"Robert wasn't taking advantage of me. And I ended up marrying him," Jenna said, before she heard herself and winced. "Oh G.o.d, I hope Ca.s.sie's not thinking of marrying Josh."

Rinda gave her a don't-kid-a-kidder look. "It's probably crossed her mind. Not that she's serious."

"But she's got so much potential. She's smart and pretty and..." Sighing, Jenna shook her head.

"Don't you just love being a single mother?"

"I do-it's being the heavy and the disciplinarian that I hate. The rest of it's a piece of cake."

"If you say so," Rinda agreed, though her eyes had darkened, as if she were thinking of her son, Scott. "I kinda think it's all a trial."

"I've heard it gets better when they turn forty."

Rinda laughed, but her smile was tenuous and didn't chase the worry from her gaze. "Lesser women have raised children into adulthood. However, they weren't dealing with this-" Rinda motioned toward the Ziploc bag on the desk. "Do you want me to go down to the sheriff's office with you?"

"I don't need a keeper." Jenna grabbed the plastic bag and dropped it into her purse. At the thought of facing Sheriff Carter again, she withered inside. It was obvious he didn't like her and had considered her last complaint frivolous.

No doubt he wouldn't think much more of this one.

That was just too d.a.m.ned bad.

Sonja was shivering. Sluggish. Her blood felt as if it were congealing and there was a noise...a buzzing over the sound of some kind of music.

Where was she, and why the h.e.l.l did she feel so woozy? She moved slightly but didn't have control of her body...wait!

Her eyes flew open and she blinked hard, but it was still dark...or kind of. No...she was situated in the light, an intense, small circle of illumination, as if she were center stage beneath a spotlight while the surrounding area was pitch black.

Were there people just outside that small arc of light? People watching her, unseen eyes studying her? She tried to move and realized that she was naked and strapped into some kind of leather chair with a footrest and a headrest...a dentist's chair-or one of those antiquated electric chairs she'd seen in the movies?

G.o.d, no, she thought, the cobwebs clearing from her mind with a fear so deep, she thought she might pa.s.s out again.

Or maybe she was still asleep. Oh, Lord, please. Let this be a dream. But what kind of weird dream was this? Her bare skin pressed hard against the cold leather. Her head was forced against the back of the chair, strapped tight, her mouth wrenched painfully open by clamps she couldn't see.

Get me out of here!

And the feeling that she was being observed...If you're out there, please, PLEEEASE help me! She strained to see, caught only glimpses of shadowy images in the surrounding area.

"Waking up?" A disembodied male voice said from somewhere in the darkness. Her body jumped within its tight constriction, causing sharp pain where her hands and legs were restrained. "We'll have to fix that."

Where are you, you b.a.s.t.a.r.d? Why the h.e.l.l are you doing this to me? She tried to talk, but her voice was just a squeak, her jaw immobile, and she remembered the abduction, her car not working...Oh G.o.d, where was the monster who had done this? Where? She glanced upward at an apparatus hanging over her head...the arm of an old dentist's drill shining wickedly under the intense light. Her blood turned to ice as she stared at the cruel steel instrument. Oh, G.o.d, no!

Her heart thudded.

Despite the chill, sweat broke out on her skin as she strained to move.

If she could only throw off these bonds and get out of here! Panic ripped through her. She flung herself against her shackles, struggling wildly to no avail. The buzzing intensified a second before the volume of the music increased...it was a song she should recognize...maybe from a movie, though she was too freaked out to think about it.

She had to get out of here. Now! Frantic, she attempted to twist in the chair, but could barely move, her muscles sluggish, the bands over her wrists and legs and chest holding her firmly, cutting into her flesh. For the first time she noticed a needle pressed into her skin and the long, snakelike plastic tube of the IV strapped to one wrist. Clear fluid slipped drop by drop into her bloodstream.

This was macabre. Surreal. A nightmare. Had to be. Had to be.

She tried to yell. To scream. To kick. To no avail. Who are you, you sick b.a.s.t.a.r.d?

"It's no use, Faye," the disembodied voice said, seeming closer.

