He could already imagine the expression on the captain's face as he heard the news-an expression that would match Dane's own.

They hadn't arrived fast enough to save the victim, but the sonofab.i.t.c.h could still be close by.

"Keep searching," Dane ordered the men around him. "Every single room. Every crawl s.p.a.ce. Everywhere."

He led the men. They took their time, doing their best not to destroy any evidence. They searched room after room. Air-conditioning ducts. Closets. Storage s.p.a.ces. Every d.a.m.n place.

Then Dane headed outside with his men. Bright sunlight beat down on him. He saw the line of police cars that had a.s.sembled and saw the captain glaring at the scene. Uniforms had fanned out and were searching all the nearby buildings.

They won't find him.

Because the killer was just s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g with them all.

Harley moved to the side, and Dane caught a glimpse of Katherine's face. Just seeing her so close to the murder scene was like a punch to his gut. No. She shouldn't be here.

He ran toward her and the captain. He tried to hold back his anger, but it broke free as he glared at Harley and demanded, "Why the h.e.l.l would you bring her here?" How could the captain not understand what the killer was doing? He'd called her, lured her there.

"Valentine wanted her out here for a reason," Harley said, his voice rough. "And she insisted on coming."

Dane was starting to think the woman had a death wish.

But the captain was right. The call to Katherine had been deliberate, and Valentine would have been too smart to use the victim's phone-knowing they could trace both the victim's ident.i.ty and the phone's location through that call-unless he wanted us here.

The b.a.s.t.a.r.d was jerking them around.

Because he wanted to watch.

"The men need to fan out more." His gaze left the closer buildings and drifted farther away, then rose. "Get uniforms up there." He motioned to the buildings on the far right. "He set the scene, and he lured his players out here. I'm betting he stayed to watch."

Valentine liked to think he was in control of the game. A twisted game in which he was the only one having any fun.

Harley sent the uniforms scrambling. They rushed toward the first building that Dane had indicated, a four-story warehouse that would have given the killer a perfect view of the cop cars as they arrived.

"He saw us coming," Dane said. "He watched us every step of the way."

Katherine touched his arm-a light, hesitant touch. "She was dead?"

He nodded. The ME's van was already there. Ronnie would be heading in soon to check the body. "She was still warm."

Katherine's breath shuddered out.

His gaze shot over her head and landed on the marshal. "Take her back to the station," he told Ross. He couldn't leave the scene yet or he'd have been the one to take her. But Dane didn't like having her out here. She was too exposed. Whatever game Valentine thought he was playing, he needs to think again.

Ross nodded, even as his gaze drifted to the buildings on the right.

"Keep her safe," Dane added. The last thing he wanted to see was Katherine tied to a table. With duct tape over her mouth. And blood dripping down her arms.

The woman in there, with her dark hair and pale skin, could have been a subst.i.tute for Katherine. Would the killer be coming for her soon?

Dane glared up at the buildings. You can't have her.

7 .

Cops guarded the front door of Katherine's house. A patrol car was stationed at the end of her driveway. If she'd had any neighbors to scare, the poor folks would have been terrified.

But she didn't have neighbors. Because she didn't want them to get too close. She didn't want anyone to get too close.

"Do you know anything about the victim?" Katherine asked as her fingers curled around the cup of coffee in front of her. It was nearing eight p.m., and she probably shouldn't have been drinking coffee so late, but there were plenty of things she shouldn't have done in her life.

Coffee wouldn't be what killed her. Valentine? He just might be.

Ross gave a slow shake of his head. He'd been her shadow all day, a shadow she was grateful to have. "Her name is Amy Evans. She's divorced. Thirty-one." He expelled his breath in a rush. "I learned that, then got-"

"Sentenced to babysitting duty with me," she finished, shoulders hunching.

The kitchen chair groaned beneath him as he shifted his weight. She looked up and saw that his gaze had hardened. "Do you still have the gun?" Ross asked.

He was always Ross to her. Never Anthony, never Tony. He'd been her handler for three years. Given her two new ident.i.ties in that time. But she always called him Ross because she wanted to keep distance between them.

Because she didn't trust him.

I don't trust anyone.

Not even the men with badges.

"Katherine."

She blinked.

"Do you still have the gun?"

He'd given her the gun the day he got her out of Boston. She didn't know if it was standard procedure to give a witness a gun. She doubted it, but there had been shadows in Ross's eyes. A story she hadn't been brave enough to ask about. He'd given her the gun and said, "If the b.a.s.t.a.r.d ever finds you, don't waste a breath talking to him. Just shoot."

