before it caramelizes too much, and you have able syrup.” “This, sir,” she said as she dabbed another bite of toast in the syrup and lifted it to her mouth, “is liquid deliciousness, and if you’d teach me how to make it, I’ll owe you one.” He thought for a moment. “What’s it worth to you?” She slid off her stool and, swiveling his so he faced her, moved between his knees. Leaning forward, she took his bottom lip in her teeth and nipped him gently before tracing the inside of his mouth with her tongue.

“Not counting the bathroom, there are three rooms in this apartment.” Her eyes sparkled, a combination of humor and wicked suggestion. “By my count, we’ve only had orgasmic experiences in two of them.” Eugene planted his feet on the floor and turned her toward the living room with the big cushy sofa taking center stage. He put his hands on her hips and gave her a little push. “It’s the robe, isn’t it? Makes me irresistible.” “Yeah.” She reached for the hem of her shirt and started to draw it up. “There’s just something about a man in a pink satin robe covered with roses. Gets me every time.”

RACHAEL TOOK SHELBY out for a walk around six thirty that evening. She’d hoped to get out with him before it got dark but had gotten distracted. She felt fabulous. Simms had seen to that. What a delicious specimen of male he was. She grinned, unable to stop her lips from expressing their own delight over the night past and the morning after. Her grin grew and she actually felt a shiver of delight in all the right places. Yep, she’d definitely been overdue. “Hey, Rachael, walk you down the block?” She jumped, startled to have someone come up beside her without noticing. She’d been so immersed in thoughts of Simms her feet had just switched to autopilot and were taking her on her usual route around the block without any conscious thought to guide them. “Oh, hey, Rick. I didn’t see you. I was caught up in my thoughts.” “I hope I didn’t startle you.” “No, it’s okay. Where are you headed?” “Thought I’d check out the soup of the day at Drew’s place. I was in there on Friday and we got to talking. I mentioned I was a big soup fan, and he asked what my favorite was. When I told him it was chicken corn chowder, he said he’d make some this weekend.” Rachael chuckled. “That’s our Drew.” “I like him; he seems like a good guy.” “He is.” As they walked down the street, she realized she hadn’t eaten yet either, and Drew’s corn chowder was one of her favorites. “You know, I think I’ll you. I’d much rather spend the evening with friends enjoying good food than sitting home alone tonight.” He gave her a smile that reached clear up to his gorgeous blue eyes. “I’d be happy for the company.”

“Me, too. I’m glad I ran into you.” She looped her arm through his, and they continued like that all the way to the Stomping Ground. Drew looked up from clearing a table when they entered. “You two look like you’re up to no good tonight.” “There’s a rumor on the street you’ve got a pot of corn chowder simmering in the kitchen.” “I do, and as I’m getting pretty hungry, and I have no other customers at the moment, I think I’ll sit down and enjoy a bowl with you.” Rachael and Rick settled down at a table, and a few minutes later Drew came out of the kitchen carrying a tray with three steaming bowls of chowder and a basket of corn bread. Rachael picked up her spoon and gave a contented sigh. It was nice to have an impromptu dinner with friends. The weekend hadn’t started off very well, but it had redeemed itself. It most certainly had redeemed itself.

Abby looked at Rachael the following Tuesday evening as they sat at their favorite table at the Westville Café. They’d been meeting there every week for dinner for the last few years. After Abby and Gage got married, their Tuesday night out was sometimes the only time the two friends could catch up face-toface, so it had become sacred. She cocked her head. “You’re glowing,” she said, and took a sip of her wine. Rachael lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “What can I say? Unrestrained hot sex has that effect on me.” Abby started to cough. “God, Rach! Wait until I have a mouth full of wine to drop that on me. You’re lucky you didn’t just get a wine facial.” She dabbed her mouth with her napkin. “And now I want details.” She grinned, caught her bottom lip in her teeth, and wiggled her brows. “And don’t leave anything out.” “I’m not really one to kiss and tell.” Rachael leaned in over the table. “But, if anyone had sprayed an accelerant in my bedroom before we got home, it’s possible we would have blown up Philadelphia.” “Wow! That good, huh?” “And then some. Simms may rub me the wrong way sometimes, but the man knows his way around a woman.” “Okay, on a scale of one to ten, one being I slept through it, and ten being we woke up the dead.” “Really, Ab? Did I give you a sliding scale and ask you to rate Gage?” “No, but he’s a ten plus. If I were a screamer, we would have initiated a zombie apocalypse. I watched World War Z, so I know noise is supposed to attract them.” Rachael laughed, speared a bite of her salad. “I’ll have to take your word for it, and if that’s true, you better stock up on wooden stakes, or whatever else one uses to kill the undead, because Simms is definitely a ten plus, too, and I’m unashamedly a screamer.” Abby did a little dance in her chair. “I’m so happy for you, Rach. It’s so obvious

the two of you are attracted to each other.” “Oh, speaking of that, thanks a bucket load for pointing that out to everyone at the diner the other day.” “Consider it payback for the night Gage came over and you freed me up from a visit with your mom so he could come to my place the next day.” “Yeah well, lucky for you she never found out you’d committed her to a nursing home in the prime of her life.” “Makes us even in my book.” Abby picked up her wine and reached across the table to clink glasses with Rachael. “What are we toasting?” Abby gave her a conspiratorial grin. “Perfect tens.” Rachael tipped her glass. “I’ll drink to that.” They ed the next hour as women friends often do—chatting, gossiping, and enjoying the close companionship that women find so easy and men often have to work harder to achieve. “Oh, by the way,” Rachael said, “I met a witch the other night. Miranda—she’s opening a store next to the Stomping Ground. I liked her, but it was a little unsettling.” “Are we talking figuratively here, or does she really think she’s a wand-waving, spell-casting witch?” “The real deal. She’s a card-carrying Wicca. I guess you could say they’re the good guys of the witch world.” “And harm no one.” “Yeah, that’s them.” Rachael took a deep breath. “I gotta tell ya, Ab, this whole witch thing is foreign to me. I’m not saying I believe any of it, but the woman’s

got something going on. She knew someone’s been watching me, and when she shook my hand, I felt a buzz.” Abby frowned. “What do you mean by a buzz?” “Like a tingling or a low-level shock. It’s hard to explain, but I swear I felt some kind of energy between us.” “What did Gene have to say about her?” “Not much. I think he’s reserving an opinion, but he didn’t warn me away from her, so I don’t think he perceives her to be dangerous.” Rachael crossed her legs and swung her foot back and forth. “She’s helping Drew coordinate a neighborhood watch meeting for tomorrow night. Simms is going to come. I think he wants to make sure we don’t unleash a group of well-intentioned vigilantes.” “Rach,” Abby said, making her pause in her train of thought. “Now that the two of you have done the deed, don’t you think you should start calling him by his name?” A smile tugged at her lips. He’d said the same thing Sunday afternoon as he was leaving. She’d just kissed him good-bye and gently pushed him out the door. The truth was she liked it, had gotten used to it. It was what came naturally to her tongue, what felt right to her. What difference did it make what she called him? “It’s how I think of him.” Abby narrowed her eyes. “You know what I think?” “Bated breath here, can’t you see?” Rachael sat back when the waitress stopped by with their check. Abby waited until they were alone again. “Commitment phobia.” Abby gave her a pointed look, as if that were the be-all answer. “Using a person’s name is a form of intimacy. Intimacy can lead to commitment, and you’re afraid of commitment.” “Thank you, Dr. Faraday, but you couldn’t be more wrong. First of all, I have nothing against commitment or intimacy. And secondly, Simms is his name— Eugene Simms—so I’m using his name.”

“You call him Detective a lot, too.” “So I do. He’s a detective. I don’t see anything derogatory in that. It’s not like I call him Mr. Murder Detective Simms, although technically that would be even more accurate.” Abby threw her hands up. “Fine. I can see I’m just wasting my breath. Call him what you will, but I think he’d appreciate if you used his first name once in a while.” “Point noted.” Rachael leaned back. “He did tell me I could come up with some other term of endearment.” Abby snorted and raised her glass of wine, took a sip. Rachael grinned across the distance at her. “Maybe I’ll start calling him hunka, hunka, burning love.” Abby choked on her laughter, barely catching the spray that shot from her mouth and into her napkin. “You did that on purpose,” she accused, wagging her index finger in the air. Rachael started to laugh. “Maybe.” She rocked her foot back and forth to the beat in her head and started to sing softly. “A hunka, hunka perfect ten, yeah, we’ve got some hunka hunka sexy men…”

THE NEIGHBORHOOD MEETING last night had gone better than he’d expected. Eugene poured his third cup of the morning from the department’s coffee pot, cringing a little at the bitterness, but needing the caffeine. She’d spoiled him, and once he got the high-end machine Drew had ordered for him, he ran the risk of becoming one of those coffee snobs who turned their noses up at anything not freshly ground and using words like crema, acidity, aroma, and earthy when describing his brew. He returned to his desk and did a couple of searches to see if he could turn up any additional information on the professor, Anthony Parker. He didn’t find anything new to add to what he already had. He’d gone to Jersey on Monday and managed to find Parker in the campus cafeteria, having lunch with a couple of coeds that Gene figured were his students. He had loaded up on some cafeteria fare and sat at the next table, facing Parker as the man ate and flirted with the young women. An hour of shadowing the guy turned up little, other than seeing what he looked like in person, and that he seemed to be well liked by his female students. Maybe a little too well liked. But the man hadn’t impressed him as being violent or aggressive. He knew better than most that kind of thing could be extremely difficult to judge just on appearance. Still, he had a keen gut, and although his gut told him the guy might be a little too friendly with some of the coeds, he was no Ted Bundy. Still, his lighter had turned up in the park, under a bush that provided convenient cover, and with a damn good view of Rachael’s apartment windows. There hadn’t been any other fingerprints but Parker’s on the lighter, so there was a high probability the man had been in that park at some point in time and lost it. If he’d been out there at night, he may have dropped it and not been able to find it in the dark, or even realized he’d lost it. So was Parker his guy? He was the right height and build to be the man he’d seen get up from the bench the night he’d followed Rachael home after the charity ball. Gene drummed his pencil against his legal pad. Why had he left Temple to teach at a small college in Southern Jersey? And what had he been doing in the ten

months in between? He clucked his tongue and then wrote four words down on the pad. Fired. Affair with student. “And bingo,” he said under his breath, thinking he’d probably hit the mark. He had no proof, just a guess, but after what he’d observed Monday, he’d probably be willing to put a few bucks down if he were a betting man. He pushed back from his desk with a sigh. He still had shit. If it were true Parker liked to screw around with the coeds, which at this point was conjecture, he might be guilty of being a scumbag, but not necessarily of attacking a frail old man or breaking into Rachael’s apartment. Gene leaned his head back against the chair rest and rubbed his eyes. He let his mind clear, and as it did he thought of Rachael and smiled. Rachael undressing him. Rachael standing in front of him in a black lace bra and thong. Rachael curled against him as she slept. Rachael walking out of her bedroom as he cooked breakfast in her kitchen, wearing nothing but a pair of red feather slippers and a Temple T-shirt. He started to massage his eyes and then froze. He bolted upright and grabbed his phone from the top of his desk. He glanced at his watch. She’d be at work, could be in a meeting or in conference. He brought up the keypad, typed in a text message rather than trying to call, and sent it off. Less than a minute later his phone pinged. She’d sent a one word response: Temple. He typed in another message. Need to talk. R U free tonight? Ping. Stomping Grounds 6:30? His fingers responded: C U then. Baker approached his desk with two large to-go cups and a bag that Gene knew held a half-dozen or so Krispy Kremes. His partner had made progress in the last few months but still had a long way to go to measure up. If he got rid of the attitude, which he seemed to be working on, and learned how to connect the dots a little better, he could make a decent detective one day.

“Do you have a few to go over the Diller case with me?” Gene eyed the two large cups and the white bag. “Depends. Were you going to try to bribe me with those?” Baker pulled out a chair and sat down. He slid one of the cups across the desk. “It’s worked in the past.” Gene hitched his head toward the paper sack. “What kind of doughnuts do you have in there?” “Two white, crème-filled, two glazed, and two chocolate-iced.” “What’s on your mind, kid?” Gene reached out and snagged the bag from his hand.

HE DIDN’T GET to the Stomping Grounds until almost 7:00. Rachael was sitting at a table near the counter with Miranda, the two of them laughing about something, when he walked in. She raised a hand when she saw him and waved him over. After greeting them both, Gene took off his jacket and hung it over the chair next to Rachael. “Something come up?” “Yeah, sorry I’m late. There was an accident on Market, and it snarled up several of the cross streets.” “No big. We ordered food, enough for all of us.” Rachael held up her glass of wine. “We’ve already got our drinks. I wasn’t sure what you’d be wanting, so you’ll need to take care of that yourself.” Gene bought a beer, spent a couple of minutes talking to Drew at the counter, and then ed the ladies back at their table. “So were you just curious, or did your text about where I went to college have something to do with why you wanted to talk?” Rachael asked in short order. “You the day after the charity ball, when we ran into each other on your way to the store?” “Yes. You saw that man on the bench the night before and said you’d wanted to come back in daylight to see if you could find anything. What does that have to do with me going to Temple?” “I didn’t tell you at the time because I didn’t see the need to, but I found a lighter near a clump of bushes not far from the bench. The bushes are almost directly across from your building, and they make a good screen for someone with a mind to spy on you or one of your neighbors without being seen.” “I knew you had something!” She crossed her arms and narrowed her eyes at him. “You didn’t see the need to tell me you found evidence that could identify whoever’s been stalking me? Don’t you think I have a right to know when you’ve got a suspect, Detective?”

“It’s Eugene, Rachael. And it’s not that cut and dry. We weren’t sure you actually had a stalker then, and even if we had been, the lighter could have belonged to anyone. We still don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with. We know someone broke into your apartment. Someone pretended to be a friend of yours and attacked your neighbor in order to do it. We don’t know who and we don’t know why.” “Okay, Simms, so you’re saying we know a whole lot of nothing about someone who’s up to something that we don’t have a clue about.” She shook her head and sighed, and he could feel her frustration. “Were you at least able to get a fingerprint or something from the lighter that could provide a lead?” “Yes.” He ignored her deliberate use of his surname. Another time. Her eyes sparked with interest and she leaned forward, propping her elbows on the table. “And?” “We were able to get a positive ID on a print. A search turned up the man’s address, employer, and a basic profile.” If Parker turned out to be their guy, she probably encountered him at Temple. She would have been a student during his tenure and likely had him for one of her marketing classes, possibly stayed in with him. Rachael was adamant none of her friends could have hurt Whitcomb or broken into her apartment, but it wasn’t uncommon for people to think they knew their friends better than they really did. “Before I tell you anything else, I want to stress that finding the man’s lighter doesn’t make him our guy. It merely makes him a person of interest. That said, there’s a good chance you know him, or did when you were at Temple.” She blinked a couple of times, as if the notion that she knew, perhaps had been friendly with her stalker, didn’t compute. “What? The guy was another student at the same time I attended?” “Not a student, a professor. His name’s Anthony Parker. He worked in the marketing department so you—” Her sharp inhale stopped him short. “No.” She shook her head back and forth, and her eyes widened as if hearing the name had stunned her. Miranda reached out and touched Rachael’s shoulder. “Are you okay?”

Rachael straightened in her chair and gave a tight nod. “I’m fine.” She darted a glance at him then away. She knew Parker; her reaction told him as much. She’d been caught with her guard down on something she didn’t feel comfortable about. Now she was fortifying, trying to come to with the information and decide how to handle it. “It has to be a coincidence.” She picked up her wine glass and downed her drink as if it were water. Fine, my ass. He tapped a finger against the side of his beer mug. Debating. Wondering how much to push. Miranda looked at him. Their eyes connected and she gave a slight shake of her head. He appreciated the woman’s take, but it didn’t take a witch to see Rachael had been upset when he’d said Parker’s name. Gene cleared his throat. “How did you know Parker?” A straightforward question to which he hoped she’d give a straightforward answer. Rachael waved a hand in the air, as if brushing off any importance. “I had him for a couple of classes.” She avoided looking at him. A clear indication from where he sat that she was withholding. “Just for the sake of assumption,” Gene said, noting the way her shoulders stiffened when he did. “If he has been the one stalking you, can you think of a reason why?” “No.” She hooked a strand of her hair and started twirling it around her fingers. He watched her, growing more certain by the second that whatever memories she had of her old college professor weren’t good. After what he’d observed Monday, maybe the guy had tried to get a little too friendly and Rachael had set him straight. She probably wouldn’t have been too gentle in the straightening, either. If he persisted, she may have reported him, and if so, it could have had something to do with why he left Temple. “What!” She demanded when he continued to study her. “I said, no! I haven’t seen Parker in, I don’t know, at least nine years, since graduation. And I seriously doubt…” She huffed and looked away again. “You seriously doubt what?” he asked, softening his tone. She was obviously upset by what he’d told her. He didn’t want to add to the stress she’d been under.

She tried to hide it, but he’d caught her in a few unguarded moments when she didn’t realize he’d been watching. It weighed a lot heavier on her than she wanted anyone to know. Rachael closed her eyes, sat quietly a moment, and sighed. “Okay look, I knew him, he was a popular teacher.” She pushed her hands through her hair, pulling it to one side. “We were on friendly at one point, but we…had a falling out about something.” She tightened her lips and glanced around the cafe. “He’s not the guy.” She looked at him, seemed confident in her assessment. “He wouldn’t attack Whitcomb, and he wouldn’t break into my apartment.” “You sound pretty sure about that.” She angled him a glance and snorted softly. “Oh, I am sure. The bastard wouldn’t have the balls.” Gene leaned back against his chair and crossed his legs. “Let’s forget about the attack and break-in for now and just consider that someone’s been watching you, maybe following you from time to time.” She sat forward, started to object. “Just hear me out. You can pick apart my supposition afterward if you want.” He waited for her to sit back again. “You said you haven’t seen him in years, so let me bring you up to date with what I found out about him. He left Temple and has been working at a small college in Jersey for the last few years. Public records show he got divorced about a year ago, and he’s currently living in the city. In fact, he’s only a couple of blocks from you.” Her mouth dropped but she promptly clamped it shut. Clearly that was news to her and none she was happy about. “Let’s say, for the sake of argument, he sees you walking in your neighborhood one evening and recognizes you as one of his old students, one he had a falling out with over something. He doesn’t approach you because, well, like you said, maybe he doesn’t have the balls.” He arched a brow at her, and she hiked her chin in response.

“But he’s curious. He follows you at a safe enough distance that you don’t notice him. He sees where you live. He crosses over to the park, and as he walks along the sidewalk, he looks over at your building and sees lights come on in the second floor windows. He watches a couple of minutes and sees you by one of them. Now he knows which apartment is yours.” She was holding her tongue, considering as he rolled out the scenario. He glanced at Miranda, who also listened attentively. It surprised him a little that they’d all taken her into their trust so quickly, but they had, and he was actually glad she was on their side. Who knew when they might need a charm or two? He continued to lay out possibilities, hoping Rachael would at least consider them, or when he finished, give him some good reasons to throw them out as unlikely. “For whatever reason, he comes back one or two nights and watches you in secret. He’s intrigued now. He can’t help himself. Maybe he’s become obsessed. He might feel like he has some kind of power over you, having access into your world without you knowing it.” “That just sounds sick,” she threw out. “Next you’re going to suggest he’s probably over there jacking off in the bushes.” Gene shrugged. “I’m just presenting a hypothesis. You said the man didn’t have the balls to attack Whitcomb or break into your apartment. There are always exceptions, but most Peeping Toms don’t have the confidence to do more than spy on their targets.” “Well someone sure as hell did! And your hypothesis about Parker is just…” She struggled for a word. “It’s just…I don’t know, maybe just too unbelievable to me. I can’t picture the person I knew hiding in a bush and getting his jollies peeking through my window.” “But what if Gene’s right?” Miranda shot him a glance. “People change, and he does have some physical proof that puts the man there, in that very spot.” Rachael frowned at her. “Are you going to tell me next that your witchy senses are all buzzing. What’s your magic ball saying? Ding, ding, ding, give the cop a prize?” Miranda looked down at her hands, and Gene gave Rachael a look of disapproval.

