There was a ghost of a smile playing across his lips. "He shared a similar sentiment. Always good to know my people play nice together when they're away from the office."

Agents Powell and Matthews were conversing with some state police nearby. Both men broke away at that moment to veer over in their direction to introduce themselves to Adam.

"Well, Powell." Ramsey didn't trust that tone of her boss's voice. "You almost had Sanders wrapped up for this. Good thing Ramsey didn't let go of that turmeric lead."

Powell flushed, but Ramsey put in, "If we hadn't been leaning on Sanders, we might not have discovered Frost being stalked in Lisbon by a gray-haired man. I would never have thought much of the stray gray hair found in her apartment. Never made the connection to the one found with the ViCAP victim in DC."

"Still, Sanders is a scumbag," Matthews put in. He gazed at the scene of the pond moodily. "Hate to see him profit off Frost's death, even if he didn't have anything to do with it."

She went silent as the men continued to talk, her mind still on the night she'd killed Rollins. The church members' names were listed in the record book, too. A father passed the duty down to his eldest son. It had taken them three days to make all the arrests. She'd been shocked by the listing for Beau Simpson, the man who'd supposedly committed suicide. But it had been Doc Thiesen's arrest that had shaken her the most.

She imagined his stint as county coroner had come in handy when mistakes were made and victims were discovered.

One name they hadn't found in the records, much to Dev's disappointment, was that of Reverend Biggers. The man wasn't exactly a role model as a church leader, but he hadn't been involved in the secret sect. Which just went to show, she considered, that evil lingered far deeper below the surface than did mere unpleasantness.

"Ramsey."

She turned at Dev's voice, immediately concerned by his expression.

"What is it?"

He drew her away from the group. "I heard one of the deputies say he'd just come from Rose Thornton's place. She's been found dead."

It took a moment to make sense of the words. "Not murdered."

He shook his head, his expression a little dazed. "No. But Ramsey . . . they say she's been dead at least three months."

"It's impossible." Dusk was falling as they made their way toward Rose's property, avoiding the emergency vehicles in the rutted overgrown drive. "You just didn't remember what she looked like and we were talking to someone else, that's all. You said yourself you hadn't seen her for years."

"It was her," he said flatly. "Her that we talked to at her place. It was Rose that I spoke to on the road the night she warned me you were in danger. I'm tellin' you, they're carrying the wrong body out of that cabin. It's not Rose's."

The medics were carrying out a stretcher holding a long black-zippered bag. Dev stopped the car behind a state police vehicle and Ramsey got out. Jogged over to the stretcher. Flashing her temporary badge, she said, "I'd like to ID the victim."

"That's already been done, ma'am."

"I need to see for myself."

The two medics looked at each other. Shrugged. "Ain't gonna be pretty," one said as he reached down to partially unzip the top of the bag. "There were so many flies in that cabin we had to go out and get masks."

It wasn't the sight of the partially eaten away remains of the face that had Ramsey taking a step back. It was the fact that she recognized it.

Dev slipped an arm around her waist as the medics continued toward the ambulance. "It's impossible," she said again, but weakly this time. "How can that be? We saw her. We talked to her."

"We thought we did."

The emergency vehicles were starting to pull out. Dev pulled her toward the side of the house. Ramsey was still shaking her head as they made their way to the back of the cabin. "Maybe she hasn't been dead as long as they think. Insects inflict a lot of damage. Closer examination might have the ME revising time of death."

"But I'm tellin' you, she was there on the road that . . ."

When his words halted, she turned to look at him. Followed the direction of his gaze to the area beyond the cabin's back porch.

Rose was standing there. Floating, really. The woman she'd just seen in the body bag. In the same clothes she'd worn the one time Ramsey had met her.

It looked like Rose Thornton. But the image of her wavered at the edges, like a reflection in a clear pond. And in the next moment her image melded into that of a young woman in a high-necked buttoned-up gown. Her eyes were filled with sorrow.

"Ruth," Dev breathed.

As if his voice banished it, her image trembled. Faded. And then there was nothing but the lights. Dancing balls of illumination that flickered and skipped across the yard. Burning bright and brighter. Over the garage. Above the brush. Into the woods before they vanished.

"Shit." She was holding on to Dev's arm so tight she had to be hurting him, but Ramsey couldn't bring herself to let go. "What the hell was that? What was that?"

"That," he released a shaky breath, his voice filled with a wonder she was far from mirroring, "was one of those things that can't be explained by science. I have a feeling the residents of Buffalo Springs have seen the last of the red mist."

