She never had to isolate herself in a cabin in the middle of nowhere.

And because she never lived there, no one helped the hker who fell on the trail.

A Killer Smile Instead of surviving his injuries, the hiker slowly froze to death. Me.

"El-len ... " She bent closer.

"Yes?"

"It was w-worth it."

Chapter Twelve.

Ellen died in a blaze of despair, and in her ashes Tess appeared..

When the landlady had asked her name, Ellen had given in to a flight of literary fantasy and muttered her name was Tess. Tess Phoenix.

The mythological bird had become her personal symbol, a reminder that life could spring from the ashes of death.

After paying the room deposit, Ellen counted her dollars carefully.

When George had first opened the account for her, he had provided the

bank with all her personal identification. She'd now provided them thecoded answers to the prearranged questions, then walked out of the bankwith a grubstake for her new life in the big city.

Ellen was bright enough to know the money wouldn't last very long in thehigh-priced city. A secondhand life was the best she could manage at themoment. So her next step was to locate the nearest flea market.

Once there, she discovered a few of the concessionaires attempting todraw a crowd by hawking their wares in loud, carnival-barker voices.

She shied away from the noise and took refuge in the quieter areas,where she bought a pair of scissors.

186 A Killer Smile Killer Smile There was just enough light in the dingybathroom to see the singed braid as it fell to the floor. People hadbeen staring at her blackened stub of hair, one of the fire's lesserlegacies.

Trimming the ends as carefully as possible, she emerged, feelingmarginally better.

Continuing down the next aisle, she discovered a portrait artist ofdubious talent, who commanded a substantial fee for barely adequatelikenesses of children and adults. The line of customers waiting forsuch minor talent was impressive as well as inspiring. Ellen knew shehad, at last, found the solution to her monetary problems.

The next weekend, she invested twenty dollars in mate rials and rented astall on the opposite side of the market from the other artist. Herfirst subject was a four-year-old girl who couldn't keep still in thefolding metal chair.

"C'mon, Tracy. Look at me for a minute." Ellen reached up and dabbed asmudge of charcoal on her own nose.

"Is my nose dirty?"

The child laughed.

"It's real dirty. If I got that dirty, my momma would get mad at me."

"Do you want to know how it got so dirty?"

The girl screwed up her face in thought, then nodded. "Yeah."

Ellen drew a deep breath. It was a lesson she'd learned years ago; thekey to survival was desensitization.

"Well, it all started when the dragon tried to set my cast leon fire.

I'm a princess, you know "

" A real princess?"

"Absolutely. You see, where I. live, the dragons are pretty dumb. Arethe dragons in your the'hborhood dumb, too?"

The child shook her head.

"We don't have any dragons where I live."

Ellen affected a look of shock.

"You don't? That's too bad. Let me tell you about the dragon who used to

live near us. His name was Hermitt and ..."

Ellen spun a tale which so mesmerized Tracy that the child listened

with. rapt attention, resulting in a stationary pose and an enchanting portrait that thrilled' her mother.

When Ellen showed Tracy the sketch, the little girl pointed to the

signature in the bottom corner.

"What's that say?"

"It says Tess. That's my name."

"I can't read" ' Tracy stated in a matter-of-fact voice. "Well, what if

I do this ..." Ellen turne the T in Tess into a hieroglyph of a phoenix rising from a flame with wings outstretehed, Tracy smiled and clapped her hands.

"Ooh, a bird! It's pretty. Thank you for the picture." Sheducked her head and smiled shyly.

"And for my story, too."

The phoenix became Ellen's signature and the smartest marketing tool she could have ever dreamed up. The next weekend, she hung a large cutout of a bird rising from a flame over her stall. Soon she had her own line of customers waiting for a unique portrait and entertaining story from' The Phoenix'."

Unfortunately, Ellen had forgotten one of the great disadvantages of civilization was the transmi. eion of germs. With an immunity sys'fi that hadn't been put to a serious test in four years, she found herself snsceptle to every cold and flu virus that came down the pike. Hr nosy landlady, Mrs.

Pritchard, took great delight in chronicling Ellen's frequent bouts of illne.

Mrs. Pritchard stopped her in the hallway.

"You poor thimg; Again?"

"when the little boy sneezed in my face, I knew I was doomed." Ellen sniffed, then blew her nose.

188 A Killer Smile "Would you like some soup, dear?"

"Thanira, Mrs. P, but I had ome at th, e flea market. I'm just going to try to sleep it off."

"All right, Tess. Sweet dreams."

"Good night."

Once upstairs, Ellen burrowed her head in the co01 pillow and pushed the

quilt away. Beads of perspiration collected on her face and body as thefever spiked. Waves of heat rolled across her body, and she searched foran oasis Of comfort to relieve the inferno that built inside her. Imaginary hot sands blew into her eyes, burning her and making herthirst unbearable.

Ellen fished a piece of ice from her water glass and rubbed it over herforehead and down the valley between her breasts. The soothing sensationeased the heat but fanned the flames of fantasy that sat at the edge ofher delirium.

Not flames. Heat. The heat rising from the floor of the dert andclinging to her heart.

She dreamed of hot sand, ancient walled cities and tented bazaars.

She dreamed of missing jewels and robed men with knives. Any minute, sheknew a hero would gallop to her rescue on an Arabian stallion.

The assassins approached.

ny minute he would arrive. He would reach down, swoop her into his armsand then-Ellen sat up in bed. Damn! The hero in her dream was acaricature, a mere shadow of a real man. She koew she could fall backasleep and return to the second-rate fantasy to make her two.dimensional cover-model lover perform in any way she wished. He had nonml personality, no inner strength.

He was nothing more than a mediocre actor in the little drama she'dcreated, a stage player who took direction and recited stiltedsophomoric speeches about beauty and goodness and. A Killer SmileJack--the real Jack--had destroyed everything.

First he'd invaded her dreams, taking over the role of her dream lover.Then he'd brought reality to life, making love to her in a way thatsurpassed even her most erotic dreams. Finally he'd stolen her trust andrun away, leaving her nothing but the ashes of memory.

The fire. She knew it had been staxted by human hands. By Jack's hands?

Wa he. an emi. ss of Hank--or Hank, himself? How could she have fallenin love with a man who could turn around and do such a thing?

And how could she still love him?

HE AWOKE out of a sound sleep, his mind burning with new memories.

Staggering into the living room, he sat down on the brick hearth,watching the flames pretend to consume a ceramic log. It all had comeback to him in his sleep. Every sordid detail, every snatch ofconversation. -He'd been manipulated by a master, someone who knew justhow much information to give him in order to sound authentic.

And Alec had fallen for the oldest trick in the book. He stood, his hadthrobbing in guilt. The memories were too much to bear. He lurched intothe kitchen and found three longnecks in the refrigerator door and aforgotten six-pack hiding near the sprouting potatoes. Carrying the beerinto his office, he slapped on the lamp and scattered the contents ofhis In Progress file across his desk.

There the-file sat, nestled between legitimate business. He stared at the words, written in ignorance. Written in blood.

len's.

He carried the file into the living room and dropped to the hearth.

A Killer Smile A Killer Smile Burn it, his guilt whispered.

Get rid of it, his sense of justice commanded.

He looked at the first page: Missing Persons Report. Subject: Coster, Elleu.

IT WA MORNINO. He didn't care. He didn't care if the sun rose, set ortumbled from the sky. He didn't care about going to work. He certadidn't care about the knock at his door or the figure entering unbidden.

He squinted at the woman silhouetted in the too-bright doorway.

"Yeah, Caroline?"