Breath of Malice.

Karen Fenech.

For Andrew, Pamela, and Dave with love.

CHAPTER ONE.

He was here. FBI Special Agent Paige Carson gripped her service weapon harder and blinked sweat out of her eyes as she moved deeper into the Adirondack Mountains. Thick, wild bushes that she was unable to hold back while clutching her weapon snagged the protective gear she wore over her clothing and sc.r.a.ped the exposed skin on her face.

Fallen leaves, twigs, and branches littered the ground, masking the uneven terrain beneath. She took small steps to keep from tripping and landing on her face, but despite that care, her foot sank beneath a patch of decayed earth. s.h.i.t. She stumbled, righted herself. She held her breath, released it in a rush, then took another quick glance at the GPS locator strapped to her wrist. Not far now. Every muscle tensed. She moved on.

Her squad leader had told her to wait. To h.e.l.l with that. She'd left her squad members behind to follow her at their ridiculously slow pace and moved ahead on her own. Waiting for the Bureau to dot its i's and cross its t's before going in would have been a mistake. She was tired of sitting through meetings. Of sitting on the sidelines. There was no time to waste. The Bureau was already far behind. The suspect had proven to be a step ahead of them time and time again.

Three women had been murdered by the man she was chasing into the mountains now. Forensic testing revealed that the bodies had been buried, then exhumed, before they were found. The FBI, and Paige in particular, had been pursuing him for five months, since she'd joined the Bureau. This may have been Paige's first case, but she knew what she was doing. Knew that she was right. The man the Bureau was hunting was accomplished-at killing and keeping himself under the radar. This was their first solid lead to his whereabouts. If they missed him this time, they may never get another chance.

That wasn't the only reason Paige was determined to apprehend him now. She squared her shoulders. She wanted to be the one to bring him in. Would be the one to bring him in. By the time her squad arrived, she'd have him in custody. What better way to make a name for herself with the Bureau than to capture a serial killer? Bringing this murderer in would cement her career. Adrenaline and nerves had her skin tingling.

Clouds hung low, promising rain. Despite the chill in the overcast April day, sweat trickled down Paige's spine. According to the GPS, her destination was just up ahead. Then she saw it. A cabin. Well maintained, with a supply of wood stockpiled neatly to one side. Not a chip in the dusky-blue paint on the covered wraparound porch.

Paige took cover behind a tree, taking in the sight. Smoke curled from the chimney. She could smell meat roasting and something else . . . something sweet. Chocolate. Someone was melting chocolate.

Postcard pretty, buds of wildflowers dotted patches of the land around the cabin. All was quiet, as if even nature was reluctant to disturb such perfection.

The sights and smells gave her pause. Was she at the wrong place? Could the lead be wrong?

It certainly looked like the intel was off. Like this cabin belonged to a nice family. Paige blew out a breath filled with anger and disappointment. She relaxed her stance, lowering her gun hand.

Something stirred the air behind her. The slight breeze felt like a breath on her exposed neck. The fine hairs there p.r.i.c.kled. The breeze carried the strong and cloying odor of a floral cologne.

Blood pulsing, Paige sucked in a breath, raised her gun, and was about to swing around to face the person behind her but . . . too late. The barrel of a gun pressed against her temple. The click of the gun being c.o.c.ked sounded as loud as a bomb.

The gun slid from her temple and along her forehead, raising goose flesh everywhere it touched. When it was centered between her eyes, the man who held the weapon moved out from behind her and faced her.

He wasn't much taller than her own five-foot-five frame, maybe an inch or two more, with a paunch visible beneath the jacket he wore open over a white b.u.t.ton-down shirt. His hair, a white blond, blended with his pasty complexion.

Paige's heart rate skyrocketed. Her mouth went dry. She needed to say something, to do something to gain control of the situation, but all she could do was stare at the man holding the gun to her head, his stubby, pale fingers wrapped around the b.u.t.t with a grip that was rock steady.

