"Shad. Enough!" a male voice, Cade's voice, ordered.

Jessica's heart fluttered. Oh, dear G.o.d, what am I doing?

The door opened suddenly and Cade, in faded jeans and a flannel shirt that he used as a jacket over a black T-shirt, stood on the other side. He was unshaven and his hair was rumpled, uncombed. He had that outdoorsy I-don't-give-a-d.a.m.n look that she'd always found far too s.e.xy, but she ignored it. Whatever they'd once had, that white-hot spark of years ago, had been extinguished by lies. Her lies.

"Yes?" he said.

A speckled hound, his gait uneven, rushed out. Rather than snarl and growl, it wiggled and wormed around her feet, begging to be petted as he balanced himself on three legs.

"h.e.l.lo, Cade," she said and saw his eyes darken for a second before she leaned down and gave the dog a couple pats on the head. To the animal, she said, "I'm guessing you're Shad."

"You know me?" Cade asked.

"Yeah, I do." Straightening, she pulled her sungla.s.ses from her face.

"You sure? Oh. Jesus! Wait a second." Cade's face hardened. "You look like-"

"I know." She yanked out her dental appliance, the one that changed the shape of her teeth, and the other that plumped her cheeks. As he stared, she next removed her wig, letting down her hair.

"For the love of Christ." His eyebrows slammed together. "Anne-Marie?"

"In the flesh." She patted her stomach. "Well, more than just flesh. I'm wearing a little extra, you know, to complete the look."

"Holy s.h.i.t." Dumbstruck, he filled the doorway, a tall, rangy man who was glaring at her as if she were Satan incarnate.

"Can I come in?"

He hesitated.

"It's important, Cade. You know it is. Otherwise, I wouldn't be here."

His jaw slid to the side and his gaze narrowed suspiciously. "Okay," he finally agreed, stepping back and swinging the door wide. "But what the h.e.l.l's going on? What's with the getup?" The dog streaked back into the house and before she could follow, he said, "Wait. Don't tell me. You're in a little bit of trouble again."

"More than a little," she admitted as he closed the door behind her and she remembered all too vividly what it felt like to kiss this love 'em and leave 'em cowboy. "This time, Cade," she admitted, "it's a matter of life and death."

"You can talk to Teri, she's the waitress who served her," Sandi, the owner of Wild Will's said when Pescoli and Alvarez showed up at the restaurant.

One of the deputies who had helped canvas the area had shown Calypso Pope's picture to Sandi and she'd remembered one of her last customers from the night before. The detectives were following up, trying to figure out anything they could about the victim.

"I know she's dead, and I'm sorry, but let me tell you, that woman," Sandi said, standing at the hostess podium, "was a real pain in the b.u.t.t. Came in late, almost closing, and didn't like Grizz." She pointed to the mascot of the establishment, the huge stuffed grizzly bear that, with the changing holidays, was dressed in appropriate or not-so-appropriate attire, depending on how one viewed it.

Pescoli had seen Grizz wearing an angel costume for Christmas, a red, white, and blue Uncle Sam outfit for Independence Day, and a Pilgrim hat and collar for Thanksgiving. At his place of honor in the vestibule, Grizz currently was dressed as Cupid in honor of Valentine's Day, his snarl at odds with the cute little sparkling wings strapped to his broad, s.h.a.ggy back.

"Odd to think she didn't see the humor," she said.

"A real sourpuss. Tried to go all organic and vegan, which is fine, but not here. This is Grizzly Falls, Montana, and it's wild out here." Sandi, a known animal lover who had three rescue dogs and two cats at last count, was clearly deeply irked. "It's not as if I killed all these animals, for G.o.d's sake. They came with the place when you-know-who and I originally bought it." You-know-who was Sandi's ex-husband; he who could not be named, apparently. They'd been through a bitter divorce and Sandi had ended up with the restaurant, only to make it thrive under her management. "She ended up with her nose in her iPhone-a lot of that going around these days-and ordered just pie and coffee, and left a miserable tip."

Pescoli asked, "Was she with anyone?"

"Nope. Alone. I saw, you know, 'cause I'm always close. As far as I could tell, she didn't speak to anyone."

"We'd like to talk with Teri. Is she here?"

"Just came on an hour ago. You can use the office if you want some privacy."

