Lindsey froze in the hallway, certain she'd heard a noise from the kitchen-a noise that wasn't the freaking annoying smoke alarm.

Push it away. She pushed it away-the endless high-pitched squealing-and concentrated on moving soundlessly down the hall.

The living room was large and cluttered with furniture. Shadows jumped around the room from the burning draperies, and smoke curled, not just around the high ceiling, but lower, too, making it hard to breathe.

And hard to see, too. Not just for her, but for him.

A window was open across the room. Was she supposed to believe Eulie had left-maybe made his escape? What did she look like? The queen of wishful thinking?

Still, she went toward it, because he so obviously wanted her to.

It was then that she heard him. Behind her. She spun to face him-as he hit her again with that powerful stream of water.

It was different this time. She was being hit directly, instead of getting the splashback, and it pushed her off her feet.

Shit! She got off a shot-a wild one-as she hit the floor. The water smashed at her, and she couldn't keep her head from smacking the sturdy leg of a heavy oak chair, and she actually saw stars.

Her weapon left her right hand, and he used the water to push it farther from her. She crawled toward it on her belly and elbows, but it skittered away.

He hit her again in the head-it was like taking a punch from a professional boxer-and she heard herself cry out, heard Eulie laugh.

She struggled to reach her handgun, and once again he smacked her with the water-whap!-right in the head.

He didn't do it if she didn't move. Lindsey looked at the weapon. It was too far away. She'd never reach it in time.

Eulie, however, was coming closer.

And closer.

He held the pressure hose and its heavy tank at the ready, in case she tried once again to go for her gun.

But Lindsey didn't need to. She had her backup, her even smaller .22, already in her left hand.

He finally came into range, and she blasted him, right in the face, and he fell, the water tank clattering beside him on the floor.

She twisted onto her stomach, sealing the deal with two more bullets, sent directly into his head.

"Hey!"

She spun to face the hallway, weapon up and ready-to find herself staring through the swirling smoke, into the barrel of a submachine gun, held by the abominable snowman.

"Lindsey!" The snowman knew her name. He had ice on his hat, on his jacket, in his hair, on his eyebrows. And three other snowmen were right behind him.

"Ryan Seacrest," Lindsey said as she lowered her weapon. "I knew you'd come."

Jenk laughed-it was either that or cry. It was just like Lindsey-soaking wet, shivering, and looking as if she'd been dragged through hell-to make not just a joke, but one that referred to the phone conversation she'd had with him and Izzy the night they'd babysat for Charlie Paoletti. The night Oz had gotten free.

The night he'd fallen in love with Lindsey but was too stupid to know it.

It was also clear, just as she'd pointed out that night, that she really hadn't needed a team of Navy SEALs to save her.

She done just fine by herself.

"Let's get this fire out," Jenk ordered Izzy, Gillman, and Lopez, who leaped into action, pulling down the flaming drapes, opening windows.

Weapon still at ready, Jenk went over to the body. Eulie was definitely dead.

Lindsey was back on her feet. She'd picked up some kind of tank and hose and was using it to spray the flames. "Is he wearing body armor?" she asked.

"He is," Jenk reported, taking his jacket off, shaking the snow from it. "Gillman."

"Where's Tracy?" Izzy asked.

"I haven't found her yet," Lindsey said, as Gillman took the tank from her. "She might be in the basement." Jenk wrapped his jacket around her and she looked at him. "Mark, I haven't heard her since I came inside."

"Where's the basement?" Izzy demanded.

"I think there's a door in the kitchen," Lindsey told him, starting to show him the way.

But Jenk held onto her. "Let him go."

"It's down that hall," she said. "And Iz?" He was already gone, so she raised her voice. "Brace yourself."

Izzy took a deep breath and his flashlight from his pack, and went into the darkness of the kitchen.

Only to be lunged at by a crazy woman with a knife.

"Ow! Shit!" The blade was incredibly sharp. He'd cut his hand just blocking the blow. "What the fuck...?"

"Izzy?"

He turned on his flashlight. "Trace?"

She was alive. She was bruised and dirty and scraped up pretty badly, but sweet, sweet Jesus, she was alive.

"We need to get out of here," she whispered urgently. "I need some help with Beth. There's this awful man, and he's-"

"Dead," Izzy told her, so damn glad to see her in one piece that he nearly burst into tears like a great big baby. "His name was Dick Eulie. Did you hear those gunshots? That was Lindsey, just saying no. Don't ever piss her off." He realized what she said. "Who's Beth?"

Tracy pointed and there, curled up on the floor, was a woman who looked like she'd been raised by wolves. "She was his prisoner, for I don't know how long. She's injured-she's very ill-she needs a hospital. Plus, he drugged her, and-"

"Okay," Izzy said. Tracy was soaking wet, just as Lindsey had been. "All right. Let's take care of you first. Let's get you out to the other room and-"

"I'm not leaving her," Tracy dug in her heels. "Not in here. There are horrible things in the freezer. Down in the basement, too. This Dick guy, he...collected body parts. From his victims. He showed me. He was going...I was...I was supposed to be Number Twenty-one."