Rachael sighed and then took one of Miranda’s hands. “Stop picking at your fingers; you’ll make them bleed. Unless you need a few drops of blood to turn me into a roach or something for being such a jerk.” The other woman glanced back up at her and smiled softly. “I know you’re just upset. It’s okay. I just think there’s some logic to what he said. It has nothing to do with witchcraft.” “I am upset,” Rachael itted. “But no, it’s not okay. That was just nasty on my part and you didn’t deserve it. I’m sorry, Miranda.” “Apology accepted. I know you’re actually more open to the possibility of what I am than most people. And because you are, you should know you don’t need to worry.” Her lips quivered with an amused smile. “I don’t do roaches. I can’t make people into something they’re not. The closest I’ve ever come to that is making a flower bud open into full bloom.” Rachael laughed and gave her a hug. “I’m relieved to know it.” She tilted her head then, a curious light coming into her eyes. “Can you make fire? I’ve read most decent witches can, so, just curious.” Miranda hesitated. She looked around the cafe and then picked up the glass container that held a small tea light. She blew out the candle, put the holder back in its place on the table, and then looked between the two of them. “Watch the candle,” she told them. When they looked, she reached toward her wine glass, flicking her fingers open with a snap toward the center of the table as she did. A small flame uncurled along the wick to burn steadily. “Holy shit,” Rachael whispered in tandem with Gene’s, “No fucking way.” They sat in silence for several seconds, and he wondered if she was having the same problem believing what they’d just both seen with their own eyes. Miranda chuckled. “I don’t usually give demonstrations,” she said in a hushed tone, “but I trust the two of you to keep it to yourselves. More important, if you believe in me, there’s a chance you’ll trust me, too, and there may come a time when I might be able to help.” Gene was still trying to think of a logical explanation. A trick, an electrical lighter switch, something that would help him comprehend…something other

than magic. “I can’t freaking believe it,” Rachael said with a laugh, and when he looked over at her, she appeared to be delighted. “I’m friends with a slap-me-if-I’m-dreaming witch. My God, Miranda, you’re a real witch.” Their newest friend shrugged. “I’m not as much a rarity as you might think, and it’s not something I sought out or asked for. It’s just what I am.” She glanced between them again. “I hope it doesn’t change things with any of us. I don’t have many friends, and even though I haven’t known either of you or Drew very long, I’ve felt more accepted by the three of you than by anyone in a long time.” He decided not to ask how she did it, what the gimmick was, not after that, but witchcraft? Could he ever actually accept something so nebulous? “Of course it doesn’t change anything.” Rachael took Miranda’s hand and gave it a squeeze. “It only makes you that much more special.” She picked up her wine glass and held it to the other woman, only to realize it was empty. She frowned, then spying his beer, reached across the table, scooped up the bottle, and chinked it against Miranda’s upheld glass. “To friends,” Rachael toasted. “And to celebrating the gifts that make us each unique because it seems to me that’s its own kind of magic.” “Thank you.” Miranda and Rachael drank to the toast. Rachael gave him back his beer with a look of expectation. He tipped it toward them. “To friends.” He took a swig. “Now back to Miranda’s point about what evidence we have putting Parker in the park across from your apartment at some point.” He focused back on Rachael with a question. “Are you willing to accept the possibility that, for whatever reason, he might have been over there watching you on at least one occasion?” Her shoulders dropped and she nodded. “I suppose it would be foolish not to when your evidence suggests otherwise.” She looked at him thoughtfully and then asked, “What’s his address? You said he was living only a couple of blocks from me.”

A red light went off in his head. She wouldn’t like his answer.

Rachael finished buttoning up her white blouse and tucked it into her jeans. She took a dark blue hooded sweat jacket off its hanger and pulled that on over the blouse, zipping it three-quarters of the way up. She went into the bathroom and brushed her hair into a long ponytail, secured it with a band, and then pulled it through the hole in the back of a navy baseball cap with the iconic white Nike swoosh. She went into the kitchen, got a cup of coffee, and then sat down at the island and checked her phone for messages as she waited for eight o’clock to roll around. A few minutes later, when the big hand hit the twelve, she switched over to her list and called her boss. “Hey, Mike,” she said when he answered. “I need to work from home today. I’m not feeling so hot…nothing serious, the curse of being a female.” She knew just the mention of female problems would eliminate any questions that would require spinning a bigger tale. Mike was like a lot of men who equated a woman’s period with satanic possession. If they knew it was that time of month, they tiptoed around a woman and cast cautious glances as if she might come after them with a butcher knife if they looked crossways. She found it amusing, and although she didn’t suffer the side effects some women did, she wasn’t above using it to her advantage. She figured they set themselves up, and she wouldn’t ruin it for the rest of womankind by debunking the myth. Besides, she thought, dropping a brown sugar and cinnamon Pop Tart into the toaster, she hadn’t really lied. She didn’t actually say she was having her period. And she had every intention of working from home today. It just wasn’t the first thing on her to-do list. When the toaster beeped, she plucked the Pop Tart up and tossed it from hand to hand before tearing off a paper towel from the holder and wrapping it over the bottom of the pastry. Damn, it was hot. She’d gotten filling burn on more than one occasion, so she put it on the counter to cool a minute until she could eat it without risking a scorched tongue.

She logged onto her computer and pulled up the file where she’d saved the information she’d dug up last night. Thanks to the Internet there was more than one way to gather information about someone. She might not have access to the databases Simms did, but she hadn’t needed it to find out what she wanted to know. It had taken less than three clicks to find Parker’s Facebook profile. His picture had confirmed she was in the right place, and he didn’t have any security settings that prevented anyone who wanted, to view everything on it, including where he worked. She was still a little ticked with Simms for not giving her Parker’s address. Yeah, he was concerned about her safety. Yeah, it might turn out Parker had nothing to do with it. Blah, blah, blah. It was her damn stalker. She had a right to know. Besides, she knew a few things about the guy that Simms didn’t, and she was more than capable of dealing with him. Reading off the phone number in her file, she placed a quick call to the college he’d listed under works at, on his FB page. The woman who answered told her he wasn’t in yet and offered to transfer her to his voicemail. “No, that’s not necessary. Will he be in later today?” Rachael inquired pleasantly. “Let’s seeee,” the woman half-mumbled, and Rachael could hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background, as if she were looking something up on a computer. “Friday, Friday, Friday,” the mumbling continued. “Okay, here it is. He’s got a nine-thirty class and another at one. If you want to try calling back after, say, ten forty-fiveish,” the woman suggested, “you might be able to catch him in his office.” “Okay, I’ll do that. Thanks for your help.” She gushed with exaggerated sweetness and then disconnected. She tested the Pop Tart, found it cool enough, and bit off a corner. She didn’t care what anyone else said, Pop Tarts were the bomb. They might not be able to compare to the breakfast Simms made last weekend, but what could? His cooking skills had surprised her. He’d surprised her, about a lot of things, and the more she discovered, the harder it was becoming to protect her heart.

She blew out a breath. She didn’t want to go there, think about that, have to make any decisions about what to do where he was concerned. She enjoyed his company, enjoyed his lovemaking, and as long as he didn’t rock the boat too much, she’d enjoy the ride. She did a quick cleanup in the kitchen, made her bed, and was out the door and on her way by nine thirty. She wouldn’t have to deal with the worst of the morning rush, and by the time she reached her destination he should just be getting out of his first class. She shook her head. It was so damn simple to find things out about people… scary simple. No wonder whoever had called her at the station that night had been able to get to her so easily. She should spend a little time this weekend upping the security settings on all her personal s and switching up her s. It wouldn’t stop someone at the station from giving out information about her, anymore than it had stopped the woman at the college, but it might keep her online persona a little more secure. Other than the stately pines and hollies softening the landscape, the majority of trees on campus were bare. The only ones that still had leaves were the oaks. Their dry, brown, papery fingers, shivering in the wind like aged parchment, would remain until new growth in spring finally forced them to let go. Lower growing hollies were interspersed with now-dormant rhododendron and boxwood along the brick walkways that crisscrossed their way around the grounds. She didn’t really care for boxwood, didn’t like their scent, but mixed in with the other bushes they formed a pleasing mix of greenery that added to the quaint feel of the campus, even on this cold November day. There were a fair number of students out and about, rushing between classes, stopping to chat with others they ed, to catch up, make weekend plans, or just shoot the breeze. She couldn’t help but feel a little nostalgia. She’d loved college, had excelled as a student and flourished in the idealistic, albeit sometimes naïve world of academia. It had been the world that first exposed her to and opened her eyes to so many other cultures, ideas, and an endless parade of possibilities. It had also been the world where she first fell in love, offered her heart, so full and open and young, and entrusted it in the hands of the man who broke it.

Rachael closed her eyes and took a steadying breath, not because she cared anymore. She was long ago over it, but it pissed her off whenever she thought about how easily she’d fallen for his bullshit. She’d given him almost two years of her life, only to find out the day she graduated that the bastard was married. She didn’t blame him entirely. If she hadn’t thought she was so mature, so worldly, and been less enthralled with the idea of being in a relationship with an older man, she might have realized their secret love affair was less about romance and more about him protecting his ass from the school board and his wife finding out he’d been screwing around with a student. She felt her blood begin to boil. No, she didn’t blame Anthony Parker entirely, but he’d damn well lied, manipulated, taken advantage of his position, and used her for his own selfish purposes. Simms had planted the seed in her head that Parker might be the one stalking her, so what was she supposed to do? Sit back quietly and wait for something else to happen? Forget that. The man made the mistake of messing with her once, when she was too young and stupid to know better. If he thought he could mess with her now and get away with it, she was about to give her old professor a lesson in ballbusting 101.

RACHAEL HAD HER answer the minute Parker looked up from his desk and saw her standing in the doorway of his office. Guilt wore a pasty shade of white. It bugged out in surprised eyes and hung dumbly on open lips that only seemed capable of mumbling single syllable sounds that failed to coalesce into a word. It wasn’t just the surprise of seeing her that had him stuttering her name, and they both knew it. He was so busted. She stepped into his office without waiting for an invitation and closed the door behind her with a solid click that made him blink. “Hello, Tony.” She pushed away from the door and walked slowly toward his desk, the sway of her ponytail swishing in rhythm to the solid, confident, clickpause-click, of her boot heels against the linoleum floor as she crossed it. He pushed his chair back, and she saw his eyes dart toward the door. Nervous little bastard. He started to stand, but she stopped him midway, not wanting to give him an inch of leverage. “Oh, please.” She tut-tutted and waved a hand in the air to negate his action. “Don’t get up. Your role here will simply be to answer a few questions, and then listen very carefully to what I’ll do to you if you dare to continue in your dirty little habit.” He dropped back into his seat, ran a finger along the inside of his shirt collar, as if it had just gotten a little tighter around his neck. Nervous little cowardly bastard. “Darling, it’s so…so good to see you. You…you look gorgeous! I don’t know what you’re talking about, but let’s—” “You dropped your lighter in the park, Tony, the one across the street from my apartment.” Yeah, that stopped him short. “Your fingerprints were all over it.” She slung a hand on her hip and arched her brows. “Voyeurism? Really? That’s pushing the scum barometer way past the slime bar even for you, don’t you think? Oh no, wait, you’ve already topped that level a few times.” He did stand up then, and held out his hands, eyes pleading with her. “It’s not what you think, Rachael.” He confirmed what his body language had already

told her. “Please, if you’ll give me a chance, I can explain everything.” Nervous little cowardly lying bastard. She sat on the edge of his desk, crossed her legs, and pinned him with a lethal glare. “You’ve got two minutes, and only because I’m dying to hear you try and squirm your way out of this one.” She glanced at her watch, tapped it, and then pointed at him. “Go.” About an hour and a half later, Rachael walked into one of the small cafes along the main street of the historic and quintessentially charming town of Haddonfield, New Jersey. The little South Jersey haven was known for its beautiful homes, tree-lined streets, and quaint downtown. It had always been one of her favorite places to spend a few hours, browsing the shops, exploring the lovely streets, or getting a cup of coffee at an outdoor cafe where she could sit and people watch. It was much too cold for dining alfresco today, but she had decided to stop for lunch on her way home as a reward for a job well done. So she’d made a detour and come to Haddonfield. It wasn’t too far out of her way, and she thought she deserved a special treat. She was proud of how she’d handled Anthony Bastard Parker. Damn proud. She asked to be seated at one of the window tables where she could watch the comings and goings as the world ed by. After placing her order, she considered how to tell Simms about her morning outing. She didn’t consider not telling him, and after what she’d learned, she thought sooner than later. He didn’t need the details of her past, just that Parker wouldn’t be bothering her anymore. She didn’t want to lie to Simms, so she’d keep him focused on what she considered the bigger issue. She sent Simms a text to see if he wanted to stop over after his shift. They’d made plans to go out Saturday evening, but she preferred not to wait until then to talk to him. He responded a few minutes later. Shift doesn’t end until eleven. Still want me? A grin tugged the corners of her mouth. Yeah, she still wanted him. She’d tell him about her visit with Parker, and because he wasn’t going to be happy with her for going to see him, she’d make it up to him after. She should stop at the store on her way home and pick up some food. If she was lucky, maybe he’d

make them breakfast again in the morning. She typed in a one word response. Yes.

What were you expecting?” Simms asked tightly, the muscle in his jaw twitching as he paced in front of her. “That I’d be okay with it? That I wouldn’t be upset you put yourself at risk?” He stopped and pinned her with stormy eyes. “Well sorry, sweetheart, but I am, because regardless of what you think, Rachael, you did. You can’t just back someone into a corner and accuse them of something, even if they’re guilty. Christ, especially if they’re guilty. What you did was foolish. Did you even stop to consider the risks?” That got her back up. She knew he’d be upset with her, but that wasn’t what bothered her. She didn’t like being called a fool. Not by anyone, and especially not by him. She didn’t know why that bothered her more than anything else he’d said, but it did…it did. It bothered and it hurt. Rachael put her hands on her hips and narrowed a defiant glare right back at him. “I knew what I was doing.” “No, you didn’t! You don’t know what he’s capable of.” “Yes, I do, and I wouldn’t have gone if I thought there was any danger.” “You had him for a couple of classes. That doesn’t make you an expert on his psyche.” “I know him a lot better than you,” she threw out defensively. “I knew I could handle him.” “Really? You know him so well you thought you could just waltz into his office, accuse him of stalking you, threaten him with consequences if he came anywhere near you again, and he’d apologize and leave you alone? End of story?” She narrowed her eyes again. “Since that’s basically what happened, then yes. I knew him well enough for that, didn’t I? And just for the record, Detective, I’m not a fool. I’m not stupid.” Simms sighed and shook his head. “I don’t think you’re stupid—far from it— and I never said you were a fool. I said what you did was foolish. That’s different, and it was.”

“Look, I don’t want to waste anymore time on Parker.” She’d revealed more than she wanted, gotten too defensive, and if she wasn’t more careful, it would lead to a discussion she didn’t want to have. “I handled it,” she said more softly. “You’re not happy about what I did. Okay, but it’s done, and I really don’t want to argue about it. I won’t go chasing after any bad guys again without giving you a headsup first. Can we just…not talk about him anymore?” She turned and walked into the kitchen and pulled a bottle of wine out of the refrigerator. He’d been there for over a half hour, and they hadn’t even talked about the break-in. It had gotten lost in the heat of too many words. She got a glass out of the cupboard and looked back at him over her shoulder. “You want some?” She held up the bottle. “Sure, why not.” He walked over to the island and sat down on one of the stools. “I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings. I’ve never taken you for a fool, Rachael, but smart people can do foolish things sometimes. We all do.” She poured the wine and carried it to the island, standing on the opposite side facing him. She handed him one of the glasses and took a sip of her own without responding. “I don’t want to have to worry about you doing something foolish because you have this need to handle everything yourself. I don’t want to worry you’ll get into a situation you can’t get yourself out of, get hurt.” He took a deep breath and tilted his head to look at her. “I apologize if that pisses you off, and don’t bother telling me not to worry. I do and I will. It’s not something I can just turn off when I care about someone.” She felt her eyes heat up and knew she had to change the subject or risk getting too emotional. She wasn’t opposed to him knowing she cared right back, but she didn’t want him to know how very vulnerable he could make her feel. “I appreciate your concern, so like I said, I won’t go chasing bad guys anymore on my own.” She chinked his glass. “Promise?” She gave him a half smile. “Yeah, I promise. And Simms?”

“What?” “I care, too.” He wiped the back of his hand across his brow. “Good. I hate traveling that road alone.” “I don’t want to get back into a discussion about Parker.” She’d keep that door closed. “But he was adamant about not having anything to do with the break-in.” “And you believe him?” “I do. I knew when he first tried to deny spying on me that he was lying, and I felt just as sure when he said he hadn’t broken in that he was telling the truth.” “Did you ask him about talking to Mr. Whitcomb or helping him with his groceries?” “No. I’d already decided he was telling me the truth about not having anything to do with that.” “Before you went to see Parker, I was planning to bring him in for questioning. I thought you could bring Whitcomb to the station, see if he recognized him.” “It was a good plan but no longer necessary, and I’m glad. I really wouldn’t want to drag poor Mr. Whitcomb into a police station after everything else.” “Okay. I think your instincts about Parker may be right anyway. I didn’t get the sense he was the violent type. I thought he seemed a little overly friendly with his female students, but that doesn’t mean he’s dangerous.” “No, just a scumbag.” She smirked, neither enlightening him nor confirming his suspicions of the man’s proclivities. “The guy Whitcomb let into the building said you were friends from college. That was why I focused closer on Parker after you confirmed going to Temple. It was a connection.” “Right, but it was just a line, something anyone might have thought of in the moment.”

“The bit about being friends from college, maybe, but he still knew your name. He knew you lived there, and not only that Whitcomb was your neighbor, but he knew his name as well. Whoever this guy is, he either knows you or has done some homework, and he used what he’d gathered to trick an old man into trusting him.” Rachael tugged on her lower lip as she thought about what he said. “I don’t understand why someone would want to break into my apartment and not take anything. I mean, I didn’t get why someone would be stalking me, either. At least with Parker, it turned out to be…” She thought about how to phrase her words. “I don’t know…someone I’d, well…had a run-in with. Not that it made it acceptable, but at least he had his own twisted reasons. At least there was a why.” “Can you think of anyone else, anyone at all who might have a grudge against you, would want to hurt or maybe just frighten you, teach you some kind of lesson? It could be someone in your past, who you went out with, crossed at some point…someone at work? Anyone who comes to mind, even if you think it’s a long shot?” She shook her head. “I can’t. Not that I haven’t had a few dates gone wrong, or pissed off my share of people. I seem to excel at that.” She saw his lips twitch and ignored it. “And I’ve known plenty of people who didn’t like me—not that I really care, to each his own—but I can’t think of anyone who ever made me feel threatened.” “Think on it. At this point, I feel like we’re operating in the dark. We’ve got no physical evidence from the break-in. Our only eyewitness can’t tell us what the guy looked like and can’t even tell us with any certainty what race he was. He said the person was wearing sunglasses and a hat. For all we know our guy could be a woman.” “I don’t think he’s a woman.” “I don’t either.” Simms pushed his fingers through his hair. “With Whitcomb being so unsure, though, anything’s possible.” Rachael could see his frustration and knew part of it grew out of concern for her. “Something will turn up. Something always does.” He gave her a doubtful look, and she realized the more time that ed, the less likely they’d stumble upon

anything new. “Let’s hope so, and soon.” “My bets are on you, Simms.” She put her wine glass down on the island and started to walk around the counter. Just as she did, she heard his phone ring, and in the distance, the sound of sirens.

