Cole resented being treated like a two-year-old, even if she were the county 's highest-ranking law enforcement official. Had it been any other case, she would have sent her flunkies to do the job, but because this case had becom e high-profile....

"This note was stuck to her chest with the knife. I was careful not to disturb the weapon, but I removed it to read."

"Bag it as evidence, Lieutenant," she said in a clipped tone, though she ref rained from scolding him as he knew she wanted to.

"Of course," he gritted through clenched teeth.

The Coroner stood up, pulled off her rubber gloves, and dismissed him withou t a word. She told her a.s.sistants to bag the body, then headed for the mayor and his wife. Her facial features visibly softened. A change of face for th e mayor's sake .

He stepped back and allowed the men from the coroner's office to remove th e body, then walked to Frank Cooper and said, "I want you to ride to the c oroner's with the body to witness the autopsy. Make sure all evidence is p roperly bagged and tagged. I don't want any screw-ups."

"But-" Frank began. Cole held up his hand to stop any forthcoming argument .

"We're following this thing by the book, Cooper," he said as he walked awa y from the opened mouth officer.

At this point, Cole could care less if Frank Cooper had ever witnessed an au topsy before or pa.s.sed out during the d.a.m.ned procedure. He wanted everything done to the best of his abilities.

Cole walked to the open trunk of his car, withdrew a paper envelope, and sl ipped in the quote after writing the pa.s.sage down, word for word. That tagg ed and numbered, Cole then withdrew a good size cardboard box from his trun k and headed for the print left in the flower bedding.

With a stick, he carefully lifted the near-dry plaster and placed it right si de up in the box to finish drying. He numbered the box as tagged evidence, th en sent it with O'Riley and the rest of the evidence to the crime lab for a.n.a.lysis. With the high priority of this case, Cole felt positive the backlog of cases would not slow down his evidence. After all, the Coroner coming to Fai rview Park spoke volumes about the attention his case now received.

Tired, all evidence collected, and ready to head back to the station to type h is official report, Cole headed for his car. He first noticed the slender legs , crossed at the ankles. His gaze traveled up their length, disappearing benea th a short linen skirt, and up to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s where her arms were crossed bene ath, pushing the soft flesh up to gently over-flow the V-neckline of a turquoi se suit jacket, finally to stop on her face.

A smile edged his lips as he approached the woman, the toe of her two-inch heel tapping out a rhythm on the blacktopped pavement.

"I wondered what was taking you so long, Michaels," Cole said as he threw t he rest of his supplies in the trunk and closed the lid. Her photographer s napped off a roll of pictures as the men from the coroner's office wheeled the black-bagged body to the ambulance with Cooper quickly in tow. "Need I call you next time?"

"You wouldn't even if I asked," she grumbled, pushing away from his car, making ready to approach the grieving family. A van from WEWS pulled up t o the opposite curb as an entourage of people jumped from it armed with v ideo cameras, microphones, and at least a one hundred feet of cable.

Ignoring the crew as they made their way toward Laurie's destination, Cole grasped her upper arm and halted her forward progress. "Where are you goi ng?"

"To interview the Stantons," she snapped, her brown eyes flashing with barel y controlled rage.

"Gee," he chuckled non-humorously, "the lieutenant has already lost his ap peal to the press. There was a time when you followed me for the scoop."

Laurie jerked her arm from his grasp. "You lost your appeal a long time ago.

Cole held her stare for long moments, tight-lipped. Then as she started to wa lk away, he reached for his car door and said, "Last night you didn't think s o."

Laurie spun around on her heel, marched back to the car, and slammed the d oor shut, nearly catching his hand in it. "Don't you even bring up what ha ppened between us."

Cole chuckled, one side of his mouth turning up. "There's nothing between u s to talk about, Michaels. Sorry I gave you that impression."

Laurie clenched her jaw and glared at him, perching her fists on her hips. "Y ou really are a son of a b.i.t.c.h, Cole Kincaid."

"So they tell me," he taunted, unaffected by her curse.

