As a devastating summer storm hits Grand Springs, Colorado, the next thirty-six hours will change the town and its residents forever….

Jessica Hanson is plunged into darkness when the power goes out at her office the night of the storm. Stumbling in the dark, she hits her head and awakens to a sinister vision of the mayor’s murder. Was it just her imagination, or was it real? To learn the truth she’ll have to go to the one man she wanted to forget when their affair ended—Detective Stone Richardson.

Stone Richardson deals in facts. And the facts he uncovers point to Jessica being a witness to murder. That means a killer is on the loose, and Jessica is in danger. But now she’s had a vision of another death—his.

Book 4 of the 36 Hours series. Don’t miss Book 5: During the blackout, a dance with a mysterious stranger leads to romance and a fake engagement in Cinderella Story by Elizabeth August.

For Her Eyes Only
Sharon Sala

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Epilogue

About the Author

Chapter One

Thunder rolled outside the walls of Squaw Creek Lodge, ripping through the gray, overhanging clouds. Rain splattered against the shake-shingle roof before running onto the ground. It had been raining for so many days, but it was getting worse. It seemed as if heaven was weeping. And while it was fashionable to cry at weddings, Jessica Hanson thought this was ridiculous.

She sat hunched over her computer, determined to concentrate on getting out the payroll for the lodge employees, and not on the wedding about to take place in the nearby ballroom. As she flipped through the time cards, her lower lip slid out of position just enough to pass for a pout. A sign to those who knew her best that she was more than slightly annoyed. She knew the couple who were about to get married, yet she hadn’t been invited to the wedding. But she was honest enough to admit that part of the reason could lie in the fact that she hadn’t been back in Grand Springs long enough to reestablish her place within her old circle of friends. Jessica’s reason for leaving Grand Springs two years ago had been traumatic enough for her to break all ties with her past except for those with her sister, Brenda. And although she’d been back a little over two months, she had yet to see the man who’d been her reason for leaving.

Stone Richardson.

Just thinking his name made her heart hurt, and she blinked back a quick spurt of tears as she let the memory of him back into her mind. Stone—as in…with a heart of. Then she sighed. Damn his ex-wife, Naomi, and damn his hard heart, anyway. It wasn’t Jessica’s fault Naomi had done everything within her power to prove that it was Stone’s job as a cop that had ruined their marriage and not Naomi’s own lack of understanding or willingness to accept him for who and what he was.

Jessica glanced at the clock. Almost six-thirty. Long past quitting time. She hammered on the keyboard with renewed intensity, determined to get through with the payroll before she left.

Her brief affair with Stone had ended without anyone, and that included Brenda, ever knowing it had happened. Stone had refused to trust another woman enough to give their future a chance, and Jessica hadn’t been willing to settle for being a cop’s sexual outlet.

She’d told herself then and she still thought it now—the best and worst thing that ever happened to her was loving Stone Richardson. Coming back to Grand Springs had been Jessica’s way of proving to herself that she was over him. And although she’d been back for two months now, she had yet to see him face-to-face. When that happened, then she would know if her two-year, self-imposed exile had worked.

Her fingers flew as she entered data into the computer, while her mind was stuck in the past. Laughter from the gathering guests was faint, but she heard it all the same. She rolled her eyes and frowned. If she could have seen herself, it would have lightened her mood. She looked more like a pouting child who’d been put in a corner for something she hadn’t done, than the consummate professional she considered herself to be.

A sudden clap of thunder made her jump, and when the lights flickered, she paused, her fingers poised above the keys as the battery backup to her uninterrupted power supply beeped a quick, nervous warning. The storm was getting stronger by the hour. Thunder, lightning, torrential rain—and it didn’t look as if it was going to stop any time soon. Grand Springs was in for a rough night.

“No, no, no,” she begged, staring at the flickering screen. When the power held, she sighed in relief and returned to her task. Just a few more cards and she would be finished.

Cool air circulated within her small, self-contained office as, moments later, she hit the save key. It was done! A smile of satisfaction crossed her face.

Jessica leaned back in the chair, stretching as she listened to the contented purr of her computer’s hard drive. Her shoulders ached and her neck was tired, and out of habit, she reached up and pulled out the pins holding her hairdo in place. It rolled from the topknot and onto her shoulders without so much as a tangle. Since it wouldn’t hold a curl, it only stood to reason it wouldn’t hold a knot, either.

Her hair was thick and straight and a color her sister, Brenda, called dishwater blond. She’d been told all of her life that she looked a bit like a young Goldie Hawn, minus the giggles, of course. It hadn’t helped Jessica’s opinion of herself at all. She didn’t want to be minus anything. She wanted…

Before she could finish the thought, the room went dark, lit only by the screen of the computer still in operation. The backup battery began beeping a frantic warning for her to shut the system down before all was lost.