She was trying to lift Beth, and Izzy realized that Tracy had probably carried the other woman all the way up the basement stairs. "I got her," he said. Wolf-girl was fragile-much too skinny. And, damn, but she smelled. Tracy, however, didn't seem to care. She stayed close.

"Was that really Lindsey who came to the door?" Tracy asked. "She just rang the bell and walked in."

No shit. Lindsey had huge balls. "She was supposed to wait for us, but...we were delayed by the weather," he told her.

She looked at him, and her remarkable blue eyes widened. "Is it snowing?" she asked.

"Yeah," Izzy said past the lump in his throat. Thank God they'd found her in time. "A little."

All three of the women were soaking wet. But none of them wanted to borrow any articles of clothing-not even a blanket-from Richard Eulie's house.

The fire was out. Gillman had gotten the generator up and running. The heat was working, and the snow was still coming down like a bitch, but Lindsey was the only one of the women willing to stay in the house to warm up.

And Jenk suspected that was only because he was there.

The other two women-Tracy and Beth-were out in the rental car Lindsey had driven from the motel, heater blasting. Lopez was with them, cleaning up their various scrapes. Although Beth definitely needed a hospital stay-and a serious delousing.

"You okay?" he asked Lindsey.

He'd wrapped his and Lopez's jackets around her, sat her down next to an electric heater, but she was still shivering.

"He's really dead, right?" she asked him, not for the first time. She knew it, too. "I'm sorry, I'm just...I can't imagine what Beth and Tracy have been through. The short time I spent with the man was plenty long enough."

"He's very dead." Jenk put his arms around her, and she rested her head on his shoulder. "You want to see the body again?"

She shook her head.

"Sophia's here with the plow," he told her. "Dave and Decker need medical attention, then we're going to head back to the motel. Gillman'll drive the car, right behind the plow. We're also going to pick up the SUV."

"What about the body?" she asked, sitting up to look at him. "We're not just going to leave it here-with all the evidence...?"

She sounded so outraged at the idea, that he had to smile. Once a cop, always a cop. "You know that FBI agent who flew up from DC?" he asked. "He's actually on his way, with a forensics team. They'll be here before we leave. I think we can trust them with the crime scene."

Lindsey leaned forward and kissed him. Her mouth was so soft and sweet. Jenk could taste the tea Lopez had made for her. He was just starting to get into it, when she pulled back. "Yes," she said.

"Yes?" he repeated, not certain what she meant.

"To the weekend," she explained. "I'd like-very much-to see you this weekend." Her voice shook. "And for Christmas. Yes to Christmas, if the invitation is still open."

As if it wouldn't be. As if he wasn't about to starting weeping from happiness.

"Of course it is," he managed to say. He cupped his hand against the softness of her face, lost in the darkness of her beautiful eyes. "Although I have to be honest. When I first invited you? I lied when I said I wasn't in love with you. And I know that might scare you but-"

"When I was here, alone with Eulie, and I thought...it could go either way," she whispered. "I didn't just not want to die." Tears brimmed and one escaped, sliding down her cheek. "I wanted to live."

Jenk kissed her, because he got her message. Loud and clear. She didn't need to say the words. But then, because she was Lindsey, because she always surprised him, always made him laugh, she did say it.

"I love you, too, Mark." She laughed, then, wiping her eyes with her hands. "I promised myself that if I came out of this with my scalp still attached to my head, I'd tell you. I would've texted it to you, but my phone got wet."

Jenk couldn't speak. He didn't know what to say, couldn't find any words to describe the sheer happiness he was feeling. Instead, he just sat and breathed, with his arm around Lindsey, holding her close.

"So what do you want to do this weekend?" she asked, and he kissed her again.

CHAPTER.

TWENTY-TWO.

SAN DIEGO, CALIFORNIA.

DECEMBER 21, 2005.

When Tracy's doorbell rang, she was certain it was Lyle, coming back for one last attempt to talk her into returning to New York.

"I said I'd think about it," she told him as she opened the door.

Except it wasn't Lyle standing there. It was Izzy. What was he doing here?

She hadn't seen him at all in the past week and a half. Not since she'd cut him with that knife in Richard Eulie's kitchen.

He was wearing jeans and a T-shirt. Sneakers on his feet. Sunglasses that hid his eyes. He took them off.

"I saw-was it Lyle? Leaving," he said. He was carrying a present, wrapped in festive paper and a bow. "Don't tell me you're seriously thinking about getting back with him?"

Izzy wasn't the only one who was outraged that Lyle didn't come to New Hampshire when Tracy had first gone missing. In fact, it was three whole days after the rescue before he'd appeared-apparently he'd had an important court case and couldn't leave New York.

Sophia was thoroughly disgusted with Lyle, too. She'd called Tracy, every day for the past week, trying to talk her into staying on as Troubleshooters' receptionist. She'd gotten Dave and Lindsey and even Tom to call, too.

"I don't know," Tracy said, stepping back to let Izzy in. "I'm not sleeping too well. I'm not sure I can handle living alone."

"This place is big enough for a roommate," he said, looking around the living room.

"I don't know," Tracy said again. "There's only one bedroom."