"To think I might have cared about you, to think-"

"Let me tell you something, Michaels," Cole said, fixing her with his glare. "I'm not only a son of a b.i.t.c.h, I'm an a.s.shole. I don't want you to care or feel anything for me. You can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved."

Tears filled her eyes, but she batted her lashes in an attempt to ward them o ff. "No one said I wanted to save you, Lieutenant."

"Wasn't that your reasoning behind going to see Robert Freeman? Charley N ash? Read the papers, Miss Michaels, though I'm sure you already have. See what they say about me-it's all true. My wife is dead because of me; my b est friend's child will never see the light of day because of me." He paus ed, waiting for her to say something, anything.

When she held silent, he continued with a malice-filled laugh, "There is enou gh self-hate inside these walls," he tapped his sternum, then pointed a finge r at her, "that not even a beautiful woman like yourself could begin to heal it, even had I wanted you to."

"Then what is it you do want?" Her voice trembled.

"To be left the h.e.l.l alone."

He entered the car, started the engine, and put it into gear, driving off witho ut another word. In the rear-view mirror's image, Laurie stood in the middle of the street, staring after his retreating car.

"d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l," he cursed, striking the steering wheel with the heal of his palm. "d.a.m.n it to h.e.l.l," he repeated in a softer tone as the ache in his chest returned tenfold. Not even the turmoil from his case could fill the void left t here.

Chapter 22.

Twilight quickly approaches, turning the horizon just over the rows of expensi ve houses a brilliant orange. Only those born to the right station in life cou ld afford such luxuries, for surely the life of a lowly reporter can ill produ ce such extravagances.

The soul stands quietly near the back of the house, shrouded by trees and f oliage in the small woods beyond. Lights furnish him a good view of the ins ide, one she will likely never bestow upon him. Chandeliers hang like diamo nds dropping from the sky, illuminating her pathway as she travels about th e interior.

"The blood is the life! The blood is the life!" echoes through his head like a litany as Bram Stoker wrote so correctly over some hundred years ago-call ing him, beckoning him. But fate is with Laurie Michaels this day, for her time has not yet come.

The soul clenches and unclenches tense fists as he watches her enter a room on the top floor, pulling the restraints from her hair, allowing it to float lik e a silky reddish-brown curtain about her shoulders. Her hands go to the b.u.t.to ns of her turquoise suit jacket as she takes it off and tosses it aside, leavi ng her glorious in a white bra.s.siere of lace. Deep rose-colored nipples stand out in contrast as the soul's mouth goes suddenly dry.

Desire courses through his veins as the fluid the soul so craves runs swift ly and hardens what was moments ago placid. His hand moves down to the ache now paining him and glides it slowly over the coa.r.s.e fabric.

Soon, the soul promises himself, soon her time will come to its end.

Then like a thief in the night, he steals through the woods as agilely as a b lack panther, no one being aware of the malignancy so near.

A chill ran down Laurie's spine as she spotted the opened window toward th e back of her bedroom. It had been careless of her to leave the window aja r and the house unsecured with a psycho running about the city. Walking to it, she cranked the window shut and closed the blind.

Laurie entered the connecting bathroom, trying desperately to shake the feel ing of unease, and started the water in the tub, before stepping out of her skirt. A hot shower would calm the trepidation clawing at her soul. She woul d not give way to her fears and allow this shadow of a man to drive her from her home. Besides, she thought with little conviction, she had Zeke to prot ect her.

The dog lay at the foot of the bathtub, his chin resting on its paws, staring up at her in blind devotion. Laurie chuckled as she finished undressing and stepped into the running water. Like he would do her any good .

Tonight, Laurie wanted nothing more than to climb into bed with a good boo k and forget the day had ever happened. She had gotten quite a story from the day's events and was promised a front-page slot on tomorrow's copy.

So why then did she feel so d.a.m.n miserable?

Cole Kincaid.

He had been the cause of the deep aching hole in the center of her chest, an d had she not known better, she would swear somewhere along the way, she had allowed herself to fall in love with him, though foolish it had been. After all, his story was so d.a.m.n tragic. How could she not be affected by it?

His own admissions earlier did little to push her away as he had intended.