His eyes, a clear arctic blue, focused on her so intently he had yet to blink. And he was smiling.

Paige opened her mouth to speak, to tell him she was a federal agent, that he was caught, but no words came out. And he had yet to utter a word.

Still, Paige got his message. She was going to die. He was going to kill her, then likely bury her as he had the other women. Were there others besides the three women they knew about? If so, the only consolation in her death would be the possibility that by locating her body via the tracking chip she wore, federal agents might find other victims.

His eyes widened slightly, lifting skin that had sagged at the corners. His smile grew, showing an overbite and uneven teeth. She could see in his expression that he would kill her now and saw that he would enjoy it. Paige inhaled her last breath.

"Federal agents! Drop your weapon and put your hands behind your back now!"

Paige recognized the voice of her squad leader. Agents swarmed from the tree line, taking up positions all around her and the man holding the gun to her head.

Paige continued to stare into the man's eyes. His smile didn't waver. Nor did he break eye contact. For an instant, Paige thought he was going to ignore her squad leader's command and kill her anyway, but then he dropped his gun at her feet. And winked at her.

CHAPTER TWO.

One Year Later He'd winked at her. Agents had run to him, forcing him to his knees, then hauled him away. Paige's next view of him, the man she'd since come to know as Todd Thames, had been at his murder trial. Now here she was, back in this Manhattan courtroom seated across from Thames again as she gave her accounting of the events that had transpired on that mountain one year ago.

Thames sat at the defendant's table, and though she kept her gaze on the attorney directing her questioning, she could feel Thames's eyes on her. Even a year later, those eyes still chilled her.

Every seat in the courtroom was filled. It was standing room only as members of the media, officers of the court and of the law, and the families of the women Thames had murdered took up every available s.p.a.ce. All were gathered for this hearing, which had been called in response to a motion made by Thames's attorney to have Thames's conviction overturned, a conviction that had entailed the maximum sentence. New York was a death penalty state, and Thames had been sentenced to die.

The state maintained that motion was not valid, and the state's attorney had pulled out all the stops to resurrect even the tiniest shred of evidence and testimony against Thames, including Paige's testimony.

There'd been no doubt that Thames was the right man, but there'd been insufficient evidence to gain a lawful conviction. Someone had jumped the gun, or maybe made a mistake, or deliberately decided to enter into evidence an item found in Thames's cabin that hadn't been named in the search warrant and had not been openly visible for the prosecution to argue to include it under the plain view doctrine. The item was an earring belonging to one of the women. The unlawful introduction of this evidence had been overlooked during the first trial. But no longer.

Outside, April rain pelted the ground and had soaked the hair and suit jackets of the men and women in the courtroom. Paige took a breath in an effort to steady her vibrating nerves and inhaled the odor of damp clothing.

But that wasn't all she smelled. Though Thames was several feet from her, she could smell his cologne. It was the same one he'd worn on the mountain. Paige had not forgotten that scent and now fought to keep from gagging.

"Agent Carson?"

Paige blinked at the trim female state attorney who'd addressed her. Paige realized that she had stopped speaking. The lawyer's eyes looked like they were about to bulge out of her head, silently prodding Paige to get on with it.

Paige took a sip from the gla.s.s of water at her elbow and summoned all of her internal resources to keep her hand from shaking. She cleared her throat. "And then my squad arrived. Mr. Thames was taken into custody. I had no more dealings with him after that point."

The Bureau had recovered three bodies. All three had been women in their mid-to-late twenties. In order for the murders to be cla.s.sified as serial killings, there needed to be at least three victims, found at different times. The way the bodies had turned up had appeared calculated to Paige, not random. Though Paige was not a profiler, she had studied criminal behavior. She believed Thames was a narcissist who craved validation and who had lost patience with law enforcement running in circles and failing to identify him and bring him the recognition he wanted. The bodies had turned up at different public locations within hours of one another, and all the victims had been murdered in the same way. Paige believed Thames had given up the location of the bodies and just enough information to point the Bureau to him-but he hadn't given them enough information to convict him.