“I’M IN THE area and on my way.” Gene grabbed his jacket off the back of the stool where he’d hung it and started to pull it on. “Who’s on the scene?” He switched his phone to the opposite ear, slipped in his other arm. “I’ll be there in under five.” He turned to Rachael, who’d followed him to the door, put his hands on her shoulders, and gave her a look he hoped conveyed his seriousness. “Lock the door behind me and don’t open it to anyone but me. Understand?” “What’s going on?” “There’s been an attack in the park across the street. I don’t have any more details than that. I’ll call you as soon as I can, but please, please stay here with the doors locked until you hear from me. You got it?” She nodded. “I get it, but—” “No buts, Rachael. I can’t be worrying about your safety right now. Just promise you’ll do that for me.” “Okay.” She agreed but he could see she wasn’t happy about it. “I’ve got to go.” He pulled open the door and started out. “Gene.” She stopped him for a second with a hand on his arm. He glanced over his shoulder and saw her swallow. “Be careful.” He gave a curt nod and took off at a run. When he got outside, there were already two black-and-whites on the scene. He jogged across the street where the first responders were taping off a large area of the park. He went over to the first officer he saw. “What do we have?” “Caucasian male, 35 to 40. Guy found the body and called it in about fifteen minutes ago. He’s over there if you want to talk to him.” The officer hitched his head in the direction of a man standing on the sidewalk with his dog. Gene

nodded and then walked over to the man. “I’m Detective Simms.” He shook the man’s hand. “I understand you found the body.” “Carl Reese. The other officer said you might want to talk to me when you got here.” “I would. Can you give me about ten minutes first, though?” “Yeah, sure.” Reese shifted from foot to foot, probably trying to stay warm, or maybe from nervous energy. “I don’t know how much help I’ll be, but I’m happy to tell you what I know.” Gene thanked the man and went into the park to where the body had been discovered. The victim lay crumpled on the ground, close to the same clump of bushes where Gene had found the lighter a couple of weeks earlier. He looked down on him and frowned. So much for assurances. He got down on his haunches and angled his head to take a closer look. A clean slit to the throat. The murderer probably came up from behind, and the vic never saw it coming.

BY THE TIME he finished up it was after one. Gene sent Rachael a text in the event she’d waited up. She responded immediately. I’m awake, come up to the apartment. He knocked on her door a few seconds after she’d buzzed him in. She yanked it open, her expression filled with worry. “Oh my God, what’s going on? All I could see for the last hour and a half were flashing lights and cops swarming the park. Are you okay?” She ran her hands down his arms and looked him over as if to make sure nothing was broken or bleeding. She’d told him she cared, but maybe the depth of her caring went deeper than he’d thought. “I’ve been a mess wondering what the hell was happening. I saw an ambulance, and it looked like they put someone in it. You seem okay. You are, right?” She pulled him into the room, pushing the door shut behind him. “I’m fine,” he assured her. He slipped off his coat and tossed it over the back of the couch, then slipped his arms around her and rested his chin on the top of her head. She was afraid, for him. Rachael molded against him as if she didn’t want him to let go, and something shifted inside him. She was in love with him. Somehow, somewhere, at some point in time over the last few weeks, he’d made her fall in love with him…and she probably didn’t even realize it yet. Gene held her a few moments longer as the thought settled in his brain. He was comfortable with it, more than she would be, but it wasn’t something he’d be bringing up, at least not tonight under the cloak of a murder investigation. She stirred and looked up. “So are you going to tell me what happened?” He eased her back and then let her go. “Do you mind if I make myself a drink first?” “That rough? Maybe I should have one, too.” He eyed her, silently wondering how she’d take the news, and gave a nod. “That might not be a bad idea.”

She followed him into the kitchen. He opened the cabinet where she kept the scotch and rum she’d stocked for when he was there. She got wine from the refrigerator and poured a glass. She was leaning against the counter facing him when he finished mixing his drink. “Well?” “Let’s sit down and I’ll fill you in.” He walked to the couch with her on his heels. Once they were seated, he set his drink on the trunk she used as a coffee table and faced her. “A man was murdered in the park tonight.” Her eyes went wide, and he waited for the initial shock of his statement to . “Murdered? That’s…crazy! I take Shelby out at night all the time. This neighborhood’s always been so safe, well, until recently anyway, and now…” She paused and shook her head. “Do you have any idea who he was, if he lived in the area?” Gene rolled his jaw then broke the news. “It was your old professor, Anthony Parker. He’s our dead guy.” “What!” She shot up off the couch and stared at him for several seconds, openmouthed, clearly shocked. “I can’t believe it!” She swung her head back and forth, as if she couldn’t accept the possibility. “Are you positive?” “Yes, there’s no doubt. It was Parker. It seems his assurance that he’d mend his ways was just a hollow promise. Too bad. If he’d done as you asked, he might still be alive.” Rachael turned away from him. Eugene got up, went to her, and pulled her back against his chest. He didn’t know what their disagreement had been about, but even if she hadn’t liked the man, murder was always unsettling, especially in this case since she’d just gone to see him that morning. Right now, though, he needed to find out anything she could tell him that might help them find his murderer. It was unclear if Parker was connected to anything else that had been happening. Had he just been a garden variety Peeping Tom who’d found the same convenient spot to spy on Rachael as whoever had broken into her apartment? Someone far more dangerous who came upon the professor

and decided he couldn’t afford any witnesses? He kissed her just above her ear. “I know you’re upset, but I need to ask you some questions about your old professor.” She stiffened immediately. “You might not want to talk about it, but right now you’re my best source for information. You either want to help me or you don’t, sweetheart.” He heard her swallow and then let out a sigh. She lifted his arms away from her waist and walked over to sit in the chair next to the couch, snagging her wine as she ed. She sat down, stiffer than a wad of week-old chewing gum, and although she lifted her face toward him, she kept her eyes at half-mast, staring at some unknown point on the floor. “What do you want to know?” Gene put his hands in his pockets. He needed to put his personal feelings aside and question her the same way he would anyone else, watching for the nuances that would tell him if she were leveling with him or not. He didn’t think she’d lie to him, but if there was something she didn’t want him to know, a surgeon wouldn’t be able to extract it from her. “Why don’t we start with what happened between the two of you when you were in college that caused your falling out?”

RACHAEL’S INSIDES SPUN like a tumble dryer, in danger of spinning out of control. Why was all this happening? What had Parker been doing in the park again tonight? And why the hell would someone kill him? Had her going to see him somehow contributed to his murder? She couldn’t make sense of any of it. And now this man that she was beginning to care way too much for wanted her to tell him about what had happened between her and her old professor. Her old lover. She cleared her throat, sought the words to tell him what he wanted to know without letting him see how badly her affair with Parker had broken her. How it had made her question the motives of every man she’d gone out with since, and taught her to protect her heart from ever being crushed again. “He saw me walking Shelby one day shortly after he moved to the city and recognized me. He said he wanted to approach me, make amends, but didn’t know if I’d be receptive. So he followed me, found out where I lived, and just started watching, trying to get a feel for what my situation was…if I was involved with anyone…that sort of thing.” “Okay, so he saw you and his curiosity was piqued. What did he want to make amends for?” She stretched her neck to the side. Just get it over with, she told herself. The end result would be whatever it would be whether she told him now or an hour from now. “We were lovers.” The words sounded hollow as they fell from her mouth, dead… as lifeless as the man they’d found lying across the street in the park. “We started seeing each other halfway through my junior year and continued until the day I graduated. I packed up my diploma, drove off campus, and out of his life. I never saw him again until yesterday morning.” Rachael looked over to where Gene now sat on the couch watching her steadily, assessing, his eyes narrowing as she knew he analyzed what she’d just told him. He gave nothing away. If her revelation surprised him, he didn’t let on. “A year and a half is a long time to be involved with someone and then end it so abruptly. What happened?”

She combed a hand through her hair, pushing it away from her forehead, and then shrugged. “We’d kept the affair a secret. He told me if anyone knew he was dating a student, it could cost him his job, so we couldn’t go public until after I graduated. When that time arrived, I suggested we move in together. Long story short, he said we couldn’t; he was already living with someone.” Gene continued to study her, and she felt as if he were trying to see right through her. “Who?” Rachael lifted her nose and sniffed. “His wife.” “Ah, Christ.” He looked down and shook his head before meeting her gaze again. “And the bastard never told you he was married, did he?” “No, that detail had conveniently for him, rather inconveniently for me, slipped his memory until I pushed him for a reason we couldn’t live together now that I’d graduated.” She put her hands on her knees and straightened her arms, locking her elbows. “I told him what I thought of him. He told me I was being childish and suggested that when I calmed down, we could kiss and make up, so to speak.” “Are you telling me he wanted you to keep seeing him, knowing he was married?” “Yep. I was naïve and foolish ever to have gotten involved with the man, but for him to think I’d continue our affair after I found out he had a wife told me he neither cared for, nor really knew me that well at all.” “I’m surprised you didn’t try to deck him.” She looked up at him and he smiled. He was trying to lighten her mood. His expression showed no judgment, and she silently thanked him for it. “I did. He wasn’t expecting it. I don’t know what story he cooked up to explain it, but his eye was already turning a pretty shade of violet when I walked out.” His grin warmed her insides. “That’s my girl. Never let the other guy leave a fight looking better than you.”

She harrumphed. “Look better than me? That would even be difficult for you, Simms, despite that pretty-boy face of yours.” Humor flashed in his eyes, but they turned serious again soon enough. “Parker got divorced before he moved. Do you think he thought you might be willing to take up with him again since he was unattached?” “So he said. He must have taken me for the world’s biggest fool. What woman in her right mind would get back together with a man who lied to her for almost two years?” She snorted. “Do I look that stupid to you?” He gave her a negative shake even though she hadn’t expected an answer. “The guy’s dead, so I probably shouldn’t be saying this, but he must have been losing it a little, or maybe he was always strange, and I just didn’t see it back then. He told me he was the one who put that picture of Shelby on my window several months ago.” Gene frowned. “Back up. What picture?” “I thought I told you about that. It was when you were looking into Dick Carpenter’s murder. Someone put a picture of a dog that looked like Shelby in a plastic bag and left it under my windshield wiper—no note, nothing, just the picture.” “Did he give any explanation as to why he did that?” “He thought it would remind me of him. He’d given Shelby to me as a birthday present my senior year. I think it deflated his ego a little when he asked me if the picture made me feel sentimental.” “Why, what did you tell him?” “I told him it didn’t inspire a single thought of him, just made me wonder if it were intended for someone else who’d know what it meant, or that it was a lame prank by one of my coworkers.” “Hmm.” He smirked, and Rachael guessed that putting a picture of someone’s dog under the car’s wiper didn’t impress him as a romantic gesture either. “When he denied involvement in the break-in, did he at any point try to defend

himself by shifting the focus to someone else, maybe mention he’d seen someone else hanging around?” “No, he didn’t.” Had he seen someone and thought nothing of it? “Do you think he’d seen the killer before?” Gene shrugged. “It’s possible. I think the murderer caught him unawares. That doesn’t mean they hadn’t noticed each other before, especially if they were both using the same spot to watch your apartment. Parker may even have said something or put himself in danger by checking the other guy out in a way that said I’ve seen you here before at some point. If we’re dealing with the same person who broke into your place and attacked Whitcomb, he might have viewed Parker as a loose end he needed to take care of.” Rachael covered her face with her hands and blew her breath out between her fingers. “Okay.” She dropped her hands and, leaning her head back, tried to gather her thoughts, pushing her emotions down to deal with at a later time, in private. “What happens now?” “The park’s been sealed off. It’s being swept for evidence right now and will be again when it’s light enough to find anything that might have been missed in the dark. Baker and I will canvas the neighborhood first thing in the morning to see if anyone saw or heard anything. The coroner’s report might tell us something, too. If the killer left anything behind, we’ll find it, and then we let the evidence tell us its story.” She sighed. “Sounds like the proverbial needle in the haystack if you ask me. If the person who killed Parker is the same one who’s been stalking me, I have a feeling he knows how to cover his tracks. He obviously knew how to do so in my apartment—and Mr. Whitcomb’s.” Rachael got up, walked to the window, and looked outside. A police car was stationed almost directly across from her building, one at each end of the block by the park entrances as well. Sentries in the night, she thought, even though the bad guy was probably long gone. The only ones they’d be keeping out now would be the curiosity seekers and dog walkers. Tomorrow it would be tourists and baby strollers. She turned her back on the night and let her eyes drift around the room, let them touch and rest on the things that had always given her comfort in the past. “What

if it’s not the same man?” “What do you mean?” “What if Parker’s murder is unrelated to anything else? He just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Maybe he stumbled into something he shouldn’t have, and it cost him his life.” “If you’re thinking illegal activity—drugs, gang activity—that kind of thing, I don’t think so. Nothing’s impossible, but we don’t really see much of that in this neighborhood.” Gene shook his head. “No, I don’t think we’re dealing with an outlier here. My gut tells me whoever attacked Whitcomb is the same person who killed Parker.” Gene stood up and rolled his neck, and as she watched him, she picked up on his exhaustion. “I think I need to talk to your neighbor again. I know you don’t want him upset anymore than he has been, but he may be the only lead we have.” Poor Mr. Whitcomb had been through enough, and she didn’t want him to feel bad that he couldn’t help them. Her first reaction was to object, but it was a knee jerk. Simms was right. Even if he’d been confused the last time they talked to him, he was a firsthand witness, and right now they had little else to go on. “I’ll go with you to see him tomorrow. Maybe enough time has ed since the attack that his head will be a little clearer, and he’ll something new.” She walked up to him, stopping just short of his chest. “I’m going to bed. I can’t do this anymore right now, and by the looks of it, neither should you.” She gazed up at him, searching the rich depths of his eyes, wondered at the things he hadn’t said, the questions he hadn’t asked. “Are you planning on staying over?” “If that’s an invitation, then yes, I’d like to.” “Good.” She took his hand and turned toward the bedroom. “It’s been a disturbing night. I’d rather not spend what’s left of it alone.”

THE COMFORT OF him, the warmth of him, the solidity of the man beside her, juxtaposed the tethers that unraveled even as she struggled to weave them tighter around her burgeoning emotions. Guilt, doubt, fear—they all reared within like a three-headed serpent, darting their forked tongues between the threads of reason and false bravado she’d tried to contain them with. Night’s darkness was a blessed thing when one needed its veil to cover the wrinkles left behind from a foolish past, even if that past had all seemed so perfect and right at the time. Unfortunately, retrospect was all too clear a magnifying glass, and not usually a friendly one in her experience. Rachael shivered, pulled the comforter up a little higher over both of them, and tried to hold her eyes closed in the hope sleep might look kindly upon her. Thank God she wasn’t a crier. She’d shed more tears after her college graduation than she would have thought a person had in them for a lifetime. Months later, when she’d finally forced herself to stop feeling sorry for herself and get the hell over it, she vowed she’d never let herself become so blindsided by a man again. If all she’d lost had been the man, she may have felt more inclined to teach Parker a lesson. She wouldn’t have told his wife or tried to ruin his marriage— she wasn’t that spiteful—but she might have let him believe she would. She’d lost so much more, though. Lost something she’d never even thought she wanted, at least not at that time in her life. She turned her cheek against the pillow and breathed in a deep breath. Night’s darkness was a horrid thing when one needed to escape the past. It dredged up memories of things one couldn’t change and echoes of things that weren’t meant to be. She mouthed a silent groan and opened her eyes. No, an active mind was not a healthy thing at three fifty-eight in the morning. It sucked. Rolling towards Simms, she rested her head on his chest, slid her arm across his waist. He reached for her, pulled her a little higher, and turned his head into hers, his breathing deep and steady, half-asleep, she thought, and wondered if he knew what he was doing or if his reaction was reflexive. They were two people taking what comfort they could get on a night when the monsters had come out of hiding and reminded them they were still out there,

waiting in the dark…still waiting, still watching, and willing to kill if someone got in their way. Whether it was the peace she finally found in his arms or sheer exhaustion overtaking her, Rachael slowly dozed off. She woke to an empty bed about three and a half hours later, not rested by any means, but knowing whatever sleep she’d managed to get was now behind her. Cocking her head, she listened a moment and heard the steady sound of water running in the bathroom. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Simms must be in the shower. She stuck her nose in the air and sniffed. No amazing smells coming from beyond her bedroom door that would indicate he’d whipped up another miraculous breakfast from whatever he was able to scrounge up in her kitchen. She never did make it to the grocery store yesterday, and hadn’t been since the last time he’d stayed over, so she was probably one up on Old Mother Hubbard right now. The familiar sound of a groaning pipe signaled he’d turned off the water. Rachael lifted her arms over her head, tried to stretch away the restless night’s stiffness before getting off the bed. She was sitting at her kitchen island sipping a cup of coffee when Simms came out of the bathroom about ten minutes later. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him a once-over, doing her best not to drool at the sight of him standing there looking at her, wearing nothing but one of her new, powder-blue, bamboo bath towels tucked around his waist. His feet were bare. His skin, still a little moist, looked warm and clean, and the thought crossed her mind that he was, undeniably, a beautiful man. It was beside the point that standing there right now, he looked more like a California surfer god who’d just emerged from the ocean, with his wet, sun-kissed hair falling over his forehead in tousled abandon, than a homicide detective. His eyes glowed as he watched her watching him walk toward her, and when she arched her brows at him, he grinned. It was crooked, and sexy, and told her he knew she wasn’t as immune to him as she would have him believe.

“You’re dripping on the hardwood.” He just grinned more, and she tracked him over the rim of her coffee cup as he came closer. When he stood in front of her, he took the cup from her hands and set it on the counter. Her pulse shifted into overdrive. He pulled her toward him until her feet touched the floor and she was leaning against his chest. He started trailing kisses down the side of her neck. She leaned her head back and sighed. “You do know how to stir up a girl’s appetite in the morning.” She lifted up, caught his mouth, feasted on it a moment. “Speaking of which…” She nibbled his lips. “I must need food. I’m feeling a little light-headed. Any chance you can work some of that culinary magic of yours again?” “It’s probably my kisses making you light-headed.” He tucked his chin and looked down at her, wiggled his brows. “Your kisses are nice, and very tempting, but I’m pretty sure the growling you hear coming from my stomach is a demand for sausage and eggs, not mindblowing sex.” She ran her tongue over his lips and winked. “Food first, mindblowing sex later.” He chuckled, straightening and letting her go as he stepped back and pushed his fingers through his still-damp hair, brushing it away from his forehead. “I already went through your kitchen before I got a shower, and I think our best option is breakfast out. I’m glad I impressed you with my cooking skills, but even I’m hard pressed to do much with a partial container of what looks to be leftover pork fried rice and half a pack of Pop Tarts.” “Another hero bites the dust.” Rachael shook her head and sighed. “I called Baker before I got in the shower and told him we’d start knocking on doors at ten, so that gives us a couple of hours to get some breakfast before I need to meet him in the park.” “Give me fifteen minutes to get ready.” She started to walk toward the bedroom. Halfway there she spun around. “Later…you know…you’re not going to try to cop out on the mind-blowing sex, too, are you?” His eyes burned into hers with the light of a promise. “I think I’ve got everything

I need to serve you up something satisfying in that area, sweetheart.” “Yeah.” She nodded and then continued across the room. Knowing he watched, she added some extra swing to her hips and then smiled back at him over her shoulder. “You do at that, Simms.”

WHEN THEY GOT back from breakfast, Gene saw Baker’s car parked along the opposite side of the street behind one of black-and-whites. “I see Baker’s here, so I won’t come back up right now. I’ll give you a call when we’re finishing up. In the meantime, maybe you can see if Whitcomb will talk to us again when I’m done.” He glanced over at her and saw she was frowning. “You have my sympathies. I’m sure when Detective Asshole finds out I live across the street, and that the victim was stalking me, I’ll become suspect numero uno.” Gene grimaced, knowing how Rachael felt about his partner. “He’s matured a little since your last encounter, and you don’t have to worry about him harassing you. I won’t let him waste time barking up that tree.” “Ha! Matured? Honey, wine matures. Men like Baker just turn into bigger assholes.” He didn’t blame her for the low opinion. Although he believed Baker had made improvements, he had been an asshole when he was dealing with Abby during Dick Carpenter’s murder investigation. Rachael would probably never forgive the guy for the way he’d treated her best friend. Even if she did decide to give Baker the benefit of the doubt, it wouldn’t come unless he proved to her that he’d earned a reevaluation. “Either way, he’s what I’ve got to work with.” Now wasn’t the time to enumerate Baker’s improvements. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour and a half. If something comes up, I’ll let you know.” Rachael smirked, some leftover attitude toward his partner. She looked toward the park, yellow police tape outlining the perimeter. She narrowed her eyes and tilted her chin up, and he imagined her thoughts were leaning toward justice and retribution. “I’ll go see if Mr. Whitcomb is up to talking to us when you get done knocking on doors.” She gave him a parting glance and went up the steps. He waited until she entered her building before he turned and jogged across the street.