Instead, Cole only succeeded in making her care more, if that were possible . She wanted desperately to hold him and soothe away the pain he surely car ried around with him like a purple heart won in the spoils of war.

The shampoo now rinsed from her hair, she turned off the water, leaving ste am hovering in the bathroom like mist off the bayou in the early morning hours. Laurie grasped a towel, and wrapped it around her. As she stepped from the tub and wiped away the dew gathering on the mirror, she looked at the reflection staring back at her.

Brown hair, brown eyes.

My G.o.d. I must be careful. The killer had stepped over the line and what Co le had a.s.sessed earlier no longer held true. The murderer may have started with prost.i.tutes, but he had moved up to the mayor's daughter. What would s top him from turning to her one day? After all, it was her byline on the st ories covering his hideous deed.

Laurie smiled nervously at her reflection; she was being silly of course. Th ese things would never happen to her, they only happened to other people...d idn't they?

Donning an over-large sleep shirt and a pair of lace panties, Laurie turned off the bathroom light and headed into her bedroom. After shutting off the lights to her home and checking the security of her alarm, she grasped a r omance novel from her bookshelf and headed for bed. She would lose herself in Melody Morgan's Defiant Hearts , and take herself to another place and t ime even if for just a few blessed hours.

Two chapters into the book and not recalling much of what she read because of her lack of concentration, Laurie realized that forgetting Cole and his parting words were not likely to happen. She placed the book on her nightst and, turned out the lamp, and snuggled into her comforter, praying for bles sed sleep to stop her rolling thoughts of a man she could never have. He be longed, and always would, to a woman whose life had been tragically taken.

Jeanne Kincaid.

She was pitiable. Here she was, jealous of a woman who no longer walked the face of the earth. But Laurie knew, without a doubt, she could never compe te with Jeanne for his late wife lived within the confines of Cole Kincaid'

s heart and always would. The one spot Laurie could never lay claim to.

With a deep sigh, she rolled over, punched her pillow a few times and resigne d herself to a sleepless night.

The evening went on much longer than Cole had intended, not leaving the st ation until well after nine o'clock. He unlocked the door to his apartment and entered the lonely s.p.a.ce he called home. Maybe his reasoning to take on Damien as a roommate had been to ease his aching heart and fill it with someone who had a more colorful life than his own.

If that had been the purpose, he had succeeded-for a short time anyway. Bu t since meeting Laurie Michaels, he had been reminded how lonely his life actually was. h.e.l.l, he did not need a friend. He needed a lover, a compani on. But would it be enough to make a relationship work? Cole could not off er Laurie what she searched for. At her age, women sought husbands to provide them with babies. And babies w ere not in Cole's future. After all, what child would benefit from having h im as a father? Cole worked long hours and spent most of his time thinking about his job. A child needed a father to play football with, tell stories to, help with homework, to have tea parties with. And where would he be?

Before too long, Laurie would end up resenting him for not spending enough quality time with her and their children.

Cole raked his fingers through his hair. The long hours were getting to him , for here he was, entertaining the idea of not only marrying a woman too y oung for him, but having children with her as well. A thought niggled his b rain: Would it be so bad?

He turned on the lamp beside his recliner, lending the room a spot of light.

d.a.m.n right it would . She would never be happy on the meager salary of a co p not when she already lived at the top of the hill.

After retrieving a beer, Cole sat in his recliner and began reading chapter two of Bram Stoker's Dracula . It had been a couple of days since he last re ad the book. Upon nearing the end of Jonathan Harker's Journal entry for the fifth of May, Cole found what he had been looking for.

Bingo.

Bram Stoker had been the author of the penned, " Ah, sir, you dwellers in th e city cannot enter into the feelings of the hunter." "BS" stood for Bram St oker.

Excitement coursed through his veins. With any luck, the quote he found to day would also come from the same source. He pulled his notebook from his pocket, flipped open the small black leather cover, and stared at the seco nd quote. "Back, back, to your own place! Your time is not yet come. Wait!

Have patience! To-night is mine. To-morrow night is yours!"

