Tears fell down her cheeks.

"My past is my business..." His words trailed off as his gaze became distant .

Her ire rose. For heaven's sake, his past had been front-page news. How cou ld he fault her for learning what all of Cleveland already knew?

She pushed herself off the wall and approached him, her anger evident in he r strides. " Mr. Kincaid , your life was common knowledge. Your face was pl astered all over the front pages."

" Was is the operative word here, Laurie. I left my past in Cleveland and I don't need some nosy reporter bringing up what I'd rather forget. If you can 't take me for face value then you're not someone I want to know."

She realized her mistake. She should have waited for Cole to tell her the stor y of his life. Her reporter's curiosity had gotten her in trouble. It was too late now-the damage already done.

"I just wanted you to know that it didn't matter," she offered in defeat.

His voice rose in feigned shock. "Oh really? How kind of you-to forgive an innocent man. You're as judgmental as the rest-too quick to believe what yo u read."

"Cole, just listen-"

"No," he hissed, " you listen. I asked you to get the h.e.l.l out of my apartmen t. And to think-I almost slept with you."

His snide comment hit her in the chest like a lead weight. He did not want t o know her; no, he only wanted to sleep with her.

Stiffening her spine, she glared at him. "Stick it in your a.s.s, Kincaid." She whirled on her heel and stormed out the front door of the apartment, paying little attention to the man with long black hair pa.s.sing her on the sidewalk.

Chapter 8.

The alarm clock buzzed, breaking the silence, sending Cole bolt upright. S weat dripped from his brow; his breath came in shallow pants as his gaze d id a quick sweep of the room. He slammed an opened palm atop the alarm's b utton, cutting short the annoying sound. He lay down, placing the pillow o ver his head as the remnant of the dream replayed in his mind.

Red spattered the walls, carpet, and furniture. A bloodied ma.s.s of the rema ins of Jeanne Kincaid, her face battered, lay in the center of the room, un moving while a haunted voice taunted him, accused him. His body shook; chil ls shot through him feeling like icicles dropping from the eaves into the s now. He wanted to move, wanted the dream to end, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not take his eyes from the corpse-not until morning cut thr ough his conscience in the way of his alarm clock.

Cole threw the pillow and sat to the side of the bed, running his hands dow n his tired face. d.a.m.n, he needed a cool shower. He stepped from his boxers and headed for the bathroom. Bracing his hands on the white ceramic sink, he glared into the mirror, not liking the reflection. h.e.l.l, he hadn't liked what he saw for some time. A weekend's growth of whiskers shadowed his rig id jaw, while dark circles lined his eyes.

For years the dream had invaded his nights; for years he had not been able t o forgive himself; for years he had not been able to forget the empty stare of his wife's face. Had he been there and not been nursing his sorrows in hi s beer in some G.o.d-forsaken hole....

No matter. His course in life had been altered and he could not go back. L ife for him would be forever tortured and his punishment would be the forf eiture of his own life. Never again would he drag someone into the bowels of his own private h.e.l.l. Laurie had almost made him forget his whole reaso n for avoiding companionship, but his self-imposed celibacy was almost mor e than he could endure. Had it only been fourteen days since he nearly gav e way to his desire, dragging Laurie Michaels into his world? She had done nothing wrong to deserve him; no one had.

Grasping his razor and shaving cream, Cole worked at making himself presen table. Now that two weeks had pa.s.sed, John would likely pull his surveilla nce from the gravesite. With no other leads he could not afford for this o ne to be cut short. Cole knew he was right. His unknown subject would visit this girl's grave, maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but without a do ubt, he would. And soon.

Exhaling, he dragged the razor down his cheek.

Laurie knew what she was about to do was wrong-so very wrong...yet somehow she could not help herself. Everything Cole had accused her of had been rig ht on the nose. She was a reporter first and her curiosity had gotten her i nto more trouble than she cared to admit.

Pulling her red Acura along the curb, Laurie stared up at the white house that sported a green-and-white striped awning. The occupant expected her.

Except for Cole Kincaid's, she never went anywhere without an invitation.

For some unknown reason, she could not help herself, could not keep her no se out of his business. She wanted to know him inside and out.

Even after her last encounter, knowing he wanted nothing more than what we nt on between the sheets, Cole continued to haunt her thoughts. Disgusted, Laurie opened the car door and headed up the narrow walkway lined with re d impatiens. Once at the door, she grasped the bra.s.s knocker and rapped it twice against the plate.