Her mind was still grappling with implications she couldn't let herself fathom. He turned her to face him. "See, that's what I've been sayin'." The curve of his lips was belied by the serious light in his eyes. "You can't analyze everythin' in this world. Some things you just have to accept for what they are. For what they could be."

Her voice was shaky. "I think someone told me that once."

Dev nodded. "Sounds like a wise man. Here's some facts for you to think 'bout. We both do some travelin', but when I'm writin', I can do that 'bout anywhere. I'm not fussy 'bout where I live." His smile hadn't faded. Neither had the intensity in his gaze. "I am fussy 'bout who I live with. Guess I'm hopin' you're not quite as fussy, 'cuz I'd like to be livin' with you."

She sensed he was feeling his way with her. Offering only as much as it took to keep her from running like hell. Away from what he offered. Away from what he wanted.

Her palms dampened. There was a hammering in her heart. A thundering in her ears. "I'm not a good bet."

"Honey, I chase ghosts for a livin'. You're the one takin' a risk here."

A laugh escaped at that, although she knew it wasn't true. Of the two of them, she was the one terrified to disappoint. Terrified that whatever she gave could never be enough.

But when she looked at him, she knew what her answer would be. Because whatever else she felt, the biggest fear that loomed was elicited by the thought of never seeing him again.

"I've taken the easy way most of my life. Easier not to feel anything at all. What I feel now, for you . . ." She drew in a breath. "It scares me to death. But the thought of losing it, losing you, scares me even more."

The bruises on his face still lingered, but it was the pure joy in his expression that had her heart stuttering. "We'll take it slow," he promised, his head lowering to hers. "How do you feel 'bout namin' our firstborn after my daddy?"

She started, the panic at peak alert, until she saw the wicked light in his eyes. "We'll take it slow," Ramsey repeated firmly.

But as her lips met his, she knew that she was going to find a way to accept every last thing Dev was offering.

And offer him the same.

Turn the page for a preview of the third book in Kylie Brant's exciting Mindhunters series

WAKING THE DEAD.

Available November 2009 from Berkley Sensation!

Seven stainless steel gurneys were lined up in the morgue, each occupied by a partially assembled skeleton and a large garbage bag. The bones gleamed under the fluorescent lights. At the base of the last gurney was a heap of stray bones that had been found lying separately. Caitlin Fleming's first thought was that they looked forlorn. Deprived of their dignity, until they could be rejoined to form the remnant of the person they'd once belonged to.

Her second thought was that without the skulls, the chances of identifying those persons decreased dramatically.

"What do you think?" Sheriff Marin Andrews demanded. Her booted feet sounded heavily as she walked from one gurney to the next. "The bones were pretty much loose in the bags, but the medical examiner made an attempt to reassemble them. We brought out the bones scattered on the bottom of the cave floor in a separate body bag. Recovery operation was a bitch, I'm telling you. The cave branches off from the original vein, gets wider and higher. Then it drops off to a steep chamber about seven feet down. These were probably dumped from above into that chamber." She must have caught Cait's wince, because she added, "We had an anthropologist from the university supervise the removal process."

Cait nodded. She was rarely brought onto a case in time to help process the crime scene. But that didn't stop her from questioning what might have been destroyed or overlooked in the recovery. "I'll want to see the cave."

Andrews's expression first revealed shock, then amusement. "Fortunately for you, that won't be necessary. It's on the face of Castle Rock and not easily accessible. Either you climb down from the top, or you scale upwards nearly eight hundred feet. There are trails, of course, but they could be tricky for an inexperienced climber. We don't need an injury on our hands before we even get started."

"I'm not inexperienced." Cait knew exactly what the sheriff saw when she looked at her. It was, after all, the appearance she'd cultivated for well over a decade. But her days on the runways of New York, Milan, and Paris were long behind her. She was as comfortable these days in a room exactly like this one as hiking in the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The other woman shrugged. She was probably about fifteen years Cait's senior. Her looks were nondescript. A sturdy build filling out a beige uniform. Close-cropped light brown hair and hazel eyes. But Cait knew better than anyone that appearances could be deceiving. Marin Andrews had a reputation for being an excellent, if ambitious cop. And that ambition, along with her father's millions, were rumored to be priming her for a chase to the governor's mansion.

Cait's help in solving this case would provide a stepping-stone to that end.