Thames was a medieval history professor, and all three women had been his students at one time. An image of the brutalized women flashed in Paige's mind. Bodies broken into unnatural angles. Shredded flesh where female body parts had been. Jaws locked in a silent scream. Paige felt the blood leave her face and bowed her head to force a blood rush.

The attorney shot Paige another irate look before facing the judge. "Your Honor, I have no further questions for Agent Carson."

Judge Tate arched his thick brows and faced Thames's counsel. "Mr. Willman?"

Thames's lawyer glanced up from the notepad he'd been writing on and shook his head. "We have no questions for Agent Carson, Your Honor."

The judge said to Paige, "Agent Carson, you may step down."

Keeping her eyes forward and off Thames, Paige stepped out of the witness box and strode rapidly down the aisle to the exit door. Flattening both palms against the thick wood door, she pushed hard and charged into the hall. She took her first full breath since entering the courtroom. Her legs went weak, and she braced herself against the nearest beige wall for support.

What she'd left out of her statement was that one year ago, she'd been bold, brash, c.o.c.ky. So full of herself that she'd believed not only that she knew more than seasoned professionals but also that she was invincible. That morning on the mountain, Thames had shown her just how wrong she was. She'd been powerless against him. And even now, she continued to relive the fear and the helplessness she'd felt when she'd realized she was unable to save herself. Thames was still inside her head.

Paige had checked out of her hotel before coming to the courthouse. With the court appearance behind her, she had no reason to be here, no wish to remain here one moment longer than was absolutely necessary. She retrieved her overcoat and suitcase, then called a car service to take her to the airport. She was headed back to her apartment in Denver.

As she was returning her cell phone to her purse, the door to the courtroom opened, then closed. Paige hunched her shoulders at the soft puff of air that resulted, which felt like Thames's hot breath on her nape. Her car hadn't yet arrived, but she left the courthouse and walked into the rain.

CHAPTER THREE.

Paige locked the door to her apartment in Denver for the last time, then left the keys with the building manager before going out to the parking lot where she'd left her van. Packing hadn't taken long. She didn't have much to take with her. She hadn't had much in the way of furniture, and she'd sold or donated what she did have. She'd buy what she needed when she reached her destination. The most important thing was that she was leaving.

The April day was bright and cool. Paige huddled into her thick sweater. A couple of teenaged boys sped down the road in an old sports car. Despite the windows being closed, the music blaring from the car's speakers had a pounding backbeat that obliterated all other sound until they pa.s.sed.

Two weeks had pa.s.sed since her court appearance in New York. Even though she knew Thames was still in prison, pending the ruling in his case, Paige kept her eyes trained on her surroundings as she crossed the parking lot and made her way toward her vehicle. In the oversize purse she'd slung over her shoulder was the reason for her hasty departure from Denver. A blank postcard of the Adirondack Mountains, where Paige had encountered Thames, had been sent to her home here in Denver. The postcard had arrived the previous week, on the first anniversary of that day.

This was the second such postcard she'd received. The first card had arrived at her house in New York City one year ago. At that time, she'd considered that the sender might have been someone she worked with in the Bureau office. Her actions in the Adirondack Mountains had alerted Thames to the FBI's presence. If her squad members hadn't arrived when they did, Thames would have escaped. She had jeopardized the investigation, provided Thames with an opportunity to flee, and put her entire squad at risk. Many had shown her their anger in subtle and not so subtle ways.

But at Thames's murder trial, as she'd walked by him on her way to the witness stand, he'd started singing under his breath. The words he sang so softly that no one else appeared to hear were the numbers and street name of her New York home address.

And Paige knew. No one from the Bureau had sent that postcard. It had come from Thames.