A pet.i.te woman wearing a dropped-waist, floral tank dress answered the doo r. Her cropped brown hair was cut short around the ears, accenting her ova l face and warm, dark eyes.

"Mrs. Nash?" Laurie asked. "I'm Laurie Michaels. I phoned earlier."

"Yes, Charley's in the kitchen. He's expecting you." Mrs. Nash opened the d oor wider for her entrance.

Laurie stepped over the threshold. "I hope I'm not inconveniencing you."

"Not at all."

A few minutes later, introductions past, Laurie sat across the table from Cha rley, sipping a cup of black coffee. Mrs. Nash had excused herself to tend to the crying infant upstairs, leaving the two to their discussion.

"I'm glad you've agreed to see me."

"Any friend of Cole's is a friend of mine," Charley said, then took a sip fro m his cup. His eyes lacked the happiness of a contented life.

"Well, I sort of lied. I'm not exactly a friend of Cole's."

His gaze darted to hers, studying her as a certain amount of distrust flashed across his face, then returned to its placid state. "Can anyone claim that?"

"To be Cole's friend, you mean?"

"Yeah," Charley chuckled, though his eyes held no humor. "Cole Kincaid does n't need any friends, but that doesn't mean I still don't care about the jer k." His gaze returned to hers, holding it. "What do you really want?"

"I'm a reporter for-"

His expression turned to granite. "You can stop right there then. I'm not up t o discussing my life or his." "I'm not here on official business. This is strictly off the record." Laurie t ook another sip from her cup. "I'm here as a friend-a person concerned for Col e's welfare."

Lines of worry creased his forehead. "What's happened to him?"

"Nothing. It's just that he's so distant. I can't seem to reach him. I just t hought maybe you could help me to understand."

"Cole can't be reached. Believe me, I've tried. He hasn't talked to me in year s and he ain't about to start now. Besides, I can't blame him after all that w ent down. I was a real putz. I'll be the first to admit it-been paying for it ever since. I left the force right after Jeanne died. I work for the city in a different way now, a linesman. I don't want to be involved anymore. Life's to ugh enough without adding all the heartache police work brings. It's hard to b elieve Cole stayed at it."

"From what I hear, he's good at what he does."

"The best. Couldn't figure out, though, why he left the city and went to Fair view Park. It's a waste of his talents. But I hear they got a case going ther e now that will challenge him."

Laurie narrowed her eyes. "What do you know about the case he's working on ?" Surely, this man could not be a possible suspect.

"Just what I read in the papers. Two women have been found dead; no suspects.

If the perp is still in the area then Cole will find him."

"What happened between you and Cole?" She asked, studying Charley's rea ction. Laurie wanted to break down his walls. Maybe knowing Charley Nas h would help her understand Cole Kincaid.

Charley's gaze left hers; he looked to the surface of the table. His shoulde rs slumped as he toyed with a spoon beside his cup. "That's something you be tter ask Cole."

The opening there, Laurie could not help but bring up the obvious. "I know y ou were sleeping with his wife, if that's what you're talking about."

Charley's gaze flew back to hers. "He told you this?"

"No."

He chuckled. "I didn't think so. Don't believe everything you read, Miss Mi chaels."

"So you weren't?"

"No. I was. Don't think I haven't hated myself every day for it, but she was a beautiful woman and like I said, I was a putz."

Laurie glanced down at her hands. Cole's wife had been gorgeous all right; she really could not hope to compete. "I've seen some pictures."

"They don't do her justice. Jeanne Kincaid was gorgeous. I used to tease Co le about how an ugly guy like him could get a G.o.ddess like Jeanne." His gaz e became distant, drifting back over her shoulder as though he could see he r standing there. "Her hair was like silk; her skin always a golden tan and as smooth as satin."

"But she was Cole's wife."

His gaze snapped back. "You think I don't know that? For the first time in m y life I was jealous of something Cole had. We were partners on the force, b ut more than that, we were best friends. I never came on to Jeanne-it wasn't like that. I would never have stabbed Cole in the back."

"But you did. Why?"

"It just happened. She and Cole were having problems. He had become distant- wasn't talking to her. So she came to me for help. I tried to keep my distan ce, tried to tell myself it wasn't right. But, d.a.m.n, when she started laying those lips on mine, those hands on my...," he cleared his throat, "...in my lap. I would have been a fool to turn her down. I know that doesn't excuse my behavior."

Laurie knew this was none of her business, knew she should not ask. "Was t he baby yours?"