"Figured you'd want to see the area, anyway. That forest fire in the eastern Cascades has depleted the personnel at the forestry stations, but we've hired Zach Sharper to stay available during the course of the investigation. He's the outdoors guide who found the bodies. Said he was preparing for a client who wanted to spelunk some out-of-the-way caves, so Zach explored a few off the beaten path. Thought he'd discovered a new one when he stumbled on this." Andrews waved a hand at the skeletons. "He runs a outfitting company. Rafting, kayaking, mountain climbing, hiking, that sort of thing." The assessing look in her eye said better than words that she didn't believe Cait's assertion of her outdoor experience. "He's also on the search and rescue team when campers and hikers go missing. He's got some rough edges, but he's supposed to be the best in the state."

"I can handle rough edges." Cait walked around the gurneys to peer more closely at the nearly identical junctures where the skulls had been separated from each skeleton. She looked around then, spotted a magnifying loupe on a set of metal shelves in the corner, and retrieved it before continuing her examination.

"The guy from the university said it looked like a knife or saw was used to decapitate them."

Cait moved to another gurney to peer at the vertebra. "I'd say a saw. With luck I may be able to narrow the type down for you." Straightening, she scanned the remains lined up on the stainless steel tables. "You've got four men and three women, but I suspect the medical examiner told you that."

"He did. He also tried, and failed, to find a cause of death for any of them. But this thing is way out of his league and he knows it. He's a pathologist, not a forensic anthropologist. When I saw what we had here, I immediately thought of Raiker Forensics. Adam Raiker assures me you're the best in this field."

Cait used the loupe to take a close look at the femur of the second skeleton. The guy had suffered a fracture to it at some point in his life. It had knit cleanly, suggesting certain medical attention. "I am," she responded absently. She looked up then to arrow a look at Andrews. "My assistant will be arriving at dawn tomorrow with our equipment. Will this facility remain available to us?"

"It will. The building is less than a year old and state of the art." The look of satisfaction stamping the sheriff's face told Cait better than words that the other woman had been a driving force behind the new morgue. "Anything you need, talk to the Lane County medical examiner. His name is Steve Michaels. You'll have to meet him tomorrow." Cait followed the direction of the woman's gaze to the clock on the wall. Eight P.M. And she'd left home at six in the morning in order to catch her flight from Dulles. Weariness was edging in, warring with hunger.

"I've arranged two rooms for you and your assistant at the Landview Suites here in Eugene. You've rented a vehicle?"

"Picked it up at the airport." The compact SUV looked perfect for the ground she'd be covering in the course of this investigation. "I'd like all the maps you can provide for the area. Roads, forests, surrounding towns . . ." A thought struck her then and she looked at the other woman. "And thanks for arranging for the weapon permit so quickly." Raiker refused to let any of his consultants work without one.

Andrews lifted a shoulder. "Your boss made it clear that condition wasn't up for discussion. I doubt you'll need it. These bones may have been in that cave for decades. Even if foul play is determined, the unknown subject is probably long gone by now. The threat should be minimal."

"Maybe. Maybe not. It certainly doesn't take decades for a corpse to be reduced to a skeleton. In some climates it'd be a week if the body were left out in the elements. In Oregon it'd take several weeks or months, depending on where the body's dumped, the season, the temperature, insect and animal access. Maybe you're right and these bones have been there for that long. But not necessarily."

When she saw the satisfied gleam in the sheriff's eye, Cait knew she'd read the woman correctly. Whatever the outcome of this case, Andrews was going use it to vault her political career. And solving a current crime spree would make for a lot better press than some old murders that had happened long ago.

But the woman only said, "I've got a copy of the case file for you in the car. You'll be reporting directly to me, but in the field you may be working with my lead detective, Mitch Barnes. You can meet him tomorrow, too."

Cait's attention had already returned to the skeletons. There was a lot of preparatory work to be done on them, but it would have to wait until tomorrow when Kristy arrived. Although she'd be supervising the lab work, these days Cait was an investigator first, a forensic anthropologist second. And she was anxious to get a look at the secondary scene.

"I'll want to get my assistant started first thing tomorrow morning. Have Barnes meet me here at nine and tell Sharper to stand by. We'll head up to . . ."

"Castle Rock," the other woman supplied.

". . . and he can show me how he happened to discover the remains of seven people." She shot a glance at the sheriff as they headed to the door. "How did Sharper react to the discovery? Is he pretty shaken up?"

Andrews gave a bark of laughter, real amusement showing in her expression. "Nothing shakes up Sharper, unless it's people wasting his time. He'll be steady enough, don't worry. But he won't win any congeniality contests."

Cait shrugged. "I don't need congenial. I'll be satisfied with competent."