WHEN EUGENE ROUNDED the corner from the stairwell on Rachael’s floor a short while later, she was standing in the doorway waiting for him. “Mr. Whitcomb just got here a couple of minutes ago.” “Thanks, and he knows why you asked him to come over?” She nodded. “Yes, but he said he’s not sure he’ll be able to offer anything new.” Gene entered and went right over to the couch to greet Rachael’s neighbor. “Mr. Whitcomb.” He shook the man’s hand. “Thanks for agreeing to talk to us again.” “It’s no problem, although I haven’t thought of anything new. I would have told Rachael if I’d ed anything else.” “You never know. Sometimes just talking jogs the memory.” After fifteen minutes of talking, though, it didn’t look like anything new had been jogged. “I don’t anything else about the man’s appearance than what I already told you.” Whitcomb sounded almost apologetic. He looked between Gene and Rachael. “I am a little more inclined to think he was a white man. I can’t swear by it, but the more I think about it, I’m guessing he was white. I don’t an accent. I think that’s something I would .” Gene nodded. People tended to notice things that were different from themselves rather than similarities. “An accent is something you probably would have noticed, and that’s helpful.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his thighs. “You said the man said things that made you believe he knew Rachael.” He glanced over at her. She met his eyes for a second then looked back to her neighbor. She was keeping quiet, letting him do his job. For her to give over the reins meant she trusted him not to upset Whitcomb too much. If the old man started getting agitated though, he knew she’d swoop in from her perch on the chair and fend him off. Whitcomb nodded and then furrowed his brow. “He knew who I was. I’m not sure how he knew who I was if she didn’t tell him.” “Did he use your first or last name, or just ask if you were her neighbor?”

“He said you must be Mr. Whitcomb, or something like that. I don’t the exact words, but he used my last name. He said Rachael mentioned me to him. He called her Rachael, not Miss Gooding, like he knew her pretty good.” “Okay.” The call buttons on the front of the building listed each resident’s last name next to their apartment number, which identified their unit and floor. Rachael was 2-A, and Whitcomb 2-B. If the perp had figured out the old man lived on the same floor as Rachael, getting his name would have been easy. But Whitcomb confirmed he’d used Rachael’s first name, so he either knew her or he’d had to go to a little more effort to find out what it was. “And he said he was a friend of hers from college?” Whitcomb took a minute. He could tell the man was trying to carefully, and as much as he could, in an effort to be more helpful. Gene remained quiet, not wanting to interrupt his thought process. He’d learned over the years that when people were playing things back in their mind, asking another question too soon could break their focus. Rachael stood up and walked into the kitchen. “I’m getting some coffee. Would either of you like something?” Gene glanced over at her, gave a nod, and pointed a finger at himself. “How about you, Mr. Whitcomb, would you like some coffee?” “That sounds good. Black, no sugar, I’m already sweet enough.” He looked at Rachael and winked. “That’s what my mother always told my dad.” Gene smiled, and glancing at Rachael, caught her grin. “Sounds like your mom had a good sense of humor.” He got up from the couch. “I’ll help Rachael with the drinks, give you a minute to think if there was anything else the man said that may have slipped your mind when you were in the hospital.” “Not much new,” Rachael said quietly when he walked into the kitchen and stood next to her. “No.” He watched the coffee brew into the first cup and took it when she gave it to him. “Getting your last names would have been easy. They’re listed next to your call buttons. The guy could have gotten your first name by striking up a casual conversation with a neighbor, mentioning your last name, acting like your

first name had slipped his mind, and bingo, they supply it. You’d be surprised how willingly people give information without a second thought.” “Oh, I’m not surprised at all. I discovered just how willingly when I was trying to find out Parker’s schedule.” She swallowed at the ission and looked away. He leaned his backside against the counter and waited for her to give him the second cup. “I’m not sure exactly what’s going on inside that head of yours right now, but just to be clear, Parker chose to go to the park last night on his own.” She handed him the second cup. “Give this to Mr. Whitcomb, will you?” She put the last cup under the brewer, and when he didn’t move, she looked over at him. “I know,” she said, “so let it go.” He pushed away from the counter with his hip and went back into the living room to re her neighbor. Rachael came in a minute later and sat back down in the chair, facing them. “I don’t know if I mentioned this before.” Whitcomb looked at Gene. “It probably doesn’t matter one way or another, but he knew you, too.” “What makes you think that?” “Well, when he told me Rachael told him about me, I thought he must be you. You know…her new boyfriend.” Whitcomb looked at Rachael and gave her another wink, which made Gene grin and Rachael roll her eyes. Staying on topic, he looked back at Whitcomb and asked, “Why did that make you think he knew me?” “Because he said so. I asked him if he was her new boyfriend, the detective.” Whitcomb wrinkled his brow and looked down into his cup of coffee. “Yeah, that was it, I said the detective because I couldn’t your name, but he did. He said I must mean you, Simms. He said your name—Simms. I know that because I thinking that sounded right, and I thought Rachael must have told him about you, too.” Gene exchanged glances with Rachael. She shook her head, letting him know she had no idea what Whitcomb was talking about. He raised his hand to his jaw

and rubbed his index finger back and forth across his mouth as he regarded the other man. This new piece of information bothered him. It was easy enough to get Rachael or Whitcomb’s name, but to know who he was, and that he and Rachael had been dating, that would have taken more than a casual effort. He turned to Rachael. “Who have you told ?” “No one. Mr. Whitcomb saw me leaving the building with you a couple of times, and he asked me who my new boyfriend was. At the risk of bursting your bubble, I haven’t been shouting your name in exuberant joy to the world. As far as I’m aware, the only people who know about you are Abby and Gage…and Drew…and Miranda.” She let out a sigh, perhaps at the realization that more people knew they’d been seeing each other than she realized. Frowning, she sat back in the chair and hooked a strand of hair between her fingers to distract herself. “But I never told any of them you were my boyfriend,” she insisted, probably to make it clear that although others may have given him that label, he hadn’t earned it from her. All the people she mentioned had seen them together and knew they were involved. She wouldn’t have had to say anything. In fact, she’d probably done her best to argue the fact as long as she could. So how did Whitcomb’s attacker know his name? “You didn’t mention me to anyone in ing? An old friend, a coworker?” “No.” He could tell she didn’t like this line of questioning. “Did you tell the guys down at the station about me? Maybe you said something to your mom, and she mentioned it in ing to one of her friends, and she just happened to mention it to the ladies in the bridge club who told the guy who broke into our apartments.” She gave him an annoyed smirk. “Okay, back off, tiger.” He held up his hands. “I’m not trying to accuse you of anything.” Like caring more than you’re ready to it. “For the guy to know my name, though, and associate it with you increases the likelihood that he either knows you or knows one or more people you know, and he used whatever information he was able to gather to make Mr. Whitcomb think he knew you well enough to gain his trust.” Rachael relaxed her posture. “So you don’t think the bridge club ladies are a

plausible link?” She raised a brow. He gave a soft chuckle. “I won’t cross them off the list entirely yet, but I think we should focus our efforts on other, more likely possibilities first.” “Maybe nobody told him about you,” Whitcomb said from beside him, and both he and Rachael looked at him. Gene wondered if Rachael’s elderly neighbor was getting tired from all the questions. He hoped he wasn’t going to change his story again and tell them he might have been confused about the man saying Simms’s name. “Mr. Whitcomb,” Rachael said gently, and Gene suspected she was thinking the same thing. “Did the man who attacked you say he knew Detective Simms?” “No, no, no.” Whitcomb shook his head. “I told you, I asked him if he was your new boyfriend, the detective, and he said something like, oh, you must mean Simms. You got that?” He looked at them both to see if they followed, and Rachael nodded. “And I think I said that sounded right, and then he told me he wasn’t him. And that’s when I think he said he was a friend of yours from your college days.” Gene could see the man’s frustration. He straightened beside him and angled a little more to face him. “Thanks, Mr. Whitcomb. I think we’ve got it now. You just said that maybe nobody told him about me. What did you mean by that?” “Okay.” Whitcomb took a breath. “I was just thinking that maybe nobody had to tell him about you. Maybe he already knew who you were.” Simms scratched his jaw. He didn’t want to shut the man down when there was a chance he might still something else, but he didn’t know that this was going to get them anywhere. “Do you think maybe he saw Rachael and me together before the night of the attack and that’s what you mean by he already knew she was seeing someone?” he offered, trying to give his theory some credence. “He might have, but that’s not what I was thinking.” “What were you thinking?” Rachael tossed Gene a look that asked him to

placate an old man for a few minutes. “Well, what if that man is someone who knows the detective somehow?” Whitcomb looked at Gene. “I mean you. Maybe he followed you to find out where you lived and thought you were living here with Rachael. Maybe you had something he wanted and that’s why he tried to break in.” Rachael looked at him, her eyes commuting that she knew what her neighbor just said was a stretch, but pleading with him at the same time not to bruise the man’s ego. He thought she should know him better than that by now. Relax. He tried to telegraph her the message and was surprised when he saw her blink. “I hadn’t thought of that.” Gene swiveled his head back to face Whitcomb, playing along. “I guess that’s another possibility. Thank you for thinking of it.” Whitcomb squared his shoulders and lifted his head. “Sure thing. You being a cop and all, you never know. Not that I feel this way—I’ve always had a lot of respect for the police—but I’m sure there’s some people who don’t. There’s probably even some who have grudges against you guys.” “You’d be right about that. I’ve encountered my share of criminals who think their only crime was getting caught.” “That just beats all.” Whitcomb shook his head. Gene had to agree. Some people never took responsibility for their actions. It was always someone else’s fault when things went wrong, never their own.

Rachael worked late Wednesday evening. It had been a busy news week, and after taking half the day for personal business Friday, she’d felt compelled to put in extra time to make up for it. She shut down her computer and then walked across the room to Mike’s office. Her boss was sitting at his desk, his head propped in his hands as he studied the computer screen in front of him, scouring it for the minutest edits with the focus of a surgeon picking shard from a wound. She tapped her knuckles against the open door and he looked up. “You still here?” He eyed her over the dark rims of his glasses. “Just heading out.” She held up a manila folder. “These are the filler drafts you wanted.” “Add them to the pile.” He hitched his head toward the wire inbox on his desk. She did, and as she turned to leave, he stopped her. “Everything okay with you, Gooding?” She glanced around, half-facing him again. “Everything’s fine. Why?” He studied her a moment, his keen eyes trained on her face. “Just checking.” Rachael gave a single nod. Mike usually kept things all business all the time, but he was perceptive as hell. She must be wearing the stress of the last few weeks more than she realized, and if anyone in the newsroom would pick up on it, it would be him. “If everything wasn’t fine and you needed to talk to someone,” he tossed out as she turned back to leave, “well, you know.” “Yeah,” she said without looking back this time. “I know. Thank you.” Five days had ed since Parker’s murder. It was an active investigation, and Gene had asked her not to talk to anyone about it. Not even Abby, which was totally ridiculous. She and Ab told each other everything…well, almost everything. But she hadn’t said anything to anyone else, not even her mom.

The station had reported on it, of course, but fortunately, she hadn’t been assigned the story. Given the victim had been a local college professor who’d been killed in the park with no known motive, speculation about the murder was rampant. In addition to concerns for the safety of themselves and their families, the public always seemed to be fascinated by the macabre, so although nothing else had happened, interest in the story remained high even after almost a week. As Rachael ed her desk, the phone rang. She paused and closed her eyes. Leave it. She dropped her head back and reached for the receiver. Every call had the potential to be a story. “Rachael Gooding.” “Hello, Rachael.” She opened her eyes and stretched her neck. “Hello, what can I do for you?” “It’s what I did for you.” The male voice sounded slightly muffled and unfamiliar. “Excuse me?” “The present I left you in the park Friday night. Did you like it?” She froze. A cold suspicion gripped her, but years of working as a reporter had her fumbling instinctively for a notepad and pen from her desk. “Who is this?” She forced herself to breath evenly. If this was who she thought it was, she needed to stay calm. “You know I can’t tell you that.” “No? I don’t know why. I’m assuming since you’re calling me, you know who I am. Don’t you think it’s only fair you tell me who you are?” She strained to hear any background noises that might provide a clue where he was calling from. “Rachael, Rachael, do you think I’m stupid? That would make everything too simple for our good friend Detective Simms, now wouldn’t it?” Something in the way he’d said Simms’s name struck her. She didn’t know what it was, except that he’d inflected on the name. She was sure he had. And if her suspicion was

correct, how would the guy know Eugene, or that he was involved with the case? She made a note on her tablet. “I’m not sure I understand what this is all about or what Detective Simms has to do with your call.” She wanted to make sure she wasn’t jumping to the wrong conclusion. “And you asked if I liked my gift, but I don’t recall receiving anything from anyone.” “Do you think I’m a fool, Rachael? I’m not, but it can’t hurt me to play your game. It won’t help you find me. Parker, that’s what the news reports said his name was. He was obsessed with you, you know. He didn’t leave me a choice, hanging around all the time like he did. But at least you won’t have to worry about the creep now.” Her free hand went to her stomach, and she clamped down hard on her upper lip, knew she couldn’t let the revulsion she felt for this slime come out in her tone. What she needed was information. She had to keep her emotions in check and try to draw something out of him. “Why are you calling me?” She kept her voice steady, managed not to betray her disgust. “You’re the tool, Rachael.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She wrote tool down on her pad. “If you want something from me, just tell me what it is. You must have called for a reason.” He laughed. “You’ve already given me what I want; you just don’t know it. Like I said, you’re the tool, the tool that will help me even the score.” “That doesn’t make any sense. This is the first time I’ve talked to you, and you still haven’t told me why you’re calling. You haven’t asked me a single question, so how could I have possibly given you anything you want?” She heard him laugh and struggled to maintain her calm. “I don’t need to ask any questions. I already know what I need to execute my plan. All that’s left to figure out now is the time and place. Don’t worry, though. I won’t keep you waiting too long.”

He was playing her, talking in riddles. He wasn’t going to tell her anything concrete. He was just some psycho creep who’d apparently called for no reason other than to feed his own warped ego and who got off thinking he could frighten or intimidate her. She felt frustration and anger raise their prickly heads. “So if you have all your answers, why the hell are you calling me?” He laughed again and she stiffened. His cocksure attitude grated against her limits. “To let you know I’m still here, and like I said, I wanted to see if you appreciated the favor I did for you.” That did it. She refused to let him play with her this way. “You know what, you’re sick. What you did to Parker was sick, and if you’re the same shit who broke into my apartment and went after my neighbor, you’re not just sick, you’re pathetic.” “Don’t talk to me that way.” He snapped at her as if she’d struck a nerve. “Oh, sorry, did I bruise your tender feelings with the truth?” “You should show me more respect, Rachael. You don’t know who you’re dealing with.” “Sure I do. Let’s see, you are a man—and I’m using that term loosely—who crawls into a hidey hole in the bushes at night to spy on others without being seen. You sneak up on unsuspecting people from behind and slit their throats before they see you so they can’t fight back. And you attack frail old men who don’t have the strength to defend themselves. Then you make anonymous phone calls, probably from a disposable cell that can’t be traced, and talk in what I’m sure you think are clever riddles. Does it make you feel powerful? Is that why you’re calling me? You think you can frighten me? Well, here’s a news flash: you don’t scare me.” She wasn’t finished. “You think you’re smart, but I think I’m smarter, and so is Simms. You’re going to get caught, soon, because you’re not as smart as you think. You’re nothing more than a slimy, little, gutless creature who has to hide in the dark and prey on helpless people. You’re a coward, that’s what and who you are. If you weren’t such a waste of air space, I might feel sorry for you. Poor thing, you lost your balls somewhere and don’t know where to find them.”

“Shut up! I was being nice to you, but you had to go and be a bitch. I’ll make you both pay now.” “Pay for what?” His threat pushed her to yelling, but the only response she got was a dial tone. He’d hung up. “Bastard!” She slammed the handset back down on the phone and spun around with a growl to see Mike standing in his office doorway. “I only caught the last few words of that, but it didn’t sound good. Are you sure there’s nothing you want to talk about?” He cocked his head, his brows arched almost to his forehead. Rachael pushed her fingers through her hair, massaging the tension building in her head along the way. “It’s not something I can talk about—not yet anyway.” “Do I need to be worried that whatever it is could have negative consequences for the station?” “No.” She shook her head slowly, understanding fully his need to ask. “I’m not involved in anything immoral or illegal. It has to do with a police case, but I’ve been sworn to secrecy. When I can tell you more, I will.” “Okay.” He put his hands in his pants pockets and dropped his shoulders. “I heard you mention Simms. Would that be Eugene Simms who works homicide?” Rachael nodded. Mike frowned. “I’ve dealt with him on several occasions. He’s a hell of a good cop and a decent man, but he doesn’t deal with shoplifters and truants. If you’re working with him on something, you watch your ass, sister.” “Gotcha,” she said simply, appreciating his concern and trust. When she walked past the security station a few minutes later on the way out of the building, she asked the guard for an escort to her car. Regardless of what she’d told the caller, she was afraid of him because cowards never played fair, and that made them even more dangerous.

“UHM, SIMMS, YOU have a visitor.” Gene turned away from the window he’d been staring out of for the last several minutes. Ever since meeting with Whitcomb the other day, his thoughts kept wandering back to the old man’s words. I was just thinking that maybe nobody had to tell him about you. Maybe he already knew who you were. Whenever his mind refused to leave something like that alone, Gene had learned to pay attention. It meant something was there, something he was missing. He looked around the rotund form of Shawn O’Shea and felt the familiar rush he always got when his eyes landed on the woman standing behind him. “Thanks, O’Shea.” He glanced at the other officer when he didn’t move. He looked to be on the verge of drooling. Rachael sidled around him, looking over her shoulder at him as she ed. O’Shea grinned at him with blatant male appreciation, completely unaware of Gene’s relationship with her, and wiggled his brows. “You can go now,” Gene told O’Shea when he was still standing in the doorway a few moments later. Rachael pulled out a chair and sat down. “What’s his problem?” He gave her a once-over and smiled. “You have to ask?” She didn’t pretend not to get his meaning. Instead, she just shook her head, as if it were an old story she’d long since gotten bored with. Gene walked around to the front of the desk. “To what do I owe this unexpected visit?” “We need to talk.” She crossed her legs with the grace of a dancer, and his eyes followed like someone enthralled with the dance. He may be more discreet, but despite being lovers, he was no less immune to her charms than O’Shea or any other man who still had a breath in him. “Simms, my legs aren’t doing the talking. Do you think you could focus your attention in the general vicinity of my face so I can pretend you’re listening to

me?” He chuckled and sat down in the chair next to her instead of sitting against the desk. “I assure you I’m always listening to you. I’m a very talented man; I’m able to listen and ogle your legs at the same time.” She leaned back against the chair rest and crossed her arms. She didn’t look impressed with his ability to multitask. She looked like she meant business, and upon closer scrutiny, she looked like she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before. “Has something happened?” “I got a call from Parker’s murderer.” The killer had made direct with her. That immediately upped the risk factor. A punch of fear hit Gene in the gut. He tried to tamp it down, needed to get details and then do whatever he could to protect her. “When?” “Last night. He called me at work, just as I was leaving.” Gene stuck his tongue in his cheek, thought about what that meant. “Tell me everything you .” He pushed aside his irritation with her for not getting in touch with him right after she’d gotten the call. The more time that ed, the more people were likely to forget things, and sometimes the smallest detail could break a case. She reached into her purse and pulled out a tablet. “I wrote everything down I could while I was talking to him and filled in the rest when I got home last night.” That soothed his frustration somewhat but did nothing to lessen his concerns for her safety. He listened intently as she went through her notes, giving him a full of the call. When she finished, he leaned back in his chair, his gaze roaming over her face. He brought his hand to his chin and tapped his finger against his mouth as more pieces fell into place. She’s not the target. I am.