Frantically, Jessica exited the program, breathing a quiet sigh of relief when she switched off the computer. She hadn’t had time to print out the checks, but payroll had been saved. However, now that the screen was dark, she couldn’t see a thing. Outside her office, she heard the sound of a folding chair tumbling to the floor, and then an unnatural silence.

“Perfect. Just perfect,” she muttered, and wearily laid her head down on the desk to wait for the power to resume.

A man’s muffled voice sounded as he ran past the outer door to her office, and Jessica thought he said something about fuses and flashlights. Flashlights! There was one in the file cabinets by the door. Although good sense told her to stay put until the power returned, she pushed her chair back from the desk and then stood. It was her first mistake.

The absence of light was disconcerting. It made the air seem thicker, her balance less sure. Circling her desk with hands outstretched, she was forced to orient herself by touch alone. When she bumped the edge of the desk with her knee, she winced. Even though she was wearing pants, the fabric wasn’t heavy enough to prevent the bruise that was bound to appear.

“Fish guts,” she muttered, rubbing at the ache in her knee.

When she could bend it without further pain, she moved again, still aiming for the file cabinets by the door. Once more, the absence of light threw her off balance and she staggered, this time stumbling backward. Her sleeve caught on something sharp, and when she heard fabric rip, she groaned. That had been her favorite blouse.

Another ripple of thunder sounded overhead as something thumped against the outside of her door. A muffled curse and then a slight moan drifted beneath the crack. It gave her a modicum of satisfaction to know she wasn’t the only one fumbling around in the dark. Still fuming over the tear she’d put in her blouse, she started forward. It was to be her second mistake.

The office that had been her refuge now seemed close and confining, and in a panic, she hastened her steps. Seconds later, something hard and round rolled beneath her shoe, and in dismay, Jessica remembered the umbrella she’d tossed on top of a cabinet hours earlier. Even as she’d been walking toward her desk, she’d heard it roll off and onto the floor. She’d meant to go back and pick it up, but the phone had rung. And then she’d sat down and started to work and thought nothing more of it…until now.

The sensation of moving through space without seeing where she was going was frightening. All she knew was that her feet were no longer on the floor and she was on the way down. And then pain shattered her consciousness. She’d found the file cabinets…the hard way.

* * *

Lamplight flickered in a corner of the room.

Jessica groaned and clutched at her head as she rolled toward the glow, but the act of moving had not been wise. Her stomach lurched and she gritted her teeth. With a moan, she closed her eyes as she grabbed at the floor, waiting for the world to quit bucking.

She took a deep breath and, choosing one of her more colorful epithets to express her dismay, dug her fingers into the carpet’s pile and muttered.

“Rat feet. Rat feet. Dirty little rat feet.”

Quick bursts of bright colored lights went off behind her eyelids as she rolled into a sitting position and covered her face with her hands. When her fingers came away damp and sticky and she discovered part of her hair was stuck to her forehead, she began to shake.

Testing the place where her head hurt the worst, she was horrified to feel a large gash and a steady stream of blood flowing out and down. Her head was throbbing. The room wouldn’t stop spinning. And she needed help. She closed her eyelids, gritted her teeth and took a slow, deep breath.

When agony had subsided to a dull, pounding ache, she opened her eyes again, this time focusing on the lamp and the soft, yellow glow across the room, and she wondered if she would be able to move. When someone suddenly walked between Jessica and the light, her first thought was that help had arrived. But the woman by the desk didn’t look up.

“Help me,” Jessica said, but the woman didn’t move. In fact, Jessica could have been invisible for all the reaction her plea evoked.

She blinked slowly, trying to coordinate the action between a fresh surge of pain. The woman’s image kept wavering in and out of her consciousness, and she knew she was going to pass out again. Frantic for help, Jessica lifted her arm, waving in the woman’s direction as she tried once more to gain her attention.

“Help me. Please, help me.”

And then the woman turned and walked to the end of the desk, revealing her identity. Jessica went weak with relief.

“Olivia! Thank God it’s you.”

It didn’t seem odd to Jessica that Olivia Stuart, the mayor of Grand Springs, would be here at the lodge. After all, she was the mother of the groom who was about to be married. Where else might she have been? But Jessica didn’t think to wonder what Olivia would be doing in her office, smiling when she had so obviously been injured. All she knew was she was no longer alone.

Once again, Jessica tried to stand and got no further than her knees before the room began to spin. She paused on all fours with her head down and her arms trembling from the effort of trying to hold herself up, then slumped back to the floor with a moan.

“Olivia, I can’t do it alone. You’re going to have to help me.”

To Jessica’s disbelief, Olivia kept smiling. Then, out of the shadows, a second figure suddenly emerged. Jessica instinctively shrank back against the wall as someone grabbed Olivia from behind. A hand was clamped roughly over Olivia’s mouth, and then Olivia was shoved forward by the momentum of the attack, pinned against the end of the desk and the attacker’s body. Jessica gasped. Some stranger…a tall, powerful woman…was trying to hurt the mayor!

