"Be my guest," she said, and he stepped into an attached bathroom with sunken tub, shower, and sauna. Next to it was a walk-in closet the size of his living room. It was cut up by different shelves and rods, even drawers. Long gowns, slacks, blouses, dresses, sweaters, all hung above cubbyholes filled with shoes and shelves lined with handbags. More clothes than any one woman had the right to own. One of the drawers was open slightly, revealing a red lace bra. His throat tightened a second and he visualized her in the garment, then brought himself up short and walked out of the closet to the bedroom again.

She was standing near a bedside table, waiting for him.

"This is where I found the note," she said, opening a drawer gingerly. It was empty now. "As I said, no one uses it. I don't think it's been opened since I moved in."

"Except by whoever left the note."

"Yeah." Shivering, she wrapped her arms around her middle and walked to the windows. "You know, when I first came here, I felt so free. As if this was a haven. But lately..." She turned, faced him, and stared at a rug for a half a second. "I know this sounds paranoid, but I've had this feeling...a sense that someone's watching me." She bit at the edge of her lip. "And I had it before I got this note, even before I got the first one. It's...just...this strange sensation. I get cold inside just thinking about it." She blushed a little. "I know-paranoid, huh?"

"Maybe not."

"Yeah." She stole a glance at the nightstand. "To think that he was here. Inside my house. My bedroom." Her voice quivered a bit. "He could have been inside when I was sleeping. G.o.d, he could have been in the girls' rooms. Do you know how creepy that is?"

He nodded and heard the sound of a truck's engine rumbling closer. "You might consider moving into a hotel for a while."

"I'm not letting some...weirdo push me out of my own home. No way. I'll hire people. I called a locksmith this morning. He's already changed all the locks. Wes Allen worked on the security system earlier today, and I bought sh.e.l.ls for the shotgun."

"You did what?" He was shocked. This little woman with a weapon? "Do you know how to use one?"

"I'm hoping I won't have to."

"But you have kids in the house and-"

"And I'm going to protect them. I did learn how to shoot years ago, for my part in Resurrection. Anne Parks was a killer. She usually used other weapons, but there were two scenes with guns. My director wanted me to look like I knew how to handle a handgun, so I took lessons. Have I ever shot a living thing? No. Would I? Yeah. If it meant protecting my kids."

"That was a handgun, right?"

"Yes."

"You might want to practice with the shotgun. Shot scatters and...it wouldn't be my weapon of choice."

"It's what I had and better than nothing."

He thought of all the statistics about gun owners killing themselves or their loved ones with their own weapons. "Just be safe."

"That's what I'm trying to do," she said as the dog lifted his head, then growled loudly. Nails clicking as he scrambled over the hardwood floors, Critter began barking his fool head off and took off down the stairs.

"He takes his job seriously," Jenna quipped as she followed Critter downstairs.

He'd better, Carter thought, he'd d.a.m.ned well better.

Harrison Brennan was on the back porch, peering through the window mounted into the door.

He was also looking angry as all get-out.

Great, Jenna thought as she opened the door and the dog let out a disgruntled woof. Critter had never been a fan of Harrison Brennan, but then neither had either of her girls. With all his good intentions, he was still irritating.

"The sheriff here?" he asked. "He stopped by my place earlier." Brennan looked over her shoulder and his jaw tightened slightly, his lips becoming a flat, unhappy line.

"Harrison," Carter said, close enough behind her that she felt his breath against the back of her neck. A little tingle danced down her spine, but she ignored it.

"Guess that answers your question." Jenna tried not to be irritated with her neighbor. After all, Harrison always seemed to have her best interests in mind. Critter didn't seem to be of the same mind and growled at Harrison.

"Shh," she warned the dog, "or you'll be out in the snow."

"d.a.m.ned mutt never has warmed to me," Harrison said, but tried to reach down and pat the dog's head. The growling ceased, though the hairs on the back of Critter's neck never quite laid flat and his tail remained motionless. He accepted the touch, but kept his head down, his eyes watching Harrison's every move. "h.e.l.l, he'd like to bite my hand off."

"Ignore him. Come on in," she invited, then shot the dog a warning glare. "You. Be on your best behavior. Go to your bed."

Critter shuffled off to his favorite spot under the table, and Carter, as if to give her some privacy, said, "Mind if I look through the house...I'd like to check out the layout."

"Anything you need to do," she said, waving him off and grateful that he was taking her threats as seriously as she was. It felt safe to have him in the house and she relaxed a little, even though Harrison was fit to be tied. As Carter moved from one room to the next and eventually up the stairs again, Jenna shepherded Harrison into the den, fending off his questions out of Allie's earshot, then explained what had been happening over the past few days.