Charley took in a deep breath as to cleanse his conscience, but by the disco ntented look on his face, Laurie had a feeling it had not worked. "The baby was mine."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Jeanne told me when she first came to me, Cole had taken to sleeping on t he couch. She was afraid she was no longer desirable. Like that could have ever happened."

"How can you be so sure she was telling the truth?"

"The look on Cole's face when the autopsy was read said it all. Two months p regnant at the time of death. Cole had no idea...h.e.l.l, neither did I. But he d.a.m.ned near strangled me to death. I can still hear his words plain as the day is clear. He said, 'You son of a b.i.t.c.h. Not only couldn't you keep your hands off my wife, but you gave her the child I couldn't.'"

The breath left Laurie's chest as a lump lodged in her throat. Tears formed in her eyes, but did not fall.

"Yeah-lucky me, huh? Get caught with my pants down only to find out Cole Kincaid was impotent."

'Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no e vil...'

And who should decide what is evil? G.o.d...Satan? The definition of evil i s morally reprehensible: sinful, wicked. Arising from actual or imputed b ad character or conduct. And who shall set the guidelines? What may be th ought of as sinful or wicked to one, may be deemed nothing more than amus ement to another. What may be reprehensible, may become a pa.s.sion.

The persona, whose soul is tortured, forgotten, forsaken, now laughs in the face of what is deemed good and evil. The line drawn between is so thin, each and every person claiming to belong to the Lord above, teeters now and the n on the tight rope of destruction. Yet, when one crosses the line and falls into the despair will be left to its own. Who now can defend what is good?

G.o.d forsook the soul long ago when He left a small boy to deal with a moth er who used the lit end of a cigarette to teach a lesson for wetting the b ed. Or a tight fist or wooden board, causing black and blue welts and unte nded broken bones, for daring to see what was up Molly Rosewood's skirt. A black box with no light in the form of a locked closet becoming a homemor e times than anyone would dare to remember.

Life now has set its path, and the wicked shall follow its course.

The pen twirls between fingers, as dark eyes hold fast upontheMont Blanc . L ight from the many candles bounce off its surface like tiny stars in the cle ar black night. Would that the vision of beauty cross the line to toil with the devil-maybe, just maybe, the weight of total despair then would lessen.

But what is light will never become dark, and the pa.s.sion for spilled blood will never diminish. After all-has day ever become night?

The Mont Blanc falls from agile fingers to the box now becoming its home, l anding next to a shiny gold ring and a driver's license sporting the pictur e of one who was no more.

Oh, remorse is a part of its makeup. These girls did not deserve their fate.

But, nonetheless, they sacrificed themselves to a pa.s.sion so strong, even G od would find trouble faulting the soul. And soon the soul will pay his homa ge.

But for now, the time is drawing near and night will soon be upon him.

Hands shake in antic.i.p.ation. The chest aches for what the soul is about to d o. But how can it be stopped, when the thirst is all consuming? The need is too immense. Had it the chance to end the madness, the soul doubts it could.

In search of clothes to hide and contain the hard pain of its desire, the dark figure leaves behind the small red room.

"You can'tpull the surveillance." The tone in Cole's voice almost made him sound desperate. h.e.l.l, he was desperate.

"I'm sorry, Cole. It's already been done. I called in Jesse Gonzalez first t hing this morning," John McCray's tone was full of asperity, yet also concer ned. "Look, I want this a.s.shole as bad as you. But I just can't take the cha nce you might be wrong."

"I'm not wrong." Cole sat heavily onto the chair.

"That may very well be, but I've already wasted two weeks of the tax payers ' money on the possibility you might be right. I can't waste any more, Cole . Let it go." He paused, looking Cole in the eye. Cole knew John was right, but he hated to admit it. What if he was wrong and the killer never visite d the grave? "Find another angle, work on it."

"There aren't any other angles." Cole nearly laughed at the absurdity. "We have two dead prost.i.tutes, one we can't seem to identify-not enough to go o n to match dental records, no one's missing her...nothing...and the other i s simply a runaway with a father who doesn't give two s.h.i.ts. We have no mur der weapon, no latent. The fibers found at the scene or on the bodies haven 't given us anything. In short, we have squat."

"You have a black hair." The chief reminded him as if he had forgotten-as if he could.

"Which doesn't tell us anything. We have a sick son of a b.i.t.c.h who may or ma y not still be in the area, who is probably right now scouring for his next target."

"The press still hounding you?"

"Every chance they get."

"I don't want them finding anything more out. Keep this case under wraps."