Why her? They had a profile of Thames's victims. Like Paige, they were twentysomething, slender brunettes. Other than physical appearance, the Bureau had not been able to find anything in common in the victimology of the three murdered women. There was nothing that tied the women together.

Paige's throat tightened. Again, she wondered, why was he targeting her? How many of the women who had found themselves caught by Thames had asked themselves the same question? Was it because their paths had crossed that day on the mountain?

In New York, Paige had added the first postcard to other items being sent out for forensic testing, hoping for something that would link the card to Thames. It had come back clean. Again, as with the bodies of his victims, Paige believed that Thames was allowing only what he wanted to be discovered to be found.

Paige had gone to her superior at the New York office, Special Agent in Charge Lewis, with the postcard. He'd asked if she'd sent the card to herself in another bid to gain attention. With nothing to prove that Thames was contacting her-and doing so from death row-she was on her own.

Now, Paige had received a second postcard.

Thames knew she was no longer in New York, knew exactly where she was in Denver, and soon, she believed, he would be released. Paige didn't think his conviction would stand. Despite all he'd done, the law would set him free.

He hadn't forgotten about Paige over the last year. Instead, he'd tracked her. How Thames had found her in Denver was a mystery and one that was keeping her awake at night. A drop of perspiration trickled down her neck. She increased her pace.

Paige's van was parked in a handicap spot. Her fifteen-year-old sister, Ivy, sat in the back in her wheelchair and turned to face her as Paige got behind the steering wheel. Ivy's blond hair fell to her shoulders, straight and glossy. Behind her gla.s.ses, Ivy narrowed her almond-shaped eyes, and her delicate features tightened into an expression sour enough to curdle milk.

"This is unfair," Ivy said.

Paige had been hearing the same refrain ever since she'd told Ivy they would be moving. After Paige received the postcard in New York City, she uprooted Ivy from the house they'd grown up in and brought her to Denver, forcing Ivy to leave behind her friends and all that was familiar. And now, just one year later, they were moving again.

Guilt weighed on Paige's chest. "I'm sorry Denver didn't work out for us."

"Why didn't it work out? Where are we going? You still haven't told me."

To ensure that Ivy didn't reveal their destination, Paige had kept that to herself. Ivy had protested the secrecy, but Paige had been adamant. She didn't think Thames had an in with the one bookish girl Ivy had eventually befriended in Denver and could track her through that girl, but what wasn't known couldn't be told.

Paige hadn't told anyone where they were moving. Not that many had asked. She was distant with her colleagues at work and with her neighbors at the apartment that had been their temporary home. The big city and the busy Bureau office had been the perfect place to become lost. Or so she'd thought. Her hands tightened on the steering wheel. But Thames did not know she was leaving Denver. She thought about their new home, the safety of a fresh start, and slowly, deliberately, Paige eased her grip.

She pulled out of the parking lot and glanced at Ivy before returning her gaze to the road. "We're going to Kirk County to the town of Caledon. There are two other towns in Kirk County, Haldonville and Linkdale. Kirk County is in South Carolina. I hear that South Carolina is really nice."

"New York was really nice. Why can't we go back there? Why can't we go home? I want to go back home."

Paige's throat closed at the loss and grief she heard in Ivy's voice, knowing she was the cause. Ivy deserved to live like a normal teenager, so Paige hadn't told her the reason for the move from New York or why they were moving again. She hadn't told Ivy about Thames.

Maybe if Paige had only had herself to think about, she wouldn't have run; she would have stayed in New York, baited Thames, taken him down. Or maybe she was fooling herself, and she would have done exactly as she had.

Paige rubbed her arms against a sudden chill. She would do anything and everything to keep Ivy safe from Thames, but Paige's one consolation was that Paige herself was Thames's target. Ivy wasn't Thames's type. She was too young and she was blond.