With each turn in her story, Harrison grew more grim, his jaw tightening, his thumbs rubbing restlessly against his forefingers. But he didn't say a word, just stood in the den, staring at her with intense blue eyes, his lips compressed tightly.

When she was finished, he rubbed his chin and glared at her. "You mean you're telling me you had someone leave a threatening note in your house and you didn't call me?"

"I thought the police could handle it," she said, hearing the creak of footsteps on the stairs.

"Or me. I'm next door," he pointed out, his eyebrows knotted together. "And I've got connections. The FBI should be in on this!" He shoved one hand through his short, bristly hair, making the silvery strands stand straight on end. "Just what the h.e.l.l is going on here?"

"That's what we're trying to find out," Carter said.

Brennan was agitated. Face flushed, he turned his anger on Carter. "So do you think she's safe here?"

"I'm fine, Harrison," she cut in.

"But the security system. It's been a mess. I'll call Seth. If he can't fix it, I'll find someone who can."

"Already done," she said. "Wes Allen was over earlier."

Beside her, Carter tensed. Brennan snorted through his nose. "What does he know? He tinkers around with sound systems and the like. This is serious."

Jenna snapped, "Believe me, I realize that."

"I'll double-check the system. Get someone who knows wiring. If not Seth Whitaker, then Jim Klondike-he's a h.e.l.luva handyman." She started to argue, but Harrison wasn't about to be put off as he turned his attention to the sheriff. "What are you and your department doing about this?" he said, pointing a finger at Carter's chest.

"Everything we can." The sheriff folded his arms over his chest and didn't give an inch.

"Humph." Harrison lifted disbelieving silver eyebrows, then faced Jenna again. "You need protection. A woman all alone with kids out here. I don't like it."

"This is my home."

"And it's not very secure." He rubbed the back of his neck. "I guess I could stay over."

Carter's nonchalance dissipated in a heartbeat, and Jenna said, "That won't be necessary, Harrison. I'm hiring a bodyguard."

"A bodyguard? Who?" he demanded.

"I'm not sure yet. I'm hoping to start interviewing today. Sheriff Carter came up with some names-"

"Jake Turnquist," Brennan said quickly, his blue eyes narrowing. "I'd feel better if it was me staying here, but if not, then contact Jake. He's a friend of mine and an ex-Navy Seal. Has done P.I. work after a stint with the Portland Police. He lives in Hood River now, and single-no wife or kids to tie him down, so he could probably move in."

Jenna felt every muscle in her back tighten as she tried to keep her temper in check. She was dead tired and scared, hadn't eaten for nearly a day, and she wanted to jump down Harrison's throat. What was it about her that made Harrison Brennan think he could run her life? Was she such a wimp? "Look, Harrison, I'll see what I want to do," she said, her jaw locked, quiet fury shooting through her bloodstream. "But first I'll talk to the people the sheriff knows." Slowly she unclenched fists she didn't even realize had curled.

"Turnquist's on the list," Carter said, staring Harrison Brennan down. "Harrison's right. Turnquist is a good man. I worked several cases with him before he retired."

Brennan's expression lost a little of its rigidity. "Then it's decided."

"Not yet," Jenna said, wanting to strangle the man. "But I'll give him a call."

"Good." Carter glanced around the house one more time. "I'll stay in touch. Call me if you have any hint of trouble or need anything."

"I will," she promised, and felt more than a little trepidation as she walked him to the back door. Then she was waiting, staring through the panes on the back door and watching as the sheriff drove through the open gates. That warm feeling of safety she'd felt in his presence dissipated in his wake. She was left with Harrison and the bald fact that he was becoming a nuisance. A concerned nuisance, but a nuisance nonetheless. She didn't push the b.u.t.ton to close the electronic gates that, Wes had promised her, were working again. She'd lock them once Harrison left.

He was waiting for her in the kitchen, one hip pressed against the counter, her portable phone in his hand.

"I called Jake," he said with a smile that told her he was proud of himself. "Mission accomplished."

"Meaning?"

"He'll take the job."

She was floored. "Sight unseen? Without meeting me or even looking around?" She motioned to the interior of the house. The setup didn't seem right. "Did you discuss pay? Hours? Jesus, Harrison, you've got to stop doing this, right now. You cannot run my life." She was advancing upon him, her face turned up to his, anger radiating from her in hot, furious waves.

"I'm just trying to help."

"You're suffocating me."

"You'll like Jake." The man was impossible, staring at her as if he didn't understand a word she said.

She squared her shoulders and set her jaw. "That's not the point, okay? I don't need you to protect me."

"Because you're doing such a bang-up job on your own?" he asked, a nasty gleam surfacing in his eyes.