“And there’s something else,” she said, giving it individual importance. “He said he couldn’t tell me who he was because that would make it too easy for you.” She paused, watching him to make sure she had his full attention, and he nodded. “There was something about the way he said your name. It hit me that there was something behind it, some kind of emotion. I didn’t imagine it. I know I didn’t.” “No, I think you may be right.” He got up and walked around the desk to sit on the other side. He signed into the police database and requested a report for all prisoner releases in the last six months that fell under their jurisdiction. “What are you doing?” Rachael pulled her chair forward and leaned her elbows on top of the desk, tried to see what he was doing. “Pulling up a release report.” “That doesn’t mean anything to me. What is it, and why are you running it?” “It’s a list of anyone who’s been released from jail, in this case, anyone in our jurisdiction within the last six months, to start. To your second question, it’s a hunch, and it may not pan out.” “What specifically are you looking for?” She narrowed her eyes, and he got the impression she’d already begun to suspect. “Specifically? Any cases in which I was the arresting officer or directly involved in some way.” Glancing back at the computer, he saw the report was up and clicked on the print icon. “Okay, look at me a minute here, Simms.” He did, and was struck by the stillness of her expression. She swallowed. “Am I correct in assuming you now think everything that’s happened the last several weeks was aimed at you, not me?” “I think there’s a good chance that’s the case.” If he was right, she was at risk because of him. That didn’t sit comfortably with him, nor did the knowledge that staying away from her wouldn’t secure her safety. If he thought for a minute it would, he’d break off their relationship right now. They both knew otherwise, though. She was the tool. Whoever they were dealing with couldn’t have made it any

clearer.

EUGENE SPENT THE rest of the morning checking the whereabouts of the men whose names had come up on the printout that now lay on his desk. He trimmed it down from fourteen names to four, all of whom had served time for violent crimes, been released, and were supposedly still in the area. He’d been directly involved with each case, and all four had threatened to come after him when they got out. Threats came with the job, but they were usually just that, and like most cops he brushed them off with the dirt they’d been flung from. Faces came to mind, faces that matched the names. Leaning back, he closed his eyes and let his mind drift. Images formed, new ones replaced them. He let them come, let them speak to him, and then sat up sharply as one pushed its way to center stage. Rachael and him walking down the street…his internal radar prompting him to turn…a man crossing behind his car to the park…the sense of something familiar…vague at the time, but sharpening now…the stroll of the walk, the cock of the head…they were there. He looked at the list again and narrowed his eyes on one name: Paul Tyret. Gene had chased the guy down on foot and wrestled him to the ground after responding to a domestic violence call. Tyret had stabbed his fiancé twice and beaten her within a breath of death before they’d arrived. He’d managed to get away when he was being escorted to the cruiser and had taken off running, hands cuffed behind him. He wouldn’t rule out the other three as persons of interest, but Tyret had just moved to the top of his list.

It’s freakin’ frigid out there.” A hard shiver raked through her, and Rachael tried to shake off the cold as she entered the Stomping Ground with Gage and Abby around seven o’clock that evening. Abby rubbed her gloved fingers together and nodded stiffly. “God, is it! December isn’t even a week old, and I’m so done with winter already.” “It’s still technically fall.” The two women looked at Gage in tandem and rolled their eyes at him. He held his hands in the air and then placed one on each woman’s shoulder, turned them around, and nudged them forward into the cafe, a man who knew when he was outnumbered. Rachael’s phone started vibrating in her pocket and she pulled it out. “It’s Simms.” She glanced at Abby and then took the call. “Hey there. I just walked into the Stomping Grounds with Ab and Gage. What’s up?” “I’ve got a couple of pictures I want to show you. I was hoping I could stop by in about twenty minutes.” “We were going to grab a bite to eat. If you haven’t eaten, why don’t you meet us here?” “Okay, I’ll see you in a few.” Rachael slipped the phone back into her pocket and looked around. She spotted Miranda, who waved when she looked up, and made a beeline to the woman’s table. She gave her new friend a hug, felt the same low current of energy she’d come to accept whenever they touched in some way. “I’m glad you’re here. You can meet Ab and Gage.” Miranda stood up to greet them and Rachael made introductions. “Rachael speaks very fondly of you both.” Miranda reached out to shake Gage’s

hand. “Now I have faces to go with the names.” She turned to Abby. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “You, too.” Abby reached out to take Miranda’s hands in hers. She gave them a gentle squeeze and then caught her breath. “Whoa! I just got a jolt of static electricity. Sorry if I shocked you, too. It’s just so cold, and I’ve been rubbing my hands together since we left Rachael’s apartment to try to warm them up.” “That’s one explanation.” Rachael made eye with Miranda. “No need to apologize,” Miranda told Abby. “You didn’t shock me.” Rachael chuckled. “More like the other way around.” Abby looked between them. “What do you mean by…Oh!” “Oh, what?” Gage slipped off his jacket and folded it over his arm. “Is this one of those nonverbal female communication things that makes men feel like they’ve just entered the Twilight Zone?” “No, Gage! This is Miranda!” “Yeah, Ab, I just met her, too. So?” He stared at his wife, clearly confused. “Miranda.” She repeated the name, as if that should clear it up for him. “You I told you about her. She’s the—” She darted a hesitant glance at the woman. Rachael rolled her eyes. “Oh for God sake. The witch.” “Oh.” Gage cleared his throat, stuck his tongue in his cheek, looked unsure how to respond, and clearly skeptical of anything remotely related to the supernatural. Rachael put her hand on Miranda’s shoulder and laughed. “Don’t worry, sweetie, he’s used to everything being black and white, but he’ll come around.” Drew came over and gave Rachael and Abby a hug. He shook Gage’s hand. “Haven’t seen you two for a while. I take it Rach told you about everything that’s been going on?”

Gage nodded. “Yeah, we’re aware. She called Abby this afternoon to tell her there’d been some new developments, so we decided to meet here for dinner and get an update.” Drew glanced at her. “Something else has happened?” “Let’s get our order in first, then I’ll fill you all in.” Everyone went for the soup of the day, potato corn, so it only took Drew a couple of minutes to dish it up. Rachael started pulling the chairs away from the table next to Miranda’s. “Let’s double up these tables so we can all sit together.” Gage helped Drew carry over the trays with the soup and a couple of baskets of rolls. Once settled, four sets of expectant eyes focused on Rachael. She stretched her head to one side, then the other to release the kinks, then slowly took a deep breath and let it out slowly before she began. “I got a call from Parker’s murderer when I was leaving work last night.” “Oh my God.” Abby reached out and took her hand. “Do you think he’s the same person who’s been stalking you?” Rachael nodded. “Yes, but let me tell you everything before you ask any more questions. Things may not be what we thought.” She summarized the phone call and also told them about her meeting with Gene that morning. “So Simms thinks there’s a strong chance I’ve never really been the guy’s target.” “I hope Gene’s right. I’ve been worried sick about you.” Abby looked around the table. “We all have. But if he is, why did the guy break into your apartment, or call and tell you he had your wallet?” Gage leaned back in his chair and rubbed his thumb across his mouth, his eyes narrowed. “Because she’s the tool.” Rachael nodded. “That’s right. And if that’s the case, it makes everything worse.” “Why’s that?” Drew frowned at her. “Aren’t you relieved Simms doesn’t think you’re this whacko’s target?”

“No, I’m not, because apparently he’s been using me somehow to get information. I’m not sure how I’ve been helpful, or what he was trying to get from me, but that seems to be his point. What the hell else could he have meant when he said I was the tool?” Drew shrugged. “I don’t know, but I’m with Abby on this one. I hope Gene’s right and you’re not in the kind of danger we all thought you were.” Rachael pushed her hands through her hair. They didn’t seem to realize that if she wasn’t the target, most likely Eugene was. It’s what he suspected now, and that upset her even more. She could take steps to protect herself, but how could she protect him? She couldn’t bear to think whoever they were dealing with could have used her somehow to get to Gene. If the creep hurt him in any way, she’d find him, and to hell with the law, she wouldn’t care. She needed them to understand Gene could be the real target, needed them to promise they’d do what they could to help her keep him safe. Leaning forward, Rachael looked around the table. She trusted these people. They were her friends and they would help her. It gave her a momentary sense of comfort. Before she could tell them Gene’s suspicions, the bells on the front door rang out. They all glanced over to see who the newcomer was, and recognizing him, Rachael waved. “Hey, I’m glad I ran into you.” He approached the table, nodding to Drew in greeting. “Rick, these are some of our other friends.” Rachael made quick introductions and invited him to them, thinking it would be a good opportunity for him to get to know a few more people. “I’d like that, thanks, but you might want to take a quick trip home first.” “Why, is something wrong?” Her first thought was that something else had happened. “No, it’s just that I was on my way to Pauley’s and ed your place. I noticed Shelby hanging around the front steps. I wondered if he’d gotten out somehow and you didn’t know. He was whimpering, and I felt bad just leaving him like that. I rang your bell a couple of times but got no answer.”

“That little stinker. He must have scooted out behind us when we left to come here. He’s followed me out a couple of times, but I usually notice before I get too far.” “I thought it might have been something like that. I considered taking him to my place so he didn’t run off or get hit by a car, but he doesn’t really know me that well yet, and when I tried to pick him up, he ran across the street into the park. I know you’re here a lot, so I thought I’d come by, and if you weren’t here, let Drew know in case you stopped in. Sorry I wasn’t able to be more helpful.” She stood up and started pulling on her coat. “Are you kidding? I appreciate you trying to find me.” She glanced at her friends. “I’m going to go get Shelbs. He’s probably hiding in the bushes across the street waiting for me to come back. I’m sure he’ll come out as soon as I call. I’ll be back in five minutes.” “You shouldn’t go alone. I’ll come with you.” Gage made a move to get up. “Don’t be silly.” Rachael put a hand on his shoulder and pushed him back down. “I’m just going to run home, get Shelby, and be right back.” Rick frowned. “I think your friend’s right. It’s getting dark, and after what happened in the park last weekend, I think everyone would feel better if someone went with you.” Rachael put her hands on her hips. “This is where I live. I can’t have someone escorting me around every time I leave my building, and I’m not going to let some creep terrorize me to the point I feel like I have to.” “I feel the same way, but there’s no need to take unnecessary chances.” Rick looked a little uncomfortable. “I know we haven’t known each other that long, so you might feel like I have no business telling you what to do, but you’ve got friends here tonight willing to go with you, so why not be safe?” “Fine!” She relented, throwing her hands in the air. “But I’m doing this for all of you, not me. By the time we’d get done arguing about it, I could have gone and been back.” Gage started to get up again and Rick stopped him. “I’ll go with her. You all just got your food, so eat it while it’s still warm. I saw where the dog ran into the park so that might help us find him quicker.”

“Okay, that’s settled.” Rachael grabbed Rick’s arm. “Let’s just go get Shelbs before someone dognaps him or something.” She threw a wave over her shoulder and made for the door. “If we’re not back in twenty minutes, send out the cavalry.”

WHEN THEY REACHED the corner of her block, Rachael jogged across the street, keeping up the pace as she continued down on the park side. “Shelby!” She hoped he’d hear her and come out so they wouldn’t have to venture into the park. He wasn’t used to being outside alone, and if he were frightened, he might have roamed off to try to find her. She wasn’t worried so much that he’d get lost because he knew the neighborhood, but he was such a cute little thing she worried someone might see him wandering about alone and take him. “He went in farther down.” Rick jogged alongside her. “Closer to your place.” They kept moving. The cold must have kept everyone inside as she saw no sign of anyone else out and about. They neared the park bench where Simms told her he’d seen the man the night of the Charity Ball, and Rick slowed. “Wait!” He held up a hand and came to a stop. “Did you hear that?” Rachael stopped and looked at him. She hadn’t heard anything. “What?” “A bark.” Rick cocked his head and listened. “I heard a dog bark.” “Shelbs!” She looked into the park, squinting to see through the deepening shadows for any sign of her dog. “There!” Rick grabbed her wrist, turning her toward the cars parked along the street. “I think he just ran behind that car!” He pointed toward a light green Honda, and she hurried forward with him, only to be yanked to a stop again when they came alongside the car. “Where? I didn’t see him.” This didn’t feel right. Shelby would be more likely to run to her than to run away. She paused. No, it didn’t feel right, and suddenly something about the way Rick was gripping her wrist didn’t feel right. She heard it then, in her head…a warning…a whisper, really, to flee. Run Rachael Run. She spun on her heels, not thinking, just trusting her instinct. Rick grabbed her before she could move and shoved her against the side of the Honda. Her foot slipped off the curb, and she grabbed the door handle to keep from falling. “What the—” Rachael glared up at him and froze, her eyes going to the knife he

pulled out from under his jacket. “What are you doing?” She reached up and took hold of the roof, straightening, and faced him. “Get in the car, Rachael.” His voice had gone cold and hard. Steel-blue menace shown from eyes that had feigned concern for a friend when he’d volunteered to go with her to look for Shelby back at the Stomping Ground. He was no friend; she saw that now, too clearly. She had no doubt whose eyes she was looking into. This was the same bastard who’d attacked her neighbor, murdered Parker, and wanted to use her to get to Gene. And he’d been setting her up for weeks. He’d fooled her, but she knew who and what he was now, and knowing gave her an odd sense of control. He was no longer a faceless threat. He hadn’t managed to get her off to some secluded place where he could lure Eugene into a trap. If she could get away, she could call Gene, and together they might be able to set a trap for Rick instead of the other way around. “You never saw Shelby outside, did you?” She steadied herself, keeping one hand on the top of the car. “That was just a ruse to get me here so you could kidnap me to try to get to Simms.” He jerked the knife in front of her, and she leaned back. “In the car, Einstein, and slide all the way over. You’re going to drive.” Like hell she would. “I don’t think that’s a good idea. I failed my driving test twice before I got my license, and I only got it on the third try because I wore the shortest skirt I owned, and the cop was looking at my legs instead of those orange cone things when I was trying to parallel park.” She smiled sweetly, trying to throw him off. “No, trust me on this one; we’d both be a lot safer if you were behind the wheel.” He stared at her a minute, slightly slack jawed, probably thinking she was some bimbo airhead. She might not have a better chance to act. Using the car’s hood to brace herself, she kicked up as high and hard as she could and landed a solid blow with the sole of her foot to his shoulder, throwing him off balance.

Rick stumbled. He threw his arms up, tried to regain his footing, but failed. Rachael shot away from the car. She saw him falling backwards as she ran for cover into the park’s shrouded darkness. She darted past several mass plantings of bushes and trees until she felt confident she could no longer be seen from the sidewalk. Ducking behind a large clump of rhododendrons, she took stock of where she was and tried to get a position on Rick. She could no longer see the spot where he’d fallen, but she was sure he was on the move, looking for her. All her years of dance had finally paid off, if only for that one kick. Fortunately, she’d caught the bastard completely off guard or he probably wouldn’t have gone down so easily. Rachael scanned the shadows for any sign of movement but came up empty. He was most likely keeping to the cover of the park’s heavy landscaping, like she was. She’d defend herself if she had to—use her nails, teeth, feet, fists, whatever she had to if it came to that, but that wasn’t her plan. She just needed to elude him until Eugene could arrive with reinforcements, and then they would turn the tables on the bastard. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone.

“IT’S NOT JUST an uneasy feeling,” Miranda said, after raising concerns about Rachael leaving with Rick. “There’s a darkness about him that worries me.” “He seemed okay to me, and he went out of his way to let her know Shelby was on the loose.” Gage regarded Miranda. “Besides, I thought you and Drew were friends with him, too.” Miranda shook her head. “I knew of him from Rachael. She mentioned him, said he was new to the neighborhood, like me, and asked if I’d met him yet, but I never had until tonight. I don’t think we should have let her leave with him. He’s not…not what he pretends.” Gage didn’t believe in witches, warlocks, zombies, or any other supernatural anomalies. From their brief encounter, he liked Miranda, though. She impressed him as normal, levelheaded, and caring. He could see she was genuinely distressed, and whether it was due to some kind of witch’s hunch or plain old intuition, he couldn’t dismiss it. Drew reed them after ringing up a customer and sat back down with the group. Gage looked at him. “What do you know about this Rick guy?” “Not much. He moved to the neighborhood about a month ago. He’s been in a few times. Rach met him on one of her walks with Shelby. She felt bad because she wasn’t too friendly at first, so she sort of made him her pet project, introducing him to people when he’d come in, that sort of thing.” The cafe door’s bells rang, and they all spun toward it in the hope Rachael was returning safely with Shelby to waylay the concerns that had been raised. Eugene walked up to their table and frowned. “You all look unpleasantly disappointed to see me. Did I interrupt plans to heist a bank of something?” “Sorry, Gene, it’s good to see you.” Abby stood up and gave him a hug. “It’s just that we were hoping you were Rachael.” “I thought she was already here.”

“She was, but she left to find Shelby, and now we’re beginning to worry one of us should have gone with her.” Gene shook his head. “Back up. What do you mean she went to find Shelby?” Abby explained how Rick had come into the cafe looking for Rachael because he’d seen her dog outside alone and that the two of them had gone to look for him. “Who’s Rick?” Gage spoke up, his own concern escalating as it became clear no one really seemed to know much about the guy. “We were just trying to figure that out. Drew said he recently moved to the area, and Rachael had befriended him. Miranda seems to think…” He looked at Gene and hiked a brow. “Have you two met?” “Yes, and I’d like to hear what she thinks.” Gene looked at the woman. “I don’t trust Rick. There’s a darkness that surrounds him. I think Rachael may be in danger.” Gene pulled four eight by ten photos out of the manila envelope he’d been holding and spread them out on the two tables. “Does this Rick look like any of the men in these pictures?” “That’s him.” Abby pointed to Rick’s picture and everyone concurred. Gene flinched. “Where were they going?” “To the park,” Gage told him. “Rick said Shelby ran into the park across the street from her apartment.” Miranda gasped and her eyes flared wide. “She just fell. He’s trying to force her into a car and he’s—” Before she could finish Simms was already running out the door. Gage turned to Abby. “I’m going after him. He might need help. Stay here.” He put his hands on her shoulders and locked eyes with her. “Don’t set foot out the door until we get back. Understood?”

“Yes, but—” “Stay. Here. Abby!” He clipped off the words as he backed up. “Stay!” He gave her one final look before turning and running out of the cafe. “Stay!” Abby huffed and looked at Drew and Miranda in disgust. “What does he think I am? A dog?” “He doesn’t want any harm to come to you,” Miranda said. “I know that, but Rachael’s like a sister to me.” She started to pace. “I can’t just sit here when there might be something I could do to help her. If someone were trying to hurt me, Rach wouldn’t think twice about scratching their eyes out.” Abby grabbed her coat. “Abby,” Drew said with a warning tone, “if you leave, Gage is going to be furious.” She blew out a breath. “Gage will forgive me. If something happens to Rach and I did nothing to help, I won’t be able to forgive myself. I’m going after them.” “I’m coming, too.” Miranda grabbed her coat as well and slipped it on. “Oh, Christ.” Drew walked to the front of the cafe and grabbed his jacket off a wall hook. “George,” he called to one of the three other customers there, “keep an eye on the place until I get back, will you?” “You got it.” The man raised his arm in the air and continued to study the chess board on the table in front of him. Drew looked at Abby and Miranda. “Okay, ladies, let’s go.”