The struggle between the two women was horrifying. Olivia’s arms flailed helplessly as the assailant’s grip seemed to tighten. Jessica watched as Olivia struggled, trying to pull free of the woman’s clutches.

And then it seemed as if everything began to happen in slow motion. Something glittered in the assailant’s upraised hand. Jessica moaned and covered her mouth, suddenly aware that she could very likely be the woman’s next victim.

Dear God, she thought. It’s a needle! A hypodermic needle! A vein throbbed horribly at the back of Jessica’s neck, blinding her to everything but the motion of the needle as it was plunged into the back of Olivia Stuart’s leg.

Moments later, when Olivia crumpled to the floor, Jessica began to scream. Led by the sounds of her distress, Jessica’s co-workers soon found her—alone and unconscious—and bleeding profusely from a wound to the head.

* * *

Vanderbilt Memorial Hospital was a beacon in the darkness that had fallen upon Grand Springs. Operating on backup generators, faint light spilled out of the windows and doorways and into the streets beyond. Ambulance sirens screamed a warning as the first of the victims to fall prey to the blackout began to arrive.

Stone Richardson had been thrust into the ongoing scene at the hospital, almost from the onset of the blackout. After transporting an accident victim to the hospital in his own car, he found himself caught up in the turmoil going on inside. Although he was a detective on the Grand Springs police force, every able-bodied officer was working where they were most needed. And judging from the chaos in the emergency room, this seemed to be a good place to start. Caught between people in need of assistance and those who’d accompanied the injured to the hospital, he found himself in the role of referee. Twice in the last few minutes, he’d been forced to get between a doctor working on a patient and the person who’d brought in the injured person. Panic was rampant.

“Hey! Back off and let the doctor do her job!” Stone ordered, yelling to make himself heard above an angry biker’s shout. When the biker, who called himself Red, took a swing at him, Stone shoved him up against a wall.

Nearby, Amanda Jennings, one of the doctors on duty, did what she could to staunch the flow of blood spilling down the other biker’s face. Red grabbed at Stone’s arm in frustration.

“But that’s my buddy she’s—”

Stone glanced at the hand locked around his wrist, and then looked back up at the biker as his voice lowered to a menacing growl.

“I don’t care if he’s your fairy godfather. Either you sit down and shut up, or you’re going to spend the night in jail for assault.”

At that point, Red might have recognized more than the voice of authority. The gleam in Stone’s eyes was warning enough for him.

“Fine with me,” Red muttered, and glared at the doctor before slinking off to the waiting room.

Without taking her eyes from her patient and the stitches she was putting in the side of his face, Amanda Jennings muttered a quick, fervent thanks.

“Glad you were here,” she said shortly.

Stone nodded. Dr. Amanda Jennings was all business, even though her size belied her strength. She was only a couple of inches over five feet tall, but her skill more than compensated for her lack of height.

“Glad I could help,” he answered, and headed back into the hallway where humanity streamed by at a steady, frantic pace.

An ambulance slid to a halt just outside the door, and Stone stepped aside as paramedics came running into the building with a patient strapped fast to a blood-splattered gurney. From where he was standing, he got a quick glimpse of the woman beneath the sheets. She was young and slender, her long blond hair steadily staining with a blood flow the paramedics had been unable to staunch. He winced. Another person had fallen victim to the Grand Springs blackout.

As the gurney moved past him, Stone’s heart, quite literally, stopped. It was only for a moment, but the skipped beat was evidence of the shock of his recognition. He knew that upturned nose. He’d seen that mouth many times before. He’d kissed it more times than he could count. And he still remembered the shock he’d felt upon learning that Jessica Hanson had left Grand Springs without so much as a goodbye.

He hadn’t known until she was gone how much he’d cared for her, but even then it hadn’t been enough to make him go after her. Stone wasn’t stupid. He’d learned the hard way that being a cop and being married weren’t always synonymous, at least not for him. He’d cared for Jessie. He’d loved making love with her. But he wasn’t going to ruin another woman’s life and dig his own hole in the world any deeper by repeating his mistakes.

By the time he got the impetus to follow the paramedics down the hall, they had disappeared into a trauma room. While he was struggling with the fact that Jessie was back in Grand Springs and he hadn’t known it, never mind how she had come to be covered in blood, another altercation began to take place between two sets of desperate parents who were vying for a doctor’s attention. He moved toward them with fixed intent.

* * *

Jessica didn’t remember the ride to the hospital, or of being wheeled into ER amid a flurry of shouts and activity. When she did begin to come around, she opened her eyes and screamed, reacting instinctively to the sight of a portable X-ray machine being lowered into place above her. Someone grabbed at her hands, then spoke. The woman’s voice was calm, the tone reassuring.

“Take it easy, dear. You’re in a hospital.”

Jessica shuddered and moaned, then tried to relax, unaware that she was already crying. From the other side of the curtain, a child began to shriek, and in the opposite corner of the room Jessica could hear someone groaning. Pain shattered her cognizance.

Hospital? Why am I in a hospital?

Minutes passed, but to Jessica, they could have been hours. Perspective and time had no meaning. There was only the pain and confusion holding her fast to the bed.

Sometime later, she woke up again to find herself on a gurney in a hallway. Disoriented by painkillers and a headache of mammoth proportions, she knew little about what was going on around her until someone touched her arm.

“Take it easy, Jessie. You’re going to be all right.”

Jessica blinked and then groaned. That voice and those wide, imposing shoulders were all too familiar. She looked up into stormy gray eyes and let her gaze wander to that stubborn square jaw before she looked away.

Stone knew she had no idea he had followed her as she’d been moved from the trauma room, or that she’d been parked in the hallway, waiting to be taken upstairs. She also had no way of knowing, nor did Stone think she would have believed, that he’d refused to budge from her side until someone came to get her.

“Bat barf,” she muttered, and missed seeing his grin.

If it hadn’t hurt so bad, Jessica would have glared.

“I’m bleeding,” she muttered inanely, and reached toward her head.

Stone’s expression gentled as he caught her hand. “Not anymore, Jessie. You’re going to be all right.”

“Not in this lifetime,” she muttered.

Stone frowned but didn’t have time to answer, as the long-awaited orderly finally appeared, moving Stone aside as he grabbed at the foot of Jessica’s bed.

“Sorry, sir, but they’re admitting her. You can see her tomorrow during visiting hours.”

Stone turned Jessie’s hand loose and felt a sense of panic as the orderly wheeled her away. The need to say something more was choking him, but all he could manage was, “Hey, honey, take care of yourself, okay?”

Jessica felt him patting her knee as she was wheeled away.

“I am not your ‘honey,’” she mumbled, before falling back asleep.

* * *

Someone yanked at the sheet beneath Jessica’s right leg and then rolled her onto her side. With an audible groan, she opened her eyes and grabbed for the bed rail. A pair of nurses-in-training were changing the linens on her bed.

“We’re sorry, Miss Hanson, but this won’t take long, and you’ll feel so much better with clean sheets on your bed.”

Jessica looked at the name tags on their uniforms, then gritted her teeth and hung on. She could have used a painkiller, and she was fairly certain that the clean sheets A. Wren and S. Dexter were determined to give her wouldn’t do a thing for the throb in her temples.

Wren rattled the ice in Jessica’s pitcher and then set it down, satisfied that there was an ample supply.

“Isn’t that a shame about Mrs. Stuart,” she said.

Jessica’s heart kicked out of rhythm as Dexter tucked the corners of her sheet tightly into place. Memory was coming back in swift and sudden flashes. Olivia had been attacked right in front of her eyes! Guilt flooded her conscience. How could she have been so crass as to forget such a thing?

Dexter nodded. “It’s so sad for her son, Hal, too. Imagine having your own mother suffer a heart attack on the day of your wedding!”

Jessica frowned. They had it all wrong. It wasn’t a heart attack. Someone had stabbed Olivia. She’d seen it happen. She touched Wren’s arm and started to argue.

“But, I saw…”

Wren, not to be outdone, patted Jessica’s arm and continued with the story as if Jessica hadn’t uttered a word.

“They said someone found her on the floor by her kitchen table. When they brought her in last night, she was all dressed for the wedding.”

Jessica closed her eyes. Teal. The dress was a teal-colored silk. Her head was swimming. None of this was making a bit of sense.

“It wasn’t by her table, it was by my…”

For all the good it did to say it, the two women were still ignoring the fact that Jessica was trying to speak.

Dexter thrust her arm beneath Jessica’s neck, then slid a fresh pillow beneath her head.

“Here you go. Easy does it.”

Wren poked a thermometer in Jessica’s mouth and began to take her pulse. Once again, Jessica found herself unable to say what was on her mind.

Dexter picked the bloodstained sheets from the floor where they’d been tossed and waited while Wren yanked the thermometer out of Jessica’s mouth and made the necessary notations on the patient’s chart.

“Have you seen where the Stuarts live?” Dexter asked. “I swear, some people have all the luck. That house is fantastic. I always wanted one like that.”

Wren stuck her pen back in her pocket and patted Jessica’s arm. “Yes, well, that house won’t do Olivia Stuart any good anymore. You can’t take it with you, you know.”

Jessica was too shocked by what she was hearing to respond. How could they have found Olivia in her house? She was in my office, I saw her!

Dexter’s voice lowered to a theatrical whisper. “They said Dr. Jennings and Dr