Ivy was still looking at Paige, waiting for a response. Paige was fresh out of reasons-excuses-for leaving Denver. Feeling drained, she couldn't come up with one more lie. Ivy turned away to gaze out the window, and there was no further conversation after that. With only brief stops to eat and sleep in motels that didn't take them off their path, Paige drove largely straight through. Thames was still behind bars, but he had a reach Paige had never expected, and she found herself continuously checking her rearview mirror, looking for someone who might be following them. She pushed herself hard, wanting to get as far from Denver as she could, as quickly as she could. As long as she and Ivy were out in the open, Paige felt vulnerable.

They arrived in South Carolina ahead of schedule. Paige consulted the vehicle's GPS and her own notes to find Kirk County. She drove by gas stations, miles of open land, and not much else before reaching what would be their new home. Kirk County was a distance from major highways and cities. Remote as the county was, it was not easy to find, and Paige released what felt like the first deep breath she'd taken since she'd received Thames's latest postcard.

The sun was coming up, the light a pink blush on the horizon. Ivy was dozing in the back, stretched out on the bench seat. Paige pulled into the motel parking lot and scanned the area. Hers was the only vehicle.

She turned in the seat. Her neck and back ached. She winced, then reached out and gently shook Ivy awake. "We're here," she said softly.

Ivy blinked, then opened her eyes fully and turned her dull focus on Paige. In that instant, Paige glimpsed Ivy the way she had been in New York, before Paige had brought Thames into their lives. Gone was the anger and sadness that had surrounded Ivy since they moved to Denver, giving Paige's heart a hard tug.

She swallowed back emotion, then said, "Wake up, sleepyhead. I need to register us at this motel, and then I'll be back to get you. In a few minutes, you'll be sleeping in a comfortable bed."

Paige was so tired, and not just from the drive. Since Thames's postcard had arrived in Denver, she hadn't been able to turn off for more than three hours at a stretch without being jerked awake by a nightmare.

She tucked her purse under her arm, then opened the door. After the air-conditioning of the van, the heat struck her. Spring in the South. Already, the day was promising to be a warm one.

A bell jingled over the door to the motel. When no one came out from the room behind the counter, Paige tapped another bell that sat beside a guest register. It took a few rings, but finally a desk clerk shuffled out, squinting and blinking. The man with bedhead, scratching at an overnight growth of beard, wasn't one for conversation. He accepted Paige's payment, pushed the register book at her, and then it was done. By the time Paige finished adding her name, he'd gone back to his room, which was fine with her. All she wanted was a bed.

Back in the van, Ivy had already gotten into her wheelchair. Paige lowered the platform, slung her purse over her shoulder, cross-body, then grabbed a couple of bags with the easy-to-access overnight provisions that they'd used at other rest stops. The motor on Ivy's wheelchair whirred as she moved forward. The motel still used keys rather than key cards. Leading the way, Paige took them to the number on the key she'd been given. Room #11 was not fancy, but the mild trace of disinfectant that lingered in the air rea.s.sured Paige, and the linens and curtains were crisp and clean.

She set the bags on an armchair that faced a small television on a stand. There was one queen-size bed. Paige barely had time to turn back the bedspread before Ivy left her wheelchair and flopped onto the sheets.

Paige closed the curtains, then parted them with a fingertip to peer out at the parking lot. The sun had risen a bit higher and gained some strength, now glinting off the hood of Paige's van. Her vehicle was still the only one on the lot.

No one had followed them. She and Ivy were safe. Paige released the curtain, letting it fall back into place, then rubbed her fingers across her brow, smoothing a worry line.

She locked the door, then made her way to the bed. Ivy was on her stomach in a deep sleep, one arm stretched out as far as it would go. Paige eased Ivy's gla.s.ses off and set them on the nightstand, then smoothed back her sister's hair from her face. Paige's fingers lingered. Lately, she and Ivy had been at odds, and Ivy didn't welcome Paige's touch. It hurt to know that, to see Ivy pull away from her. Paige wanted to fix what was wrong between them. They were going to make a fresh start here.

"I'm going to make it right for you," Paige whispered softly.