"Because I don't want you to! It's as simple as that. Maybe you should just leave, okay? Whatever you think we've got going here, is a mistake."

He stared at her as if she'd gone insane. "Wait a minute. You're not making any sense. You need help."

"But I don't need to be smothered! I'm a grown woman, for crying out loud. So back off. And, please, just leave me the h.e.l.l alone."

For a second he just stood in the kitchen, his boots unmoving, his mouth slack, and then, as if he finally got it, he sucked his breath in through his teeth. "If that's what you want." Zipping his jacket, he made his way to the back door. "I'm sorry I was so pushy, Jenna," he said, one hand resting on the doork.n.o.b as he looked at her over his shoulder. "It's just my way. Years of taking command, you know."

She didn't back down. Just glared at him.

"Listen, I'll look over the security system just for my own peace of mind, and then I'll leave you alone. If you change your mind, give me a call."

She wouldn't. She knew it.

Most likely, he did, too.

His blood was pumping. Thrumming through his veins. Snowflakes melted against his flesh, drizzling cold trails of water down his face and along his bare skin. He wore only gloves, no other article of clothing. His muscles quivered as he pulled himself up on the bar he used for chin-ups, a cold metal rod lodged deep into the rough bark of giant firs.

Pull up...slowly...let down even more slowly. Body rigid. Feet together. Up. Down. Up. Down. One hundred times.

Exercise was part of his daily regimen. Day in, day out. Regardless of the weather.

"Neither snow nor rain nor heat nor gloom of night...yeah, that was it, just as regular as the U.S. Postal Service.

Dependable But deadly.

Invincible in winter.

Made strong by the very cold he abhorred. Mentally clicking off the reps, feeling the ache in his muscles as he strained, he felt the need to kill again, the pulsing need begin to throb through him. Gritting his teeth, he finished his regimen, then dropped lithely to the ground, his bare feet sinking into the drifting snow.

The sheen of sweat on his skin mingled with the icy drops of snow. Hot and cold. Freezing air rushing over his nakedness. Steam rising from his flesh.

The wickedness of the night crept under his skin.

He closed his eyes for a second.

Imagined the hunt.

It was the killing time.

And he knew where to find her...

CHAPTER 27.

If Mohammed wouldn't come to the mountain, then the d.a.m.ned mountain was going to haul a.s.s to him.

Roxie Olmstead was tired of getting the "no comment" routine from the Lewis County Sheriff's Department, and she was p.i.s.sed that she couldn't get through to Carter. The guy was stonewalling her, no doubt about it.

She'd left voice messages and e-mail messages and even hung out around the courthouse, hoping to flag Carter down and get some kind of information about Mavis Gette, the woman found in pieces up on Catwalk Point. Even after the corpse had been identified, Carter had refused her calls-well, actually, that b.i.t.c.h of a receptionist, Jerri Morales, had coolly informed Roxie that Carter was "out" or "in a meeting" or "unavailable." She'd only found out about Mavis Gette from a statement issued by the Oregon State Police.

"h.e.l.l," she muttered, walking out of the offices of the Lewis County Banner. The wind blasted her, pushing her hood off her head and running icy fingers through her hair. Clutching her laptop, thermos, and purse, she hurried through the blowing snow to her car and unlocked the little four-door. Her stomach was acting up again and she popped a couple of antacids after she sc.r.a.ped a vision hole in the ice covering the windshield, then flicked on the ignition and the Toyota's defroster started warming the gla.s.s in front of her. Her Corolla had over two hundred thousand miles on it and was beat to h.e.l.l, the interior shot, but with an engine that wouldn't quit. With a standard "three-on-the-tree" transmission and studded snow tires, the old car could get Roxie just about anywhere. Including Sheriff Carter's house.

She smiled to herself as she considered the lawman. Tall and good-looking, Carter appeared more like Hollywood's vision of a cowboy than a real sheriff. It bugged the h.e.l.l out of Roxie that he wouldn't give her the time of day. Well, tonight things were going to change.

She turned on the wipers to help sc.r.a.pe off the ice, and switched on her favorite radio station, one of the few that came in here, and listened to '80s pop as the ice slowly melted and the car's interior warmed. Before she could really see much, she swiped a spot clear on the inside of the windshield and picked her way through the few cars in the lot, then gunned it onto the street. Her car slid a bit and she grinned. G.o.d, she loved the snow, watched as it swirled and danced in front of her headlights. At a stoplight, she braked, found a tube of lip gloss in her purse, and swiped a little pinkish stain over her lips. She was admiring her work in the rearview mirror when the light changed; she stepped on it before the guy on her b.u.mper got impatient and laid on the horn.