Andrews led the way out of the morgue, the echo of her booted footsteps ringing hollowly. "I may need to remind you of those words after you meet him."

Her first stop had been an office supply store. The next was a fast food drive-through for a grilled chicken salad with definite wilting around the edges. Cait had eaten in between setting up her work area. The crime scene photos were tacked to the white display boards sitting on top of the desk. A collection of labels, index cards, markers, and Post-it notes sat neatly at the base.

Now she sat on the bed leaning against the headboard, the contents of the fat accordion file folder scattered across her lap and on the mattress. The photographs taken in the cave chamber had been taken with a low-light lens, but they were still darker than she'd like. While she was able to easily make out the bags' proximity to one another, it was more difficult to read the plastic numbered evidence markers that had been set in front of each to tell which one was which.

There was a preliminary report from the ME, Steve Michaels, and it appeared to be solid work. Measurements of each set of bones were included, as was a thorough examination for evidence of trauma. None of the skeletons showed recent signs of injury. Perhaps the missing skulls would. Or maybe the deaths were the result of poison. Cait narrowed her eyes, considering. She found herself hoping for the victims' sakes that the decapitation had been enacted posthumously.

Had the skulls been removed to impede identification of the victims? To prevent investigators from detecting the method of death? Or were they kept by the perp as trophies?

Taking a look at her watch, Cait began gathering up the materials and replacing them in the file. But it occurred to her that if she could answer those questions, she'd be a long way toward profiling the UNSUB they were searching for.

Kristy Jensen was a full foot shorter than Cait at four-eleven, a wispy ethereal creature with an otherworldly air. Slap a pair of wings on her, and with her elfin features and blonde wavy hair, she'd looked like a fairy in a kid's story-book.

Once she opened her mouth, however, that notion would be dispelled forever.

"There is no fucking good way to get to this fuck dump of a town, you know that, don't you?" Kristy sipped at her Star-bucks coffee and aimed a gimlet stare over the rim from cornflower blue eyes. "Charter plane, my ass. Eight fucking hours it took me from Dulles. I could have walked faster. I could have parachuted half way here, hitched a ride on a mother-fucking migrating duck and still gotten here before that damn plane."

"So the plane ride was good?" Cait laughed as her diminutive friend gave her the finger as they entered the morgue. "And you owe me four bucks. I'm giving you a pass on the 'damn,' and the one-finger salute because at least that's silent."

"We haven't even started work yet," Kristy complained. But she was already digging in her purse to pull out the money. "I think we should change the rules so it only counts during work time."

"Tough love." Cait snatched the five from the woman's hand and dug in her purse until she found a one for change. "You wanted help cleaning up your language. Can't change the rules midcourse."

"Why not? Nothing else has changed, except for my disposable income. I'm still swearing like a one-legged sailor."

They showed their temporary ID to the clerk at the front desk and headed down the long hallway to the room where Andrews had brought Cait the evening before.

"Discipline," she chided. But there was no heat to the word. She could care less whether or not Kristy swore like a seasoned dock worker, as long as she did her job to Cait's exact specifications. And since Kristy was the best tech she'd ever been assigned, Cait was satisfied. "Anyway you'll cheer up quick enough once you see what we have to work with." She paused in front of the door at the end of the hall before opening it with a dramatic flourish.

"Sweeeeet," Kristy breathed, when she got a glimpse of the remains on the gurneys. "Very sweet. What do we have, mass burial? Mass murder," she corrected as she got closer and noted the lack of human skulls attached.

"I suppose we have to allow for the possibility that someone stumbled upon that cave long before the guide did," mused Cait. The thought had occurred belatedly, once she'd gone to bed, her mind still filled with the contents of the files. "Someone with a sense of the macabre who took the skulls as souvenirs."

Kristy was practically salivating as she walked between each gurney. "So I'll double-check them, right? Make sure the right parts are with the proper skeleton?"

"I want you to start a photograph log first," Cait corrected. "I need a notebook kept of images of each skeleton throughout each step of the process." It would be easier to correct mistakes that way, especially in the tricky process of reassembling the full remains of each, which was often a matter of trial and error. "The ME should be around somewhere. Get him to give you a copy of the measurements he's done." She'd left her copy in her case file back at the motel.

"But you'll want me to do my own."

Cait sent her a look of approval. "I doubt he had a caliper to do the measurements with. Then you can ensure each bone is with the right remains." And when Kristy was done, Cait would go over them carefully again, just to be certain. "We've got assorted bones on the last gurney that will have to be matched, as well. Then we'll see exactly what we've got here."