It was the killing time.

With each tiny touch of the snow, the ache grew stronger. Pumping through his blood, pounding in his brain, bloodl.u.s.t that only came in the depths of winter.

This is my time, he thought, his mind racing ahead to all he'd planned. I'm only really alive when the sheen of rime glazes the road and crystals of ice rain from the sky.

It had been a long time since the last one, nearly a year. But now, the time was at hand.

In his mind's eye he saw her, Jenna Hughes. Remembered spying her in town earlier...

The woman of his dreams.

His obsession.

Oh, how he wanted her.

Tonight would be perfect.

He opened his eyes and stared upward, watching the snow fall, keeping his eyelids wide so that the icy little droplets would touch his bare eyeb.a.l.l.s and sting just a bit.

Jenna-beautiful, beautiful woman.

But the timing wasn't right. For her. The cold not yet deep enough. The h.o.a.rfrost not covering the trees and shrubs and windows. No, he wasn't prepared for her.

There were others to be sacrificed for her. They had to come first.

Paris Knowlton.

Faye Tyler.

Marnie Sylvane.

Zoey Trammel.

A few of those who would precede her. No matter how much he ached for her, he would force himself to wait.

And he knew who would be next, he thought, his blood so cold it seemed to congeal in his veins.

He'd already found her.

She wasn't perfect.

Not like Jenna.

But she would do.

For now.

CHAPTER 10.

"Okay, girls, we've got the Jeep back," Jenna sang as she walked into the kitchen, dropped three bags of groceries onto the counter, then peeled off her jacket. She didn't add that despite four-wheel drive, the trip home on the icy roads had been unnerving. "Girls?" she repeated when no one answered. She stopped in the center of the kitchen, feeling the snow melt in her hair. "Allie?"

Why did the house feel so empty?

She bounded up the stairs and expected to find Ca.s.sie, headphones covering her ears, in her room, but the bedroom was empty, the bed unmade. "Ca.s.sie? Allie?" She hurried past the bathroom and into Allie's bedroom, but it, too, was vacated, the television flickering, the volume on mute, her Game Boy left on her rumpled pillows.

Don't panic. They've got to be here. Where could they go? It's a blizzard outside.

"Hey, kids, this isn't funny!" she said, hurrying down the back stairs again and making a sweep of the den, dining area, and living room. "Allie! Ca.s.sie!"

She stopped near the fireplace and listened. All she heard was the moan of the wind and she wondered how long the lights would last.

Where's the dog?

The hairs on the back of her neck raised. "Critter?"

No response. The house was empty.

All the anxiety she'd experienced in the last two days gelled. Fear knotted her stomach. Hadn't she sensed something wasn't right? Hadn't she felt as if she was being watched, even followed? And now the girls...oh, G.o.d.

Get a grip, Jenna. They're here. Somewhere. Keep searching.

A truck's engine caught her attention and she felt a second's relief. Obviously they had left with someone, that was it, and whoever it was-probably Josh-was returning them. Ca.s.sie had probably thought they could come and go before Jenna returned and they would never be caught. They'd taken Allie along so she wouldn't blab.

And the dog? Why Critter? She was already hurrying outside.

Probably Ca.s.sie's doing, she thought, but then realized the truck plowing through the open gate didn't belong to Josh Sykes. She hurried outside as the big rig parked near the garage and a tall man climbed from behind the wheel. Harrison Brennan emerged from the pa.s.senger side. One side of his mouth lifted at the sight of her.

"Do you have the girls with you?" she asked breathlessly.

"No."

"Have you seen them?"

Harrison glanced over her shoulder and his smile was suddenly perplexed. "You're kidding, right?"

Then she knew. She heard the crunch of boots behind her and felt like a fool, an overprotective idiot of a mother.

"Mom!" Allie's voice called out, and she turned to find Ca.s.sie, Allie, and the dog, breaking a path through the snow from the stable. Allie started running, Critter bounding through the drifts behind her. "We were just checking on the horses."

"Are they okay?"

"They're fine," Ca.s.sie said as if she were disgusted. "Hans left plenty of water for them, but The Runt was worried."

From beneath the rim of her pink stocking cap, Allie shot her sister a warning glare. "Hans told me to check!"

"He only left two hours ago!"

"Hey, it's all right." Jenna felt like a fool. She should have seen her daughters' tracks leading to the stable. What had she been thinking? Why was she so on edge? "Sorry," she said to Harrison.

"No problem. This is Seth Whitaker." He indicated the tall man next to him. "Jenna Hughes."

"Glad to meet you," she said and shook his gloved hand.

"Seth's been over at my place working on my furnace and I twisted his arm to come down and check out your pump."

"Great." Jenna flashed him a smile. "So you're an electrician?"

Harrison said, "And plumber and regular handyman. A jack of all trades."

"And master of none," the guy said. He was pleasant-looking, a couple of inches taller than Harrison and a bit thicker around the middle. Harrison prided himself in keeping his body in strict military shape, his short, silvery hair not much longer than when he'd been with the Air Force.