Sandi led them into a crowded office with a desk and one chair, files piled to the high ceiling. She cleared off a stack of invoices and then found Teri. Wary, it turned out she was unable to tell them any more than Sandi had. Calypso Pope had arrived close to eleven and left at eleven thirty-two, according to the credit card receipt she'd signed.

"Lousy tipper," the waitress grumbled, almost as if getting killed served Calypso Pope right for being so cheap. Then she heard herself and straightened as if caught in some nefarious act. "Not that I would wish anyone dead."

"Was she wearing a ring?" Pescoli asked.

"Oh, yeah, one with major diamonds. But no wedding band. Just like an engagement ring."

"You noticed there wasn't a second ring?" Alvarez asked.

"Oh, yeah." Teri's head was bopping up and down. "I pay attention. Me and my boyfriend, we've been looking at rings 'cause we're coming up on our one year anniversary, and I think it's time."

"How old are you?" Pescoli asked.

"Nineteen."

"Give it a year or two," she said and saw the girl's eyes cloud. "Sorry. None of my business. Anything else you can tell us about the woman?"

"Other than that she was in a real bad mood? I don't know if that's her normal personality or not, but if it is, she really needs an att.i.tude adjustment. That's what my dad always tells my mom when she's in one of her b.i.t.c.h moods. Oops." She placed her fingers over her lips. "Sorry. That just slipped out."

"No problem," Pescoli said, thinking of the language she'd heard from her own kids.

They ran some more questions but didn't learn anything more as no one else in the place had been on duty or remembered the one customer.

As they walked back to the Jeep, Alvarez found her sungla.s.ses and slipped them on. "We're already waiting for the security cameras from the buildings along the river. Maybe we'll catch a break and one of them will show something."

"Or the Spokane PD will find something in her home," Pescoli thought aloud as they knew the victim's address, but she wasn't holding her breath. So far, they knew little about the woman other than where she lived. They'd found no connection between the two victims, other than they'd both been killed and had their ring fingers, complete with diamond rings, sliced off their left hands.

"This guy got a thing against engagement?" Alvarez thought aloud as they crossed the street and got into Pescoli's rig.

"Or marriage. But that's half the male population."

"And then there's the missing fingers."

"What the h.e.l.l do you think he does with those?" Pescoli asked.

"Hmmm . . ." Alvarez shook her head in disgust. As they reached the base of Boxer Buff her cell phone went off. "Alvarez," she answered. "Yeah . . . where? You're sure?"

Pescoli glanced over at her partner.

Yeah . . . okay. We'll be right there." Alvarez hung up and said, "We got lucky."

"What?"

"Calypso Pope's purse. Found by a teenager on the rocks near the falls. All her ID intact. Credit cards, too, or so it seems on first inspection. No cash. Anyway, he turned it in at the station. It's at the lab already and they're processing it, checking for trace evidence, fingerprints."

"Needle in a haystack."

"Maybe, but it's something."

"Yeah."

"Lars Bender, the kid who found it, claims there wasn't a dime in it," Alvarez said. "He's already asking about a reward."

"Figures." Pescoli cranked on the wheel and turned up the hill behind a tow truck with a crumpled midsized sedan on its bed. "You never go wrong being disappointed in human nature."

With his gaze on the GPS monitor, Ryder followed the woman he was certain was Anne-Marie Calderone. He drove a mile or two behind her outside of town, past a smattering of houses on the fringe of Grizzly Falls, and into the rolling hills of farmland. The road was getting chewed up from traffic, but the pastures that spread beyond the fences were still covered in a white, pristine mantle, sunlight bouncing off the icy crystals of snow so that he was forced to squint and finally find an old pair of sungla.s.ses he kept in the glove box.

Slipping on the polarized lenses, he kept driving, meeting a few other vehicles, checking his mileage and finally guessing where she was heading. Sure enough, he pa.s.sed a long driveway and saw from the small monitor's screen that she'd turned into the lane. No surprise the oversized mailbox had the name GRAYSON written across it.

Some things never change.

He told himself it didn't matter, but he couldn't help wondering why she'd decided to go to Cade Grayson. Was he the real reason she'd taken this winding path from Louisiana to Montana? The end piece of her game? Ryder drove past the place and turned around about a mile up the road. Then he waited, wondering what she was doing, thinking that after meeting with Grayson she might take off again.

He'd have some time, though. She hadn't packed up.

Yet.