DAMN, SHE WISHED she’d worn gloves. Her fingers felt stiff from the cold, almost numb now, and the rest of her wasn’t far behind. She’d be warmer if she could move, but that might give her away. Rachael unzipped the front of her jacket, holding her phone under it, close to her stomach to block the screen’s dim light. She decided it would be better to send a text than call, quieter that way. She stiffened at the sound of a noise—close, too close for her to do anything but breathe. Barely doing that, she slipped the phone back into her pocket and listened, her ears straining for the merest echo, the slimmest whisper that would signal Rick was closing in on her. There! A shuffling…the soft snap of a twig under foot, almost inaudible had she not tuned in so intently. She moved her head slowly, narrowing her eyes as she telescoped the area around her. Another snap and her eyes darted to the right. She saw him, moving in her direction. He was on the other side of the bushes she’d burrowed into, but within fifty feet or so. Her heart beat faster. She wanted to run, but there was no way she’d be able to move now without drawing his attention. Even if she managed to work her way out before he could reach her, she wouldn’t be able to elude him again so easily. If only she’d been able to get a text off to Gene to let him know she needed help. She was in deep shit, but as long as she didn’t make any sudden moves, Rick might not find her. She tracked him as he approached, committed to staying where she was, but on high alert, ready to bolt if she had to, and ready to fight if it came to that. “Rachael!” Her name rang through the park. Gene! He’d come looking for her! Rick dropped into a crouch and disappeared from her sightlines, probably ducking into one of the same bushes in the large clump she’d claimed for a hiding spot. “Fuck,” she heard him mumble under his breath, too low for anyone to hear but

her, given they were only about thirty feet from each other now. No, this wasn’t how he’d planned for things to go down. He’d probably wanted to get her to someplace of his choosing. Someplace he had the upper hand. Fortunately, the asshole didn’t realize she was so close, and although she couldn’t see him anymore, she knew within a few feet where he was. Advantage her team…at least for the moment. She looked toward the direction she’d heard Gene calling from. She couldn’t see beyond all the trees and bushes, and although she loved the mass plantings and landscaping most of the time, right now she wouldn’t mind a bulldozer coming through and leveling everything, conservation be damned. Gene called out again, and she zeroed in on him. He’d cleared the edges of the park and was running across an open space between two paths. He stopped by a massive oak about two hundred feet away, circled it, scanned his surroundings. He held his gun high against his chest with both hands, pointed outward, at the ready. He moved away, going in the opposite direction. She wanted to call out but didn’t dare. From the corner of her eye she saw movement and jerked her attention toward where she’d seen Rick go down. He was up again, slipping from the front of the clump of bushes to the back side, her side…not good… more chance he’d stumble upon her and less chance Gene would see him. She could see Rick creeping along, trying to look over the bushes, trying to keep an eye on Gene, not looking down, clearly more intent on tracking him now than her. He walked right past her, within five feet, oblivious he’d just swung the odds more in their favor. Rachael smiled…stupid man. “Gene, Rachael!” Gage? Rachael watched her friend jogging down one of the paths Gene had just crossed. First, Gene had shown up, now Gage. How had they known to come? It didn’t matter, and she really didn’t care right now. She was just glad they were here. The bad guy might still be on the loose, but she was no longer out there alone with him. “Gage,” Gene called to get his attention, “over here.”

Rachael caught her lip between her teeth and bit down to keep from yelling out to them. Yo, right here in the bushes, she wanted to scream, but didn’t dare, not with Rick so close. She saw Gene running back in their direction and felt a rush of relief. He waved Gage to his side. As she watched to see what they would do next, a commotion arose near the side of the park, several voices talking at once. She hoped some innocent person wasn’t about to stumble into the park unawares and become a potential hostage for Rick. She didn’t doubt the guy would use anyone to get what he wanted and not care who got hurt. “Rach? Gage?” Oh, shit! Rachael couldn’t believe her ears. Abby? Really? What the hell was she doing here? Oh God, she knew, the same way she knew what she’d be doing if it were her who was the one in trouble. “Jesus Christ!” Rachael heard Gage explode. “Get the hell out of here, woman!” He started running across the open space again, back the way he’d come. Rachael pulled down on one of the leafy branches in front of her and looked toward the sidewalk. Abby, Drew, and Miranda came marching into view, headed straight toward Gage. She swore it looked like they were heading into battle. They met in the middle. “We’re here to help.” Before Gage could get off another word, Abby stopped him. “You can yell all you want. We’re not leaving, so don’t waste your time.” Gage shook his head, and even from her vantage point Rachael could see he was furious. “Abby, for God sake, go back where you’ll be safe! All of you! Leave now before one of you gets hurt.” Miranda walked past Gage, toward Gene, who was jogging toward the group. Drew followed her. “Where the hell are you two going?” Gage turned and threw up his arms. “Drew, you were supposed to keep them at the cafe.” “I got overruled.”

“What the fuck is this,” Rick swore under his breath, still unaware she was within hearing distance, “a goddamn convention? Jesus fucking Christ!” Rachael almost laughed out loud; she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that she wasn’t concerned for herself and her friends, but Rick had to be wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now that he had six people to deal with instead of just her. She turned her attention back to her friends, her team, who all seemed to be talking at once. “Enough,” she heard Gene say, and they fell silent. “Since you all insisted on coming here, could you at least get out of the open. I’m sure Tyret’s watching every move we make right now.” Tyret? Who the hell was Tyret? Rachael frowned as she watched Gene hustle everyone out of the clearing, toward the side of the park, where they huddled a minute before breaking up. Gage kept Abby with him. Miranda split off with Drew, and Gene slipped into the cover of the shadows again, all looking for Rick, all looking for her. Miranda and Drew moved toward the far side of the clearing and then circled around. Gage and Abby did the opposite, the result being that they met up again, sort of in the middle of the perimeter, not more than ten feet in front of her. She could see their feet, and if not for the maze of roots and low-growing branches, she might have been able to scoot out on her belly to the other side and them. She wasn’t sure if Rick was still close. Unfortunately, she’d lost track of him in the commotion. He could have moved to a different part of the park, or be an arm’s length away—she just didn’t know. She wished she’d paid more attention to him instead of letting herself get distracted. It might have cost them their advantage. “Rachael!” She heard Gene’s urgent calling of her name, close by. She squinted through the rhododendrons and saw him coming up on her right. Another twenty feet and she’d be sandwiched between him on one side of the bushes and the others on the opposite side. She tried to move forward without making too much noise. Her legs protested

after being crouched in the same tense position for so long, pain shooting through them as they begged to be extended. She ignored it, still stooped into an almost impossibly tight ball for her height. It was difficult to get out without crawling, but she managed to do a sort of squatted duckwalk, ing herself with her hands so she didn’t fall flat on her face. A branch got tangled in her hair, jerking her head back and halting her progress. She tried to brush it away, but it was good and stuck. Reaching up, she broke the branch off as close to her head as possible, cringing at the snapping noise. Maybe it hadn’t been as loud as she thought. It had been right near her ear, so if Rick was still close, he might not have heard it. Gene’s legs came into view and stopped right in front of her. He crouched down, pushed the branches to one side with his gun, and peered in. Rachael waved. Found me. He closed his eyes, a wave of relief flooding his expression. When he opened them again, she put a finger to her lips and pointed to the left. Rick, she mouthed. Gene nodded. He held up both hands for her to stay put, and her body groaned in silent revolt. “I can feel her,” Miranda said from the other side, breaking the silence. “Where?” Abby questioned, and they all started shuffling about. “Quiet!” Gene directed a harsh command over the clump of bushes. “Not that any of you give a damn what I want, but I wish you’d all get the hell out of the park and let me handle this.” “On the other side,” Rachael heard Gage whisper, and then watched as four sets of feet turned and began moving along the edge of the bushes, toward the other end of the border. She didn’t know if they’d listen to Gene—probably not—and if Rick had moved to a new position, any one of them could be at risk. She inched forward again, making it to the edge of the border. She needed to trust that her friends would stick together. She hoped they would—safety in numbers. Gene was a lone wolf, though, and although he had more experience dealing with men like Rick than any of them, he wasn’t infallible. Rick had already killed once, maybe more for all she knew. He wouldn’t hesitate to kill again, especially if he felt cornered.

Straightening to her full height, Rachael swallowed back a groan as her muscles screamed their agony. Suck it up. She didn’t have time for a massage. Gene had only been gone a minute, but enough time that he’d moved out of view. She crept forward, hugging the bushes as she set off in the direction he’d gone. She caught sight of him about fifty feet in front of her and stopped a moment, wondering if it would be better to try to catch up with him or stay back and shadow him. She caught her breath when a shadowy figure darted out for a moment between her and Gene, and then slipped out of her sight again as quickly as it had appeared. Rick. It had to be him. Somehow the bastard had evaded Gene’s detection and now was stalking him. She had no choice; she had to warn him.

“HE’S COMING UP behind you!” Gene spun around at Rachael’s warning scream. He could see her silhouette several yards behind him, a shadow against the night, but no one else. “Where?” He moved a good fifteen feet out from the bushes, walking sideways, trying to distinguish the shape of a man against the dark wall of growth as he worked his way back in the direction he’d just come from. A rustle, and then a hint of movement. He narrowed his vision and the shadow took form—gotcha. In the distance a siren blared. It seemed like he’d called for backup an hour ago, but it probably hadn’t been more than ten minutes tops. “Give it up, Tyret. As you can hear, my boys will be here in another minute or two. You can come out peacefully and no one gets hurt, or you can make things difficult, in which case I can’t guarantee you walk out of here alive.” “Fuck you, Simms. I spent eight fucking years locked up because of you. I lost everything—my job, my house, my fiancé. Bitch got tired of waiting for me to get out and took off with someone else, all because you couldn’t mind your own damn business.” Eugene shook his head. “Your fiancé left you because you almost killed her. Most women don’t find assault and battery very romantic. You should be thankful my partner and I showed up when we did. If she’d died, you probably would have gotten life.” “What the fuck do you know!” Rick charged out of the shadows, straight for Gene. “Stop right there.” He raised his gun in warning and took aim at the man’s leg. Tyret hesitated. From the corner of his eye Gene saw Rachael running toward them and his heart clutched. “Stay back, Rachael.” He didn’t want her anywhere near this lunatic. “He’s got a knife!” She stopped about twenty feet away, still too damn close.

“Gene, he’s got a knife!” She looked between the two men, and he prayed she’d just stay where she was. “An eye for an eye,” Tyret spit out. Gene jerked back toward him a second too late to see the guy flying through the air. He tried to get off a shot, but the man’s shoulder plowed into his chest, taking him to the ground with him. Gene rolled, tried to pin the other man under him, and felt a searing pain shoot through his thigh. “Son of a bitch.” He grabbed his leg with one hand and tried to secure Tyret with the other. “You bastard!” Rachael stormed toward them. She kicked the knife out of Tyret’s hand and then dropped to the ground. “You no-good, worthless bastard.” She started pummeling him with her fists and then took hold of his hair, pulling his head back as he fought to break loose. Gene spun off him and managed to catch the man’s arms from behind. “You can back off, sweetheart.” He ducked one of Rachael’s punches. “He’s not going anywhere now.” Two more cops came running toward them, followed closely by Abby, Miranda, Gage, and Drew. Hail, hail, the gang’s all here, he thought with a wry frown. One of the other officers cuffed Tyret while the other helped Gene to his feet. “You better get that taken care of right away.” The guy gave Gene’s leg a concerned once-over. Rachael looked at his leg and covered her mouth with her hands, tears springing to her eyes. Her face crumpled and she stood stock still. After everything she’d just been through, she was probably in shock. “Oh my God.” Abby came up beside Rachael and took in all the blood covering Gene’s leg. “A few stitches and I’ll be fine.” Gene tried to reassure them as he fought off the first wave of nausea. He looked at the cop who held Tyret. “Get that piece of shit out of my sight before I forget I’m supposed to be one of the good guys.”

The officer nodded. “I’ll call for an ambulance to take you to the ER and get you patched up, buddy.” Gene nodded and then grit his teeth as he tried to take a step forward. Gage moved to his side. He wrapped Gene’s arm over his shoulder. “Are you able to make it to the street with some help, or would you rather wait here for the ambulance?” Gene hitched his head toward the street. “Let’s get out of here.” When they reached the sidewalk, the officers were getting ready to put Tyret into the back seat of a black-and-white. “Officers!” Rachael ran over to the car. “Wait just a minute, please.” Gene frowned. What was she up to? She said something to the officer holding the prisoner and he nodded. As they got closer, Gene strained to hear what she was saying to Tyret. “I can’t believe I felt sorry for you. I hope you spend the rest of your life in jail for everything you’ve done.” Before anyone knew what was coming, she hauled off with a right that took him hard on the jaw and made his head jerk back. “What the—” Tyret shrank away from her. “Mam—” The cop not holding Tyret stepped up beside her. “That was for my neighbor.” Retribution burned in her eyes. “You asshole.” “Mam.” The cop held up his hand. “Maybe you should your friends over there now and let us handle this guy.” She nodded, started to turn away, but then stopped. “Oh, just one more thing.” She faced Tyret again. “Mam.” The cop put a hand on her arm. “It’s okay, officer, I’m good.” He looked at her and she smiled. “Really, I got it out of my system. I just wanted to tell him one more thing. It’s important.”

The cop frowned. “I promise I’m not going to hit him again.” She made an X over her heart and gave the guy an angelic look that almost made Gene laugh. Putty in the woman’s hands. The man sighed. “Okay, but make it quick.” “I will.” She walked up to Tyret and hung her head. “Sometimes I act in rash ways, and I feel sorry for them later.” Tyret snorted. She gave him a lazy smile. “But not for this.” She threw her knee into his groin with everything she had, and the man doubled over, his bellow of pain echoing through the night. The cop she’d just maneuvered jumped between her and their prisoner. Rachael put her hands on her hips and looked around the officer. “That was for hurting the man I love.” “Mam, you promised.” “I promised not to hit him. I didn’t say anything about busting him in the balls.” “Get that bitch away from me.” Tyret’s eyes had gone wide with what looked like fear. “She’s fucking crazy.” “I need you to step away, mam.” Gene wasn’t sure how far she’d go, but he didn’t want to be making a trip to the station when he got out of the ER to spring her for assault. “Rachael.” He called her over to him. She looked at him and hiked her nose in the air. “Rachael,” he said again, much softer. “I’m coming.” She turned her back on her target. Abby and Miranda were beside her in a heartbeat, flanking her sides, each one looping an arm through hers as

they walked over to where he stood with Gage. “Nice one,” Abby said, giving her a fist bump. “Yes,” Miranda agreed. “Well done.” Gene shook his head. The officers secured Tyret in the back seat, and one of them went around and got in the driver’s side. The other officer approached Gene with a nervous look on his face. “Sir.” He glanced at Rachael. “What am I supposed to put in the report about what just happened?” Gene looked up at the night sky, as if he might find an answer there, and frowned. From beside him, Gage said, “What are you talking about, Officer?” The man looked between him and Gage. “She attacked the prisoner. I need to say something in my report, and I’m not sure, well, I wasn’t—” “I was standing right here, and I didn’t see her attack him.” Gage looked around. “Did anyone see Rachael attack their prisoner?” Gene rubbed a hand over his mouth. Miranda shook her head. “I saw her trying to fight him off after he cut Gene with his knife.” “That’s what I saw.” Abby looked at Drew. “Uhm, yeah.” Drew glanced in Gene’s direction and then nodded at the officer. “If the guy got hurt, it must have been when she was trying to keep him from slicing the detective up any more.” The cop realized he was facing a united force. He looked at Gene and frowned. Gene shrugged. “I was a little preoccupied trying to avoid his knife. Probably best to take the word of four eyewitnesses.” The officer looked at Rachael. “And what about you, mam?” “You can call me Rachael. I think you and I aren’t so different. We both believe

in protecting the innocent, in standing up for what’s right, and in…in justice.” Her lips tipped up at the corners, and Gene rolled his eyes. “I think you should follow your conscience, Officer.” She angled her head, considered him a moment. “We all have to make choices based on what we believe in.” Glancing around at the circle of people gathered near her, she lifted her chin, stood her ground. “I believe in my friends. And I believe if we’re not free to stand up for those we care about, then we might as well just give up and let the bad guys rule.” She walked over and stood by Gene, slipping her arm around his waist. “Thank you for coming to my rescue.” She leaned toward him and kissed him softly on the cheek. “And thank you for quite possibly saving my life.” “Pfft.” She lifted a shoulder. “It was nothing.” The officer started to walk away. Gene gave him a questioning look, still not sure Rachael was off the hook. His fellow cop shook his head and sent him a grin. “From everything I was able to gather, any actions she took were strictly in self-defense.” A couple of minutes later the patrol car pulled away from the curb. They could hear more sirens nearby, and Gene guessed it was the ambulance coming to pick him up. Rachael looked up at him, her eyes filled with concern. After everything that had happened, she was worried about him. God, he loved this woman! He wrapped his arm around her shoulder and pulled her a little closer. “You okay?” She nodded against his chest. “Yeah, but I’m not the one with the new tattoo.” “Don’t worry about it. Once they stitch me up, I’ll be good as new, and I’ll have another manly scar to add to the collection.” “That’s not funny.” There was a twig dangling from her hair. He tried to pick it out, but it was caught in there good. “At least I don’t have vegetation sprouting from my head.”

“Yeah, you got attacked by that low-life bastard, and I got attacked by a rhododendron.” “You’re still beautiful, shrubbery and all.” She snorted, and he could just feel her rolling her eyes. “Hey, I wouldn’t lie to you. I’ve seen your right hook; it’s lethal.” She leaned away from him and grinned. “Don’t forget it.” “You feel good about that, do you?” “Damn straight, Simms. Not as good as if I’d been able to get off a couple more, but it’ll do.” He started to chuckle as the ambulance pulled up to the curb. “I’m glad you were on my side tonight, slugger.”

RACHAEL SANK ONTO the bed and rolled toward Gene. She’d ridden in the ambulance with him to the hospital, and Gage and Abby had driven them back to her apartment after he’d been stitched up and released from the ER. Gene had assured her he’d be fine, but he’d looked so pale as the ambulance whisked them away, and he had lost so much blood. She hadn’t been able to stop worrying if he’d pull through until the nurse wheeled him out to the waiting room about an hour ago and told them he was okay to go home. “Come here, you.” His hand slid under her waist and urged her closer. He sounded weak, or maybe it was exhaustion, probably a little of both. Even after being assured by the ER nurse that he would be okay, Rachael insisted he stay with her for a day or two. She nestled against him, taking comfort in knowing he was there, with her, safe. Gene’s arms tightened around her. “I can’t be sure what I would have done to Tyret if he’d hurt you, but it probably would have cost me my career.” His heart beat steady against the side of her face, strong, a true heart, a good heart, true and good like the man she’d discovered him to be. “You would have done the right thing. That’s who you are.” “I’m not so sure I would have. I’ve seen some horrible things, been in a lot of bad situations, but I’ve never felt the kind of fear I did when I found out he’d tricked you into going off alone with him.” Reaching up, she stroked his cheek, leaving her hand to rest there against the firm contour of his jaw. “We beat him at his own game, though, didn’t we?” “We were lucky. If you hadn’t been so quick, if he’d managed to get you into that car, it could have been the last ride you ever took.” Rachael swallowed. Tyret would no doubt have killed them both if his plan had worked. The image of him flying toward Gene with a knife haunted her. “Are you in any pain? The nurse gave me something you could take if it’s bad.”

“I’m okay. I don’t need any meds.” He turned onto his good side, hiked her up a few inches so they were face-to-face. “I know something that will make me feel better.” Cupping the back of her head, he angled his mouth over hers, and as soft as the moonlight sifting through her skylight, he kissed her. “I need you, sweetheart. I need to feel you with my hands, my mouth, to hear your voice, to know—” She heard his swallow and understood what he felt. She needed the same thing… to know. To know he was there, real, safe. “Make love to me, Rachael.” His words were a whisper in her mouth, a plea in the night, to chase away the shadows, to banish the demons of the night. “I might hurt you. The stitches, they might tear. We probably—” He silenced her with another kiss. “I know what I need right now. Damn the leg. Love me. Let me love you.” They took it slow—tender touches, silken strokes, their bodies entwining, sliding as lightly over each other as a butterfly’s wings dusting the petals of a rose. They loved. She rose over him, like the moon rising over the lake, casting shimmers of light to ripple through them, calming them, banishing the terror that had seized him, seized her. She was a goddess, charioting him through the heavens, stardust brushing over their skin as they flew, sleek as stallions, just they two, wrapped in each other’s arms. His moan kissed her heart, the pleasure she gave him a song in the dark, a concerto that filled her with joy as she found her own release and drifted down to lie beside him—just they two, together, one.

THE STEADY RISE and fall of his chest, the soft, snuffling snores that told her he’d finally found rest—she absorbed them, let them reassure her again and again that he was okay. Rachael held onto him, even as he slept, as if some unknown force might still tear him away if she let go. I love you. She listened to her own breathing, low and shallow, felt the sudden rush in her pulse, the uptick of her heartbeat, recognized it for what it was, and squeezed her eyes shut. Just hold him for now. Blowing out a shaky breath, she reached down for the edge of the sheet, pulling it up over them both. Silence ushered in shadows that hovered over, ghosts from her past, and in the quiet that surrounded her she heard her heart softly weep. Some things could never be, no matter how much one might want them.