I'm not Faye, she tried to tell him, her eyes moving wildly from one side to the other. Oh, G.o.d, he's got the wrong woman! This was all a horrid mistake! I'm Sonja! Can't you see you've got the wrong woman, you son of a b.i.t.c.h? Let me go!

She caught a glimpse of movement in the darkness, someone slowly circling, moving just out of the perimeter of light.

Her skin crawled and she nearly peed herself.

This couldn't be happening. She was tripped out somehow, that was it. And yet he circled closer, a tall male figure, all muscles and taut skin. Her eyes moved crazily from one side of her head to the other, trying to follow him.

Suddenly, as if dawn had somehow pierced this h.e.l.lhole, light began to glow, radiating from the floor, illuminating the area surrounding her, allowing her to see that she was center stage and the others she'd felt near her, the people staring...no, not people, mannequins, naked, bald, and expressionless, had been placed strategically around her. Holes where eyes should be stared at her.

As if she were some sacrificial lamb on an altar.

She shriveled with dread.

What in G.o.d's name was this?

"See them, Faye?" the disembodied voice said. "They're waiting for you."

I'm not Faye and these are dolls. They're not waiting for anyone!

From the corner of her eye, she saw movement. He was close, a muscular man who was completely naked. His body was sc.r.a.ped free of hair, like the mannequins, and a tight skullcap was pulled over his head.

She knew this monster. Had trusted him. And now, he rounded in front of her, wearing nothing but surgical gloves and an intense expression. In one hand he held scissors. In the other was a portable razor, buzzing loudly.

Her insides shredded as he lifted a lock of her hair and quickly clipped it off. The long blond lock fell to the floor. Involuntarily she started, but she couldn't get away from him, couldn't kick or claw or fight him, couldn't scream.

You sick son of a b.i.t.c.h, she silently yelled while the sightless mannequins watched as ever so slowly, he started cutting her hair. Clip, clip. Snip, snip. In time with the music.

Again she was reminded of the scenes in prison movies, where an inmate's head is shaved before he's executed. Oh, no...no...

As the buzzing became a roar near her ear and the empty-faced dolls looked on, she felt the first cold touch of the razor's blade against her skin.

There was no escape.

CHAPTER 14.

"I'm sorry, Les...no word yet," Shane said, and felt as if the weight of the world had been heaped upon his shoulders. "I've talked to the State Police. They've got nothing. Neither have my deputies. Nor the city guys. We checked with the nearest hospitals. Sonja wasn't brought in. I've spoken with Lou Mueller, who said you talked to him as well, and his nephew, Chris Mueller, who helped Lou close up. Looks like they were the last people to have seen her."

"What about the customers?" Lester asked, his voice edged with hope and something more, something darker.

"We're looking into it. Lou's given us names of the people he knew-the regulars-and we've got descriptions of a couple others as well as the credit card receipts. I've got deputies interviewing anyone who was at the diner last night and we've got a be-on-the-lookout-for bulletin out for Sonja's Honda." And so far they'd come up with nothing. The weather was against them, of course, the dogs unable to cover a lot of territory, the helicopters grounded, even the troopers with night-vision goggles unable to work well in the cold. "What we could use is the most recent picture of her you've got."

"Okay. Anything else I can do?"

"Stay by the phone, talk to all of Sonja's friends and relatives, and take care of yourself. I'll send someone over." It hadn't been twenty-four hours since she'd last been seen, but Shane had a bad feeling about Sonja's disappearance. It wasn't like her. At all. Lester had sworn that they hadn't had a fight, and even if they had, would she take off in the middle of the worst storm in half a century? Nah, that didn't make sense. Lou, at the diner, had told a deputy that Sonja hadn't seemed out of sorts or worried or anything out of the ordinary. He'd thought she was going straight home after work, but hadn't seen her leave, just noted that her car was gone when he'd taken off.

Not good.

Not good at all.

"Thanks, Shane." Les's voice trembled a bit and then there was a click as he hung up.