"Between the two of us, we should be able to fix things," Harrison said.

"That would be great," she said. "Hans thinks it's faulty wiring in the pump house," she said, pointing in the direction of the small outbuilding.

"I know where it is." Harrison turned to Seth. "It's not locked."

"I'll get my tools." The taller man walked to the back of the truck and opened the canopy doors while Jenna stared at Harrison.

"How did you know I don't lock it?"

"Because I know you. You don't lock anything but your doors, your garage, and the front gate, and that's iffy." He scowled slightly. "I wish you would take more precautions. I worry about you." He glanced at the house. "And the girls."

"We're fine," she said and felt the muscles in the back of her neck tighten. She didn't need him to be acting the part of her father. "I close the gate when it's working. No one seems to be able to fix the lock."

"Maybe I could find someone."

"No!" she said, then heard the tension in her voice. "Look, I'll take care of it."

"Okay." He nodded, which surprised her. She half-expected him to argue. "I hope so, Jenna," he said, then added, "Go on inside and warm up-you're not even wearing a coat."

She'd forgotten to put her jacket on in her panic over her children.

As if he knew, he smiled kindly-or was he patronizing her? Treating her like a china doll? "We'll handle things from here."

"I could help."

"We'll be fine," he insisted, and she realized she was in no position to argue. The man was helping her, for crying out loud, and she was worried about his att.i.tude. What was it they said about looking a gift horse in the mouth?

"Then I'll make us all some coffee," she said, telling herself she was being sensible and gracious, not a weak, man-dependent woman, like the housewives portrayed in black-and-white sitcoms from the fifties. June Cleaver she was not! "It's the least I can do." She nearly choked on the words.

"That would be great." Harrison's grin broadened as he headed toward the back of the truck where Whitaker was already pulling out a large toolbox.

Jenna suddenly felt the cold through her sweater and headed toward the house. Once inside, she discovered Allie's jacket and hat thrown over the back of one of the bar stools, the snow that had clung to the material beginning to melt and drip, a small puddle forming on the floor.

"Ron called," Ca.s.sie said as she came down the stairs. She'd changed into tight jeans and a sweater. "He said he couldn't make it because of the storm."

Jenna was wiping the water from the floor with a dishrag. "I'd forgotten about him," she said, disbelieving. Ron Falletti was Jenna's personal trainer. Recently he'd been working with Ca.s.sie as well. She tossed the rag through the open door to the laundry room.

"You?" Ca.s.sie asked in mock horror, her hand flying over her heart. "Forget a workout? I didn't think that was possible!"

"I've had a lot on my mind the last couple of days." Jenna ground her favorite Italian blend of coffee beans, then tossed the pulverized coffee into the basket of the coffeemaker and added bottled water she'd picked up at the store. But Ca.s.sie's remark had hit home. Jenna had rarely missed a workout session since moving up here after the divorce. Keeping in shape had become her obsession, had gotten her through the emotional pain, had kept a thirty-eight-year-old body as taut as it had been in her twenties.

As the coffee brewed and Jenna unpacked her grocery bags, Ca.s.sie walked to a window and stared at the pump house. "You know, Mom, you're always giving me advice about boys and dating." She drew on the condensation on a window with her fingernail.

"That's my job. I'm your mother."

"Maybe it's my turn to give you some."

"Oh. Okay." Jenna followed her daughter's gaze. Harrison had emerged from the small outbuilding and was staring at the main house, as if sizing up the place.

"I don't like him," Ca.s.sie said, pointing at Harrison.

Jenna wrapped her hand around Ca.s.sie's outstretched finger. She didn't want Harrison Brennan to see them gesturing toward him. "He's just trying to help out."

"I know that's what it appears, but..." Ca.s.sie worried her lower lip and turned to face her mother. "He tries to help out too much and tell you what to do. He's not really bossy, just seems to think that his way is the best way."

"Or that there is no other way."

"Exactly." Ca.s.sie nodded. "Like a really old guy."

"I know," Jenna admitted as she wiped off the counter. "He's not that old. Fifty-two or-three, I think."

"Oh G.o.d, Mom, that's ancient!" Ca.s.sie was appalled.

"To you."

"And to you, too."

"No, honey, not really." She opened the refrigerator and pulled out mustard, mayonnaise, and a jar of pickles. "It's just that he seems to be from another generation."

"He is! And Josh's dad says that he was in the CIA, not the Air Force like he told you. He was a spy or operative or whatever you call them."

"That's not a crime," Jenna pointed out, irritated that Josh and Ca.s.sie had obviously been discussing her relationship with Harrison.

"I know, but it's just kind of...weird. I mean, how many spies do you know?" Ca.s.sie opened the refrigerator and pulled out a carton of yogurt.

"Maybe more than I'd guess, if they're spies and sworn to secrecy," she teased.

"I'm serious, Mom."