Four weeks had ed since Tyret had lured her to the park, his eventual undoing. Gene had recovered nicely. His wound had not been as serious as Rachael first feared, and although he’d needed to use a crutch the first week, he’d bounced back without so much as a limp. He’d be left with an eight inch scar. He told her it went with the territory and had shrugged it off as inconsequential. She tried to do the same, but how could she? She’d dreamt about that night three times since, but in her dreams they weren’t so fortunate. Each time, she lost him. Nightmares they were. Holding him as his life leeched out of him with his blood, his face going pale, and paler still until he became transparent and she was looking through him, screaming at him, pleading with him not to leave her…not now that she’d realized how much she loved him. But he left her anyway… alone, vanishing from her arms and her life as she knelt in the cold, black shadows of the park across the street…alone and angry…angry with him for the leaving…angry with herself for the loving, for setting herself up to be hurt again. She did, of course. Love him. She had for some time, just had refused to it it to him, or herself. She hadn’t been looking for it, didn’t need it, didn’t want it… or so she’d convinced herself. She hadn’t told him. Funny, she thought, since she’d told Rick—Tyret—right after she’d kneed him in the balls. She didn’t regret inflicting that bit of justice, even though she abhorred violence. We make our choices and we live with them. She was comfortable living with that one and would do it again given the opportunity. Now she had another to make, one she had hoped wouldn’t present itself this soon, but she’d been avoiding Gene the last two weeks, and he’d started questioning her about it. She wasn’t used to owing someone an answer, although she itted he deserved one. The vision of Tyret slashing his knife through the air, intent on killing Gene if he could, haunted her. If she’d lost him that night… Rachael screwed the top back onto the bottle of Radical in Red polish and pushed up from the club chair where she’d been touching up her manicure. She needed to decide what to do about their relationship. God…they’d been in a relationship. Much as she’d thought they could keep it easygoing, flirt over

dinner and a glass of wine, have a satisfying tumble under the covers now and again, no strings…she’d even told him that, but she should have known better. She had known better, told herself giving him any opening would be dangerous, and allowed him to walk into her life anyway. Now she’d ended up right where she knew they eventually would if she did…sooner, yes, than she’d hoped, but right there anyway. She was having dinner with Abby and Gage tonight, a celebration Abby had said, when she called to say they wanted to get together. They’d invited Gene as well, and Rachael knew it was because everyone in her immediate circle now thought of them as a couple. It didn’t matter what she may have said. They saw them together and formed their own opinions. What did she expect? For the last couple of months they’d sure as hell acted like one, and the only one she’d been fooling was herself. They had a six-thirty reservation at Preservario, an upscale Italian bistro she’d never been to but had wanted to try, so at least she was looking forward to that part of the evening. Gene had called earlier to say he would pick her up. She’d let it go to her voicemail and then texted him a short while later to say she’d meet him there. She didn’t give a reason. He’d texted in reply to say he’d see her there. Something else he’d probably be asking her to explain when he got the chance. She wasn’t in a celebratory mood, especially when it was probably going to be something like their ten month, four day, and sixteen minute anniversary, or some other hunky-dory, we’re so happy, put me in a bottle and squirt me all over everyone else and make them want to gag, love mush. She blew out a sigh. How could she be so bitchy with so little effort? She loved Abby, Gage too, and she really was happy for both of them. She wanted them to be happy. She was thrilled that her best friend had found such a deep and beautiful love after all the heartache Dick the Prick had caused her. She’d always had Abby, and Abby had always had her, and always would. So she’d put on her best red dress to go with the shiny red gloss on her nails. She’d put on her makeup, put on her happy face, and celebrate whatever news, big or small, that her friend wanted to share. The rest of the night…well, it would bring what it would bring, and she’d deal

with it when it did.

ABBY LOOKED AT Gage and a smile erupted on her face. He put his arm around her shoulder and gave her a little squeeze. She looked at Rachael, then to Gene, then back to Rachael, glowing from the inside out. Rachael caught her breath, knowing filled her. “You’re pregnant!” “Yes!” Abby slapped a hand over her mouth after shouting the jubilant affirmative. “Yes,” she said again, joy written on her face like a love story on steroids. “Oh, Ab!” Rachael got up from her chair and walked around to the other side of the table. She bent down and wrapped her arms around Abby. “I’m so happy for you, honey, for both of you.” She moved to Gage and gave him a hug. “Congratulations, dad.” “Thanks. I never realized I wanted a kid so much until Abby told me we were going to have one.” “Yeah, funny how that works sometimes.” Rachael grinned down at him. Abby grabbed her hand. “Once we know for sure what it is, you need to go shopping with me for baby clothes. Your fashion sense is way better than mine. We’ll have so much fun!” “I’m there, sister. You know how much I love to shop.” She glanced at Gage and wiggled her brows. “Especially if I get to be spending someone else’s money.” Gene reached across the table and shook Gage’s hand. “Congratulations, Gage.” He looked at Rachael and Abby and then added, “I think.” Abby laughed. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. We’ll try to limit the wardrobe budget to five figures, at least until we don’t need to buy a new one every three or four months.” “Good lord.” Gage picked up his drink. “I’m going to have to take on a second job.” “Maybe your uncle will let you come back and work at his store pulling taffy on the side,” Abby teased.

“Good thing I’ve got some other skills to fall back on.” They raised glasses in a toast, and Rachael realized Abby hadn’t been drinking anything but water throughout dinner. Ab would take care of herself and be a good and loving mother, and their child would be happy. Rachael felt it in her heart. It would be as things should be…as she wanted them for her friends, as she was afraid they could never be for her.

She’d left the doors that led out to the balcony open, open to the air, open to the music of the waves, to the mist that floated up from the rocks like liquid clouds where they threw themselves one over the other in an endless rhythm that knew no beginning, would know no end. Leaning over the balcony, she filled her lungs with the tangy saltiness of it and tasted it in the back of her throat. The cool sea breezes wafted through the limegreen palm fronds shading her balcony from the hot Caribbean sun, lifting them, making them dance and sway and paint ever-changing shadows across the turquoise-blue walls of her suite. It whispered past her ears, over her skin, caressing her, and she swayed with it, pushed everything out of her head and just felt. No thoughts, just feelings— feelings she’d allowed no room for in her life until two months ago. She’d gotten a killer deal on the one bedroom suite at one of St. Maarten’s premier resorts. May wasn’t high season in the Caribbean, so she’d been able to afford the getaway without stretching her budget too thin. Even if it had, it would have been worth it, and she’d needed it. Time away, to reevaluate, reconsider, and be honest about what she wanted and what she was willing to do to get it. She couldn’t have chosen a better place to do that. The island seemed to breathe magic, whether it rolled in with the clouds that capped the highest peaks, or drifted in on the waves that washed the endless miles of beach and rocky shoreline. It put you in touch with your soul, whisked away the stresses and barriers, the shoulds and shouldn’ts, and exposed one to her inner self, drew it out, to feel, to explore, to live. Last night she’d gone to a festival in Marigot on the French side of the island. Bands played in the street—steel drums, reggae, and the music became the heartbeat of the night. She’d danced. She’d taken off her sandals and danced barefoot in the street, and she’d felt as free and light as moondust. When the song ended, the musicians had clapped for her, and she’d laughed and taken a bow, and wondered what it was about this place that allowed people to release the inhibitions that constrained them before, and probably would again when they left. For dinner she had gone to one of the lolos—the outdoor barbecues—and filled

up on ribs, Johnny cakes, and rice with beans. When she got back to her room, she’d opened the doors that led to the balcony off the bedroom and climbed into bed, the sound of the waves rushing over the rocks and the cooling sea breezes lulling her to sleep. Rachael held onto the balcony railing, leaned her head back and dragged in another breath full of healing air. He loved you. The words drifted through her head, lifting her hopes. He had…and she him…as she still did…as she would continue to regardless of what happened. For all that she had in her life—good friends, a career she enjoyed, a nice apartment—she knew it would never be enough, not now. She’d turned her back on love because she hadn’t had the courage to fight for it, to deal with the pain if it didn’t work out. But the pain had come anyway, ushered in by loneliness and regret. All her defenses had been useless, nothing but illusions, and she’d been foolish to think she could control her heart. She knew that now. The heart can’t be chained—it loves. Behind the walls we try to erect, against the chains we would try to restrain it with, when the heart recognizes what it needs, it loves. Well, she’d finally taken out the earplugs and listened to her heart. Yeah, it was scary, but she wouldn’t let fear stop her anymore. Life was a riskfest, and she was ready to take the big one. She was not going to become that miserable old woman in the nursing home with no friends…not this girl. Turning away from the sea, she walked into the suite’s living room. Doublechecking the international calling code, she placed a call to Eugene’s cell from the room’s phone. She got his voice mail, debated about leaving a message he might just delete, and then left a brief, impersonal one that said absolutely nothing. She frowned down at the handset. Really? That was your best shot? Might as well write him off as a lost cause right now. Okay, she was nervous. She didn’t know how receptive he’d be after the way she’d handled things. She’d sent him away with lame excuses, broken off all , and ignored the calls and texts he’d sent in the weeks afterward because she hadn’t wanted to face him again. So yeah, she was nervous, but she could certainly do better than that, nerves or no nerves. She went into the bedroom and took her laptop out of the safe. Taking it with her

to the balcony, she stretched out in the chaise and stared out over the water as she composed her thoughts. A beautiful sailboat rode the swells out of the channel next to the resort, its canvas snapping in the island breeze as it turned the mark and then heeled to the wind. She let her mind drift as she watched three pelicans swoop by. She glanced down at the screen and saw that her connection had come up. She breathed deeply, opened her heart, and the words began to flow.

GENE PULLED HIS phone out of his pocket and tossed it onto the coffee table with the mail. He put the pizza he’d picked up on the way home down and then went into the kitchen for a beer to go with it before settling down on the couch, where he planned to vegetate for the rest of the evening, one of the few that he hadn’t worked past eight o’clock in weeks. He picked up the remote and clicked on the TV. The Phillies were playing the Nationals in Washington, a three-game series, one all. He stretched out his legs, resting his feet on the coffee table, and reached for the box of pizza. That was one thing to be said for living alone. You could put your feet on the table and eat pizza out of a box and not worry about offending anyone else’s sensibilities. “Oh come on! How could you miss that one?” The Nats scored two on a fly ball to right field that should have been an out. After three pieces of pizza and another run, Gene tossed the box back onto the table. He noticed the light blinking on his phone. He leaned forward to see what it was. A missed call, but the number wasn’t familiar. Probably a sales call, nothing he wanted to listen to right now. Whoever it was could wait. His eyes went back to the phone. The number looked odd, maybe a foreign exchange. Who’d be calling him from out of the country, though? He picked it up and called his voice mail. Hey Simms, it’s Rachael. I was hoping to catch you in person, but…well, listen, I’ll…umm, I’ll try to reach you another time. I’m calling from outside the country, so, gotta run. Eugene let out the breath that had lodged in his throat at the sound of her voice. He hadn’t spoken with her since the beginning of February, the last time he’d managed to talk to her before she stopped taking his calls and disregarded any other attempt he made to make . And then he let her go, not that he had a choice. She’d made hers, and it wasn’t him, so he’d decided to respect her decision even though he knew it was the wrong one for both of them. She’d cared about him. He knew she had, but she must not have cared enough. That was all there was to it.

The last time he’d seen her in person was the night Gage and Abby had told them Abby was pregnant. Rachael had started to withdraw before they left the restaurant, and he knew something was bothering her. He just hadn’t known she was planning to end what he thought was just the beginning. So why had she decided to call after three months of nothing…from another county no less? He hadn’t talked to the Faradays in almost two months, either. They’d been busy, he’d been busy, and the shadow of Rachael hung between them, an awkward taboo no one wanted to touch. He was sorry for that because he liked them both. He imagined it must be like that when couples divorced. One didn’t just divorce a spouse; they often divorced the friends they’d shared as well. He shouldn’t let that happen. As soon as things settled down, he’d get in touch, ask them to meet him for dinner or something. What was the chance she’d reconsidered and wanted to give things another go? Would it be worth it? Was she? He’d moved on. He hadn’t forgotten her, but then how did a man forget a woman like Rachael? She was work, no question about it, but if she made the decision to love someone, to give them her heart freely, the effort it took to win her love would be worth it, no matter how many times you got shot down in the winning. Was she worth it? Yeah, worth every breath it would take to convince her she belonged with him— if he believed he had a chance of convincing her. He played the message again. She didn’t give any indication why she called. He frowned. He should just forget it, see if she called back or tried to him some other way. Gene leaned his head back against the top of the couch and closed his eyes. Maybe she had. He got up and went into his bedroom, which did double duty as an office and workout room. He checked his emails, his pulse ticking up a notch when he saw one from Rachael. He opened it and read what she’d written twice before deciding what to do. It

didn’t take long. After making a couple of phone calls, he pulled his carry-on out from under the bed. He’d always wanted to go to the Caribbean.

HE’D BEEN ABLE to get a flight out of Philadelphia International at seven o’clock the following morning and arrived in St. Maarten just after one. After clearing customs, he made his way past the luggage carousels and exited the security area. Princess Juliana airport was small compared to what he was used to, but busy. Car rental kiosks lined the far wall, and beyond them, through the expanse of glass, he saw a steady flow of taxis pulling in and out. “Need a taxi, sir?” someone asked from beside him before he’d taken more than a dozen steps. “I want to go to Oyster Bay; it’s on the Dutch side.” He hadn’t known much about St. Martin/Maarten before reading several articles about the island in one of the magazines on the plane, and it had surprised him to learn that it was divided between two countries, one side being Dutch, the other French. “Yeah, yeah, we go there.” The cabbie took his bag before Gene realized what was happening and headed for the door. “You come with me.” He looked over his shoulder and motioned for him to follow him. “You come this way.” He waved him forward. “Come, come.” Given no real choice, Gene made for the exit. Walking out into the bright Caribbean sunshine, he breathed in the tropical air, warm and moist, with a hint of something exotic that he couldn’t identify, just felt. The driver popped his suitcase into the trunk of the cab and then held the back door open for him to get in. As they pulled away from the curb, Gene leaned forward to take in the sights along the way. Palm trees were everywhere, and bougainvillea grew wild on the roadside, climbing over the rocks, up the mountainside, screaming in a scarlet celebration of the sun. Lush flowering trees hung heavy with white, pink, and yellow blossoms, and interspersed among the tropical splendor were cactus, an odd combination it seemed to him. Everywhere he looked he saw people—walking along the road, congregated at small outdoor bars, women in colorful dresses selling plantains and other assorted fruits and vegetables from roadside tables, working, playing—one with the island. They ed small homes scattered on the side of the mountains or hugging the road, with brightly painted facades of orange, green, blue, yellow, and every color in between that seemed to shout out in joyous celebration. Despite the poverty he knew existed on so many of the islands, the people here seemed to

embrace life. “Is this your first time to St. Maarten?” The driver looked at him in the rearview mirror. “Yes. First time to the Caribbean.” “It’s good you come.” He accented the word good, drawing it out just a bit. “Where you from?” “Philadelphia.” “United States. We get a lot of people from the States. Canada, too. How long are you here for, a week?” “I’m not sure yet. We’ll see how it goes.” “You’ll like it here. It will go well, you’ll see.” The cab driver turned and looked at him. “You’re strange—strange now, stay a few days, not so when you go.” “Strange?” “Yeah, yeah. No sun, too white.” The driver cut around a car that had stopped in the middle of the road while the occupants carried on a conversation with someone standing off to the side. “You need to spend a couple days in the sun. Then you won’t be so strange.” Gene guessed he meant tan. He looked down at his arms. He wouldn’t mind a couple of days of sun and sand. The driver slowed down and came to a stop while he waited for part of a herd of goats to move off the road in front of them. Adults, babies, tan ones, white ones, spotted ones—they were scattered around both sides, snacking on the shrubbery, some stretching up the trunks of trees in search of the tenderest leaves they could reach. By the time they reached the resort, roughly thirty minutes later, Gene was ready for a drink to go with the sun and sand, something strong to calm his nerves after the ride from the airport.

He paid the driver and walked up two steps and into an open-air lobby. Comfortable-looking chairs with thick, brightly colored cushions invited relaxation in the middle of the casually elegant reception area, and to the side of the room, a table with complimentary lemonade and water had been set up for guests to help themselves. “Good afternoon, sir. How are you today?” Friendly faces greeted him. Wherever he looked it seemed there was someone smiling, ready to help him in whatever way they could. He got a good vibe from the place, and so far The Friendly Island, as it was called, seemed to be living up to its reputation. “May I help you, sir?” a woman behind a counter to his right asked as he looked around. He didn’t have a reservation. Rachael had said in her email that she had a suite. He had thought if all went well, he wouldn’t need one. He’d find out soon enough. “I came to see a friend, Rachael Gooding. She’s staying here. Can you tell me what room she’s in?” “I’m sorry, sir, we don’t give that information out. If you’d like, though, I can ring her room and let her know you are here to see her.” He frowned. Of course they would have security measures in place to protect their guests, and not giving out room numbers was one of the most basic. He glanced toward what looked like a tropical courtyard beyond the reception area, and beyond that he could see a bar that led out to a pool. Maybe he’d look around the resort first to see if she was about. If he didn’t run into her within an hour or two, he could have them call her room. “That’s okay. I was hoping to surprise her.” He looked at the woman and winked. “She didn’t know I was coming.” “Ahhh.” The woman smiled. “More than a friend, perhaps. Maybe you’ll find her by the pool.” “My thoughts exactly. If I need to take a room, do you have anything available for tonight?”

She checked her computer. “We have a couple of openings, yes. Lucky for you, it is not high season.” “Thanks. I’ll let you know if I need one.” The woman smiled at him again, a big, toothy grin. “Or maybe you’ll find your lady friend and won’t need one.” “That would be my vote.” Gene walked through the courtyard, his eyes going to the view beyond, an infinity pool, falling into the sea, and blue that went on forever. Large white umbrellas fluttered in the breeze like dozens of sails, and were set up around the pool deck for guests wanting to enjoy it all in the shade. Paradise—it looked and felt and smelled of paradise, his idea of what that would be. He couldn’t think of a more perfect setting to spend a few days, and there was one thing that could make it even better. Rachael hadn’t actually asked him to come, but she’d told him where she was, and after what she said in her email, he couldn’t help but think that was her way of asking. He knew her better than she realized. She might have been willing to it she missed him and felt it was a shame after all they’d been through not to maintain some with each other. But that was a far shot from, please come to St. Maarten and let’s try to start over. That one was on him, and although he was hoping the things she didn’t say proved his hunch right, he’d come on a whim, one that was totally uncharacteristic and might prove to be a mistake. The fact she’d reached out to him at all still surprised him. That she took the blame for ending things so abruptly and actually apologized for the way she handled things the last time they were together, surprised him even more. To do that told him volumes. The woman didn’t do vulnerable. She didn’t take risks of the emotional kind. She didn’t it to mistakes in judgment—perhaps to herself, but not to others. She viewed it as a weakness, and she would never allow anyone to think she was weak. But she’d done just that. He found an open-air beachside restaurant on one end of the resort and stopped in for a burger and a couple of one dollar Coronas with lime. He hadn’t had lunch, and the burger and beers hit the spot. A long, sandy beach stretched on for quite a way. In the distance were several

beachside condos, some gated, and beyond that, past a rocky outcropping, another large resort. The beach was packed. He scanned the chairs and bathers closer by to see if Rachael might be among them but didn’t see her. She might have gone off-site to visit one of the shopping districts he’d read about in the magazine from the plane that he’d leafed through on the drive over to distract himself from the crazy drivers who seemed to come flying around every bend on the wrong side of the road. Friendly people and good bargains—that seemed to be what the island was known best for—and the food, of course, a gastronomical paradise. If things went as he hoped, maybe he and Rachael would go into Grand Case one night for dinner. From what he’d read, the little town on the French side was a haven of gourmet restaurants offering cuisine to tempt any palate. After finishing his meal, he claimed a seat at the bar. The bartender struck up a conversation with him, and two guests, who told him they’d been coming there for over ten years, loaded him up with recommendations for everything from the best place to get cheese and pastries, to activities that ranged from sailing to dirt bike tours. He left the bar about an hour later and then spent another one roaming around the resort, stopping here and there to sit, to watch, in the hopes she might appear. Everywhere he went people said hello, struck up conversations, from the staff to the guests, and he felt the stresses and strains of his hectic life begin to evaporate in the afternoon sun to be carried away on the cooling sea breezes as they swept in over brilliant blue water like he’d only ever seen in pictures. When six thirty rolled around, he found himself sitting at a corner table in the bar with his three new best friends: Luke, Aidan, and Chuck. They were sharing a bucket of Corona minis and trying to talk Gene into going out with them that night to a casino on the other side of the island. “I’m going to , but thanks.” He raised his bottle and looked up, and that’s when he saw her. He only got a glimpse, a woman in a long floral maxidress, long hair flowing free, entering the restaurant off of the courtyard. He hadn’t seen her face but knew it was her by the way she moved, a familiar something that made his pulse jump in recognition. She’d walked in alone. Hopefully, she wasn’t meeting anyone.