Cole now knew what triggered his memory at the scene earlier in the day. H e had read the strange hyphenated "To-night" and "To-morrow" in Bram Stoke r's work. Now, if he could only figure a way to link it to his perp.

Cole leafed ahead in the novel, scanning the pages until near the end of chap ter four, he found the second quote.

Dracula was not speaking to Jonathan Harker at this point, but to the terrib le women in the hall. So if his perp followed suit and was not speaking to C ole, then to whom did he direct this quote?

In the first pa.s.sage, Dracula meant Jonathan Harker could not think like the wolves as Dracula could, for he was a hunter, which Cole's perp, also, like ned himself to. And Cole, as Jonathan Harker, could not possibly understand this.

A lump rose in Cole's throat at his partial understanding. His perp referre d to his next intended victim, whose time had not yet come. And if Cole cou ld figure out which woman he now referred to, he would know the perp's next prey before he struck again, possibly stopping it from happening. But if h e did not, Cole would be made to feel responsible. Knowing this and how Col e would feel, this son of a b.i.t.c.h had issued him the challenge, making Cole a p.a.w.n in his twisted game.

"d.a.m.n," Cole cursed the silent night. "Who besides me would have access to the quote? Who else would have access to the evidence?"

The mayor and his wife, Cole supposed, but neither fit the profile. The Cor oner did, having brown hair and dark eyes, being of Native American descent , though Cole doubted she would be in any danger. Any female at the lab doi ng a.n.a.lysis, which Cole would lay odds several fit the description.

Then there would be those at City Hall, specifically the station, which two of the secretaries fit the portrait: young, dark hair and eyes, and unmarrie d. And last, but certainly not least, Laurie Michaels if indeed Cole had dec ided to work with the press again on the case. But why, if the murderer had targeted her, would he not think she would have access, especially since it was she who wrote the last d.a.m.ning piece in the paper.

Fear slithered up his spine like a water moccasin skimming silently across the water's surface. He would have to warn Laurie of the possibility, thoug h as stubborn as she was, he doubted it would do him any good.

She would not take him seriously, and knowing her, she would go after her s tory with more zeal, even if he had asked her to lay low. His best bet was to keep a close eye on Laurie. Cole could not allow anything to happen to h er. h.e.l.l, he had yet to forgive himself for allowing his wife's demise. How would he ever get over something happening to Laurie Michaels?

Cole placed the book on the stand, shut off the light, and took a swig from h is bottle. He tilted back the recliner, crossed his feet at the ankles, and s tared out the patio window into the blackened night. His perp was out there s omewhere, getting his yanks off of Victoria Stanton's death.

Cole sighed.

And there was not a d.a.m.n thing he could do about it.

Damien paced the small room of the club, rehearsing his planned speech like a litany. He had told Cindy to give him five minutes to wind down after th e set. Right now, she probably sat out there downing her last beer, anxious ly awaiting their time together, and here he was, preparing himself to blow her off.

h.e.l.l, it wasn't like he didn't feel bad. He had allowed his relationship wit h Cindy to go on for far too long, even for the sake of stealing a few glanc es at Laurie Michaels now and then. He would have to be careful to let Cindy down gently or chance earning Laurie's wrath as well. A chance he was not a bout to take.

The door to the room swung upon, allowing the smoke from the club to filter in. Closing the door, Cindy sauntered over to him and placed her palms o n his chest. Sweat ran down his chest and abdomen, soaking his shirt. He w anted to wrench his long sleeve tee over his head, but knew it would be a mistake in the presence of Cindy.

"Did I give you enough time?" she purred like a well-stroked kitten. She rubb ed her ample b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his shirt.

Damien knew the desired effect she meant to send: the blood rushing to his groin so he would accept her invitation. But to Cindy's bad luck, he remain ed limp.

"Long enough." He walked away from her, putting distance between them. Afte r all, the last thing he wanted was to wear the scars of her sharp nails.

"What's the matter?" He heard the annoyance in her voice; it grated on hi s nerves like the squeal of bad breaks. "You've been pushing me away for d ays-coming up with excuses why we can't spend the night together."