He'd been watching, feeling every bit the voyeur as he'd sat in his dive of a motel room, sipping beer and staring at the monitor of one of his laptops, the one that had been hooked up as a receiver to the wireless transmitter he'd left on her property. The second one he used for research and communication.

He'd nearly collected enough evidence, and after today, it would be time to execute phase two of his plan.

His lips twisted a little at that thought.

Seeing Anne-Marie face-to-face for the first time in months would give him a small degree of satisfaction. But then telling her what he was going to do with her, that was going to be difficult because like it or not, he still felt a connection to her, that same old attraction that hadn't quite let go, despite everything.

She deserves what she's getting, he told himself. It's only right that it comes at my hand. This will all be over soon. He took heart that once the job was finished, he could forget about Anne-Marie Calderone forever.

Never in a million years would Cade have expected Anne-Marie to be standing on his doorstep, on the ranch in Montana. "A long way from New Orleans," he said, rubbing his chin and eyeing her from across the room. He'd offered her a seat in the living room that didn't get used much and was still filled with memorabilia and furniture from the days over a decade earlier when his mother had still been alive.

"I know. Cade, I'm sorry about your brother."

She appeared sincere, but he didn't trust his instincts around her. They'd always been off a bit. She'd come to his home in a disguise, and he couldn't read her eyes as they'd been darkened with contact lenses. She was still wearing some kind of padding. Her body didn't fit her head now that she'd removed whatever it was that had changed the contour of her cheeks and the look of her teeth. That she'd shown up out of the blue with no word for years, her beauty intently played down, wasn't a good sign.

"I doubt you came all the way up here to give me your condolences."

"No," she admitted, clearly nervous. She glanced away for a second, and he wondered if she was concocting her story, trying to think of a way to make it plausible. "That's not why I'm here."

"You said it was life or death."

"I think so, yes." Though she was nodding as she balanced on the edge of the dusty couch, she didn't seem so sure of herself. It was as if she were suddenly second-guessing her arrival on his doorstep.

He decided that was just desserts. He owed her nothing.

"Look, Cade," she said, one hand nervously plucking at a bit of fabric on the couch. "Years ago, you said if I was ever in trouble . . . you know, with the law, that I could count on your brother, that . . . he would help."

"You came up here to talk with Dan?"

"Yes," she admitted weakly, "and then, well, I heard that he'd pa.s.sed."

"Killed," Cade corrected. "He was murdered in cold blood. A b.a.s.t.a.r.d he knew and trusted laid in wait and pulled the G.o.dd.a.m.n trigger. That's what happened."

"I'm sorry."

"So you said." He closed his eyes for a second and tried like h.e.l.l to tamp down the rage that overtook him every time he thought of his brother's death. That the son of a b.i.t.c.h who'd taken Dan's life was still alive p.i.s.sed him off. Forcing his eyes open, he stared at her and asked, "What is it?"

"I think," she started as if unsure of herself, "he's followed me here. I think he might be behind the attacks on the other women who were killed. I don't know, but . . ." She let out her breath slowly.

"Who?" he asked, but he felt it, that chill of premonition that warned him that bad news was coming his way.

"My husband," she whispered softly. "I think he followed me here."

Chapter 17.

"Your husband?" Cade repeated, his expression guarded, suspicion visible in his eyes as Shad settled into a dog bed near the fireplace.

Too late, Jessica realized she'd made a big mistake in going there, in hoping he might be able to help her. But she was in too deep to backtrack. "I've been hiding from him."

"Here? In Grizzly Falls?"

"Yes. That's why I'm dressed like this." She made a sweeping gesture to include her whole body. "When I drove here, I didn't know about Dan, about what had happened to him. I was just desperate. You'd said once that if I were ever in serious trouble that your brother was someone I could trust, a fair officer of the law. And I thought, hoped, that I could explain to him what happened and . . . and that he would believe me and trust me and help me."

"You think your husband is out to kill you?" Cade asked dubiously.

"I know he is," she said, shivering inwardly. "He tried once, thought he'd gotten rid of me, but I managed to survive. And now he has to make sure."

He regarded her suspiciously. "You have family."

"Who have disowned me."

"And why is that?"

She didn't answer. Didn't have to. They both knew why. "Look, Cade, even if I contacted them and told them my story, they wouldn't believe me. Because . . . because . . ."

"Because you've cried wolf one too many times."