Finishing off his beer, he stood up. “Nice chatting with all of you. I just saw the person I was looking for, so if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to say goodbye. Have fun at the casino.” There was a restroom next to the restaurant, and he stopped in to relieve himself of the several beers he’d had since arriving. Rachael was sitting at a small table by the windows, looking out toward the sea. He’d seen her as soon as he walked in and stood watching her for several moments, caught up in the picture she made, her profile a silhouette against a tropical paradise, before he realized the woman asking if he would like to be seated was talking to him. “I’ll be ing the woman over by the windows.” He hitched his head toward where Rachael sat. “Thank you, I can seat myself.” “Oh, Miss Rachael.” The hostess gave him a warm smile. “She’s one of my favorites. Always so nice, and so beautiful. Ooo la la.” She kissed her fingertips to the air. “Such a one shouldn’t be dining alone all the time. It’s good you come, good you’ll be enjoying a meal together.” Everyone kept telling him it was good he’d come. He knew they didn’t mean anything personal by it. It had nothing to do with him and Rachael, just an expression, but he was about to find out if he’d made the right choice, if it really was good he’d come. He approached the table, never taking his eyes off her, and when he stopped next to it, she looked up. Her eyes flared and he felt the familiar electric charge that never failed to spark between them. He put his hand on the back of the empty chair. “Is this seat taken?”

SHE GAPED UP at him, momentarily stunned. She hadn’t expected him to come, had hoped, wished it with all her heart, but not expected he would. He hadn’t returned her message and she’d thought…and now he was here. He looked as gorgeous as ever. More so, because she loved him, and he’d come. Rachael blinked. The rush of emotion coursing through her felt so strange, strange and wonderful. He wouldn’t have come all this way to tell her to fuck off. He could do that in a text. “Yes.” He looked around and frowned, as if he expected someone else to walk up to claim the place, and she realized her mistake. “No. I mean no, the seat’s not taken, so yes, sit down, please.” He did and she stared at him, tried to gather her wits, think of something clever and witty and perfect to say. “I…I don’t know what to say.” The corner of his mouth twitched, the humor coming into his eyes as it did. “It’s good you come?” She smiled, looked down at her water glass and nodded. “It’s good you come, Simms.” His quick grin and easy manner did wonders to calm her nerves. She’d missed that about him; he was so comfortable with himself. She’d missed everything about him, simply missed him, missed them, and as she glanced back up at him, her hopes took flight because she thought his being here could only mean he’d missed them, too. They ordered their meals. Gene chose the barbecue ribs on her recommendation, and as she’d had the ribs the night before, she opted for the conch stew, one of the evening’s specials. They kept the conversation light at first, talk about the island, how good their meals were. He told her about the trio of friends he’d met in the bar and their efforts to drag him with them to the casino, about his crazy car ride from the airport.

“How’s Abby feeling? I’m guessing you’ve seen her recently?” Rachael nodded to his question. “She’s good. Getting fat.” She swallowed down her nerves and forced a smile. Gene chuckled. “I’m sure Gage thinks she looks as gorgeous as ever.” “And she does.” “I haven’t seen them in a couple of months.” Gene glanced out the window, watched a young couple with twin boys by. “Things have been a little hectic.” “And then there’s me.” She caught his eye, raised a brow. “The awkward issue no one wants to talk about. Has a way of creating a chasm between friends.” “It’s no excuse. I need to call them, stop over to see them.” “Yeah, you should. I’m sure they miss you.” She pushed her stew around with her spoon, set it down. “Look, I’m not very good at this. I haven’t had a lot of practice, but there are things I need to tell you. I’m sure you didn’t come all the way here from Philly for some ribs.” “They’re damn good ribs.” “Yes they are, but that’s not the point, and if I don’t get all this off my chest soon, I think I might just explode.” He set his fork down and gave her his full attention. “It’s a damn fine chest.” Rachael threw her napkin across the table at him. “Are you trying to make this more difficult for me, Simms? Would it amuse you to see me explode?” “I’m sorry.” He handed her napkin back to her. “You’re not the only one who’s nervous. If you , I tend to make bad jokes when I get nervous.” She wanted to ask him what he was nervous about, but that would be cowardly. She had no right to probe into his vulnerabilities when she hadn’t been willing to show her own. She was the one who’d screwed things up between them. She would take first risk.

She hiked her chin. “And I think I tend to slide into bitchy, so I’ll apologize for starters.” “Tell me what’s on your mind, Rachael.” He leaned forward and put his elbows on the table. “And don’t be afraid, darling. I’m not the enemy.” He reached across the distance and took her hand. He was trying to make it easier for her. Rachael swallowed, fought the tears rising hot and fast, swiped her eyes as the first broke through her defenses. “And what’s this?” He reached up, touched her face, and she fell apart. “I’m sorry.” She sniffed, rummaged through her purse for a tissue. “I’m sorry I ended things the way I did. I could have…I don’t know…handled things better.” “You could have, yes, but you’ve got a chance to make things right now, don’t you?” “I’d like to.” She batted away more tears, drew in a breath as she struggled for more control. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’m not a crier. I’m trying not to.” “Stop apologizing. Your tears don’t bother me. They’re an honest emotion, and don’t forget, I grew up with three sisters.” She grinned at that. “Poor man.” “I survived. Now tell me why I’m here.” Nodding, she gave his fingers a squeeze, found some of her control. “I tried to explain some in the email. I felt like we’d gotten too involved. I didn’t want to be in a relationship, not like the one it was becoming. I told myself a long time ago I didn’t want the commitment, the expectations…the assumptions that came with it.” “You said you didn’t like breakups. Moving on, getting over, starting with someone new and them not turning out to be who or what you thought they were. Did that happen with us? Were you disappointed because I wasn’t the man you thought I’d be?”

“No, not at all.” She gathered her hair at her nape, pulled it to one side. “You were much more than I thought, expected, and it took me by surprise. I wasn’t prepared for you. I should have told you all this when I broke things off. You deserved better. If I was disappointed, it was in me for letting—” She looked out the window. “I was scared.” She let out a shaky breath before continuing. “I’ve always thought I was so mature, could take on the world. I know that’s why I let myself get involved with Parker when I was in school. He was an older man. I thought I was all that…sophisticated…so much more mature than everyone else. I believed he loved me, and I’d planned out this ridiculously naïve life that we were going to share just as soon as I graduated.” She looked across the table at him and shook her head. “Even now, when I think about what a fool I was, I can’t believe I ever fell for him or didn’t see through his lies.” “He hurt you.” “Yeah, pretty bad, but I was stupid. I romanticized our relationship when I should have been questioning it. It was my mistake, and when it ended, I promised myself I’d never let it happen again. I never wanted to lose myself to a man the way I’d lost myself to him. So that’s the way I lived my life. Keep everything light, protect your heart. I didn’t want the complications, the mess, didn’t want the pain.” “He betrayed you. Betrayal can do a real number on trust.” “It wasn’t as much about the trust. It was the pain. I didn’t like it. And worse, I felt like I should have known better. There were clues all over the place. I didn’t bother to think. And afterward, I never told anyone. I might have been able to stop him from doing it again, but I didn’t. I was too ashamed, too embarrassed I’d been so foolish. So I kept my mouth shut, and he got away with it. I cried for months afterward. I felt hurt, broken, and empty. I cried until I couldn’t stand myself anymore. So I learned how to block it out, and then I left it all behind and promised myself I’d never be stupid again.” “You weren’t stupid, just young. Young, and hurt, and alone—not an easy place to be.” “And pregnant.” She let the words fall between them.

“Oh God.” He stared at her a moment. “Did Parker know?” “No.” Rachael took a drink of her water. “I didn’t find out until almost a month after I left school. I thought about it. I hated him for using me, but I almost felt sorrier for his wife than myself. I was the other woman. I didn’t want to be the home wrecker, too. I thought about an abortion, made an appointment to go in. I was terrified of having a child. I didn’t think I could deal with the explanations, the stigma, or the responsibility. I was sitting in the waiting room, and I realized I couldn’t go through with it. I couldn’t. I started to think of it as a part of me, something no one could take away from me.” Gene wrinkled his brow, waiting for her to explain. “It didn’t matter what I wanted. I lost it. I was almost three months along, and I lost it. I was strong and healthy. It shouldn’t have happened, but it did. I went to a free clinic. I didn’t want my parents to find out. The doctor there told me I wouldn’t be able to have kids. It was a bit of a shock. I’d never thought about it. Then I was pregnant, then I wasn’t, and being told I’d just lost my only shot at having a child of my own. It changed me.” “I’m sorry.” He took her hands, both of them in his. She shrugged. What was there to say? Life was what it was, and sometimes there was nothing we could do about it but go on living as best we knew how. That’s what she’d done. And then she discovered life had played a monumental joke on her. “I realized I couldn’t offer most men what they wanted—a good time, maybe, but marriage? I’m not an easy person to live with, I think, and children, they weren’t part of the package. When I realized I was falling in love with you, I panicked. I had nothing to offer but me, and the one time I gave myself completely…well…you know what happened there. And then you went and made me feel like I was falling love with you. I couldn’t shut it down, couldn’t control the feelings. I’d thought I could, but they were too strong, so I ran. I’m very good at running.” They sat in silence for what seemed like a lifetime. “I wouldn’t have ended things with you because you couldn’t give me a child.”

She bit her lip. “We can come back to that. Just the thought of telling you all this terrified me. You had a right to know, though. I didn’t want you wondering if you’d done something, and when I sent you that email, I didn’t know if you’d even be interested anymore. I told myself if you weren’t, if you didn’t respond, I wouldn’t blame you. You deserved better than the brush-off you got.” “I’d say it was more a dumping than a brush-off.” “It was, you’re right, and you’ve told me to stop apologizing, so I won’t again. I needed to do this, to clear the air. I needed to be honest with you and with myself before I could move forward. I’m glad I did. I hope you’ll be able to forgive me. If you can’t, I’ll understand, but I hope you can.” “Do you still feel like running?” “I’ll never run from a man again, unless, of course, he’s the sort who needs running from.” “And what sort do you consider me, Rachael?” She looked him in the eyes and opened her heart, hoped he’d be able to read the truth of her words in her eyes. “The kind who’s worth risking everything for.” He studied her face and then stood up. Rachael felt a moment of fear that he might tell her she wasn’t worth it. “Excuse me a minute. I had the front desk hold my suitcase until I knew if I’d be staying or not. There’s something I want to get from it.” He walked away with no further explanation, and she watched him go, slack jawed.

GENE DIDN’T WANT to do this in the restaurant. After picking up his suitcase, he stopped at the hostess stand and took care of the check, then went back to their table. “I brought something for you.” He reached down and took her hand. “But I’d rather give it to you someplace that’s a little more private.” She stood up, the colorful maxidress flowing around her, loose and free like her hair. She’d already picked up a bit of a tan, and her skin glowed golden in the soft lights of the restaurant. “We can go to my room. There’s a nice balcony off the back, with a gorgeous view of St. Barts.” “Sounds perfect…lead the way.” She kept his hand in hers, and he was content to leave it there. Her room was in the next building down, and they took the elevator up to the third floor. “Maybe I should have booked a room before they’re all taken.” She glanced at him as they made their way down the outdoor walkway that all the rooms fronted. “I’ve got a king-size bed, Simms.” “Is that an invitation to stay with you, in your room?” She slipped the key card into the door. “No wonder they promoted you to detective.” He grinned. He hadn’t wanted to take anything for granted. “Yeah, I’m smart that way.” The room was beautiful, done in pale blues and greens. She opened the balcony doors to let the breezes in. A full moon flirted with the waves crashing on the rocks below, and off in the distance, the lights of a cruise ship moved slowly on the horizon, a city on water. “Why don’t you put your suitcase in the bedroom?” Rachael pointed to a doorway on the right, just past a small kitchen with all the conveniences of

home. He put it on the bed and took out the gift he’d hoped to give her in the event all went well. “Do you want anything to drink?” she called from the other room. “I’ve got coffee and tea, and I won a bottle of wine playing bingo yesterday.” He grinned to himself. He had a hard time picturing her sitting around playing bingo with a bunch of other guests. “I’ll have a glass of wine, thanks.” When he walked back out of the bedroom, he saw she’d gone out to the balcony, so he ed her there and stood beside her at the balcony railing. Below them, waves crashed against the rocks. They watched them roll in from the sea, their foaming crests pure white as they rode the swells turned inky black in the night. “This is for you.” He handed her the package. She fingered it, gave him a questioning eye, and then untied the ribbon holding it shut. Reaching inside, she pulled out a cloth doll. He’d bought it from a woman on the beach that afternoon. The doll had on a brightly colored skirt that went down past where her feet would be, but if you turned it over and pulled the skirt down, it became a different doll, with a different colored skirt. He’d thought it was the perfect foil for his surprise. “An island doll. Wow, thanks.” She was doing her best to sound grateful, but was probably wondering what the hell she was supposed to do with it. “It’s… uhm…very islandy.” Gene fought to contain his amusement. “It’s actually two dolls in one. Flip it over, you’ll see.” She did, turning it upside down and then pulling the skirt down. She blinked, reached out and touched the small gold band on the doll’s arm, then spun it around. “Oh my God!” Her eyes shot up to his. “How did you?” She slipped it off the arm. “My God, Simms, when did you—”

“I checked the bid card just as they were shutting the auction down. Someone else had bid after you. I quickly wrote in a higher bid at the last second.” “But why? What did you want with a ring?” His eyes burned into hers. “I hoped one day I’d be able to put it on the finger of the woman I loved.” He watched the tears come shimmering into her eyes. “But you put it on mine instead.” “Is that so hard for you to believe?” “I’ve never been what most people would consider lovable.” He chuckled. “Most people know squat.” “What about you?” “I know more than most people.” She went quiet a moment and he reached for the ring. “May I?” When she merely nodded, he took it and slid it onto her finger. “Look there, a perfect fit. Sort of like you and me.” “I see you changed the setting.” She held it out, caught the moonlight. He’d had the jeweler set the ruby in a circle of diamonds. “Do you like it?” “It’s beautiful, even more so than before.” She let out a sigh. “I’m a little confused by what it means, though.” “I think you know what it means, sweetheart. And you told me you were done running.” “You know I can be very argumentative? And spiky sometimes. I’m not the type to back down on something I believe in just to suit a man.” “I think you’ll suit me just fine.” “I’m not sweet, Simms…and I’m not submissive. Don’t think I would be.”

“I don’t, and I’m glad for it. If I wanted to spend my life with a puppy dog, there are plenty of shelters where I could find one to suit. I know what and who you are, Rachael, and I know I’ll never find another woman like you. Not one who can make me burn with desire one minute and touch my heart so tenderly the next. So if you’ve finished trying to warn me off, I’ll tell you now that I’ll take you any way I can get you.” She hiked her chin. “And I’ll take you. I know I’ll never be able to find another man like you, one who looks so pretty in my robes and makes such killer breakfasts.” He couldn’t contain his grin. She was such a smartass. “Are we in agreement then?” She moved in, closer. “Almost.” She took his hands, and turning his palms toward her, placed them against her breasts. “There’s one more thing you need to know before you leap into the fire. If you’re okay with it, we’re a go. If you’re not, you’re free to walk away.” She took his wrists, drew his hands down over the swell of her breasts, down her ribcage, and brought them to rest on her abdomen, a swollen abdomen the maxidress had done a very good job of concealing. Eugene froze. She was pregnant. Nothing she could have told him would have shocked him more. He had no doubt the child was his, not with the way she was looking at him. He swallowed, swamped by an emotion he’d never experienced. “I thought you told me the doctor at the clinic said you’d never be able to have a child.” “Obviously he was wrong. This guy’s almost five month’s along and as strong as an ox.” “A boy?” “So I’ve been told.” He thread his fingers through hers. “Don’t even think of running now. Even if you wanted to, I’d catch you. I love you, Rachael. Haven’t you figured that out yet?”

She turned and walked in from the balcony, pulling him in behind her. She looked back, still able to make his blood burn hotter than any fire, even with his son growing in her belly, and smiled. “Good, because as it turns out, I love you, too, and now that we’re in agreement, there’s something I’d like you to do for me.” He followed her into the living room. “What’s that?” “Take me to bed.” “Is that safe? I don’t want to hurt you, or the baby.” “Healthy as an ox, our son is. And I’ve been told it’s okay, so I’m expecting you to give it your best effort.” He started to rise to the challenge. “Have I ever let you down, darling?” “No, you never have, so don’t even think of slacking off now, Simms.” She untied the thin straps of her dress as they walked toward the bedroom and let it fall to the floor. She wore nothing underneath it all. His breath lodged in his throat. He’d never seen anything to compare. She was a goddess, and she was his. He pulled his polo shirt over his head and tossed it behind him, undid his shorts and slid them down, stepping out of them as he went. “Don’t you think it’s time you started calling me by my given name?” She chuckled and sent him an amused look over her shoulder. “Rachael.” She stopped and turned, in all her glory. He came up short, and she set her palms against his chest. “I suppose I could try.” She slid her hands down, dragging her nails against his burning skin as she did. When she reached the waistband of his boxers, she slipped her fingers underneath and inched them down. He kicked them the rest of the way off. She leaned forward and kissed him full on the mouth, hot and hungry. He groaned and she moved her lips to his neck, his ear, and took a little nip of his

lobe. “Make love to me.” She traced her tongue around the outer edges. “Eugene.”

The End

Thank you for reading Run Rachael Run. I hope you enjoyed the time you spent with Gene and Rachael as they traversed their road to happily ever after. Philadelphia, South Jersey, and the island of St. Maarten/Martin, are all places I’ve spent a lot of time with family and friends, so using these locales as the backdrop for Gene and Rachael’s story brought back many fond memories for me. I hope I was able to take you there with me for a brief visit. If you enjoyed Run Rachael Run, it would mean so much to me if you could take a few minutes to leave a review on your favorite retailer site or blog. Reviews are so important to authors and even a brief sentence or two is appreciated. Again, thank you for taking the journey with me. Bon Voyage…

Sincerely, Patricia Paris

Thank you to the Philadelphia Area Transit, and the AA County, Southern Division police officers who took time to answer my questions and to the officers who took me with them on drive alongs. The experience was both fun and insightful! To my earliest readers, Nette Boliver, Diana Campe, Kyrah Drasheff, and Nadine Schneider. You rock, ladies! I can’t thank you enough for the time and thoughtfulness each of you put into reading this book and giving me valuable . I am also hugely thankful to my wonderful editor, Sandra Ray, for your patience and the many rounds of edits and advice. You’re the best! And to my husband—whose belief in me never waivers—thank you, always.

Patricia Paris lives in the Chesapeake Bay area of Maryland with her husband John; a lazy, but lovable cat named Shiloh; and James Brown, aka JB, the baddest, but also, most lovable dog in town. When not writing, you’re likely to find the author exploring the Bay area’s small towns and waterways, which provide endless inspiration for her writing; battling the weeds that insist on invading her gardens; or, being an avid foodie, experimenting with a new recipe in her kitchen. Patricia its to being an unapologetic romantic, and she loves to give her readers that happily ever after, every time.