Shane stared at the phone. "Son of a b.i.t.c.h." What had happened to Sonja Hatch.e.l.l? He finished his second cup of coffee, wadded the paper cup in his fist, and dispatched a deputy over to the Hatch.e.l.l house. His job here in Lewis County was usually filled more with meetings, red tape, and small-time crime than anything else. There were drug busts, traffic accidents, DUIs, underage kids partying, and a fair share of vandalism. Of course, his deputies had been called out on domestic violence disputes, but usually the charges were dropped before the parties headed for court. His department had helped break up a meth lab ring two years back, and there had been a chop shop in East County that they'd helped shut down, but dead women didn't roll out of hollow logs, nor did citizens go missing.

Until now. He glanced out one of his windows. Over the tops of buildings, steely gray clouds moved slowly. Ominous and deadly. Life had changed here in Falls Crossing. And not for the better.

He glanced through the open blinds of his office. The department was a madhouse. Phones jangled and overworked deputies bustled inside to file reports and book prisoners, just having time to stamp the snow from their boots and warm their near-frozen fingers around cups of coffee before hitting the icy streets again. There were more accidents and reports of power outages and falling tree limbs. The hospital was crammed, the ER a zoo. And Amanda Pratt, ever the ambitious a.s.sistant D.A., was riding his b.u.t.t about the woman found on Catwalk Point. She'd e-mailed twice and called once, wanting more information. And then there was the press, already calling, and one local reporter, Roxie Olmstead, who wouldn't take "no" for an answer.

Carter was about to phone Lieutenant Sparks when he noticed a familiar figure wending her way through the cubicles. Though she wasn't very tall, it was hard to miss Jenna Hughes when she breezed into a room. She was bundled in a thick ski jacket and tight-fitting ski pants tucked into slim boots. Heads swivelled as she walked by. Carter wasn't immune himself and noticed the way her stretchy pants hugged her hips, thighs, and calves. She was just d.a.m.ned s.e.xy without seeming to care.

He hung up the phone without dialing. Through the blinds, Carter observed her glance in his direction, then stop at his secretary's desk. Jenna Hughes was getting to be a regular around here, he thought, as he watched her try to finagle her way past Jerri.

With everything else going on in the county, he didn't need nor want the distraction of the Hollywood Princess. No matter what her problem. But like it or not, he was going to get her. He stood as Jerri tapped on the door and poked her head inside. "Jenna Hughes is here and would like to talk to you." Jerri didn't look any too pleased. But then, these days, she rarely did.

"Send her in."

Barely were the words past his lips before Jenna strode into the room. He tried not to notice that without much makeup, or the soft focus of the camera lens, or special lighting, she was still a knockout. Great. Just what he needed.

"Get those taillights fixed?" he asked, and was rewarded with a harsh glare.

"As a matter of fact, yes, I did."

"Glad to hear it." Waving her toward one of the chairs facing his desk, he said, "Have a seat."

She dropped into a side chair as she tugged off a wool cap and her gloves. A long braid of black hair fell past her shoulders. "Look, I really hate to bother you. Really. I know you're busy. It's got to be a madhouse here with the storms."

"We're holding our own."

"Good." She sighed, tugged nervously on the gloves in her hands, and beseeched him with those famous green eyes. "I've got a problem."

Haven't we all, lady? "More missing props at the theater?" he asked, half joking and not even scaring up a hint of a smile on her often-photographed lips.

"I wish."

Fishing in her oversized purse, she shook her head. There was a tension about her he hadn't noticed before, a hardness to her mouth, tiny lines of worry visible between her delicately arched eyebrows, a nervousness as she dug into the bag. "It's a little more serious than the stolen things, I think. Rinda said I should tell you about it as I live out of town and am therefore in your jurisdiction. Lucky, you, huh?" Still no smile as she looked up at him, then retrieved a plastic Ziploc bag and dropped it into the middle of his desk. "I received this in the mail, at my personal post office box."

"What is it?" he asked, picking up the bag. "Fan letter?"

"Oh, it's way beyond a fan letter." Her voice was brittle with sarcasm as he picked up the bag and studied the note written over the picture of her.

He scanned the words through the thin plastic sheath. With each obsessive line, his gut tightened. No wonder she appeared about to jump out of her skin.

You are every woman.

Sensual. Strong. Erotic.

You are one woman.

Searching. Wanting. Waiting.

You are my woman.

Today. Tomorrow. Endlessly.

I will come for you.

"Who sent this to you?" he demanded.