Her fingers curled tighter around the mug. "I still have the gun," she said. She most certainly still had it, and she spent ten hours a week at the firing range making sure she knew exactly how to use it.

In the years since her horrible discovery in that bas.e.m.e.nt, she'd taken steps to make herself stronger. She'd become a d.a.m.n good shot, and she'd spent countless hours. .h.i.tting the mat in self-defense cla.s.ses.

She wouldn't be caught unprepared if she faced a killer again.

"Is it loaded?"

She shook her head.

"Load the d.a.m.n thing, Kat-Katherine. Keep that gun close, and if you need to...shoot. He came all the way down to New Orleans, didn't he?"

"He...he never tried to hurt me before-"

"He's a f.u.c.king psychotic killer. Just because he didn't before, that sure as h.e.l.l doesn't mean he won't come at you with his knife this time."

Some of the hot coffee spilled over onto her hand. The burn lanced her skin, but she ignored the flash of pain. "He never wanted me to find out what he did. He told me that in the bas.e.m.e.nt." So why would he be calling her now? Trying to lure her to crime scenes? Maybe Ross was right. Maybe she'd become one of his targets now.

"Keep the gun close," Ross told her again, his voice dropping, "and don't forget for an instant what he is."

Her gaze held his. "I can never forget."

There was a beat of silence, and then she heard voices. Cops on her porch, talking to Dane. She pushed aside the coffee and hurried into the den just as he entered the house.

The faint lines near his mouth looked deeper, and there were shadows under his eyes. She knew from just one look at his face that he hadn't found the killer.

"He sent you a package after the last kill," Dane said.

The bloodred roses and the photograph to immortalize his kill. To show his masterpiece. Valentine had taken photos of his victims in Boston, too. The cops had tried tracking him down based on the paper and ink he used, but they hadn't found him.

"If the killer is sticking to his routine, he'll send you another package."

Her hand was starting to throb a bit now. She pressed her fingers against her jean-clad thigh.

"I'll be here if he comes. If anyone comes with any kind of package."

"I can stay-" Ross said immediately.

But Dane shook his head. "My shift." His gaze lingered on Katherine. "I've got her now."

Dane was going to spend the night with her. Again. At least she had an extra room he could use.

A room right across the hallway from hers.

Ross's fingers brushed down her arm. She instinctively stiffened, but he just said, "I'll be back in the morning."

She nodded.

He bent toward her. "Remember what I said." His words were a quiet whisper that Dane shouldn't have been able to hear.

But when Ross pulled away from her, she saw the suspicion on Dane's face.

"Detective," Ross said, nodding toward him, "if there's any threat-"

"Got you on speed dial," Dane said with a tight nod.

Then Ross was gone. Dane shut and locked the door, and the house that she'd always thought was too big for her suddenly seemed too small.

8 .

"What did he tell you?" Dane asked, voice curious. "He whispered to you, right before he left."

"I have a gun that I keep in my nightstand. Ross was reminding me that I needed to keep it close." Use it.

"You do," Dane agreed as his gaze swept over her.

She shook her head. "He never hurt me."

Three steps and Dane was in front of her. He reached for her hands. "He tortured those women. Don't tell me the guy wouldn't slice you if he had the-"

She gasped as his fingers tightened around the burn on her hand.

"What is it?" His gaze dropped. She followed his stare and saw the red streaks on her flesh. "What the h.e.l.l happened?"

"I just...some coffee spilled on me." Katherine tried to pull her hand away. "It's nothing."

But he was tugging her toward the kitchen. Turning on the cold water. Holding her hand under the faucet. The icy water felt good on her skin. Or maybe it was his fingers that felt good. Strong. Tan and long.

She looked up. His eyes weren't on her. They were on her hand. On the water that poured over a small wound that shouldn't matter for anything.

"We need to put some cream on it, we need-"

"I've had worse burns." Plenty, back when she'd been a kid. "I'll be fine." Because being so close to him was making her nervous and edgy, she pulled away.

He turned off the faucet.

She backed up and hit the counter behind her. Great. Not exactly any place to run. The kitchen was small. Or maybe he was just too d.a.m.n big.

"Does the name Amy Evans mean anything to you?" Dane's gaze was watchful, hooded.

"I know she was the victim. I heard that at the station."

"But you didn't know her?" Dane pressed.

"I don't think so. I saw her picture on one of the computers down there, but I'd never seen her before."

"You're sure?"

What did he want? Did he want her to break? "I'm sure. Why?" Her breath caught. "Was she another reporter? Was she working on a story about Valentine?"

"No, Amy wasn't a reporter. She was a lawyer." He exhaled slowly. "We're checking her background, seeing what can tie her to-"

"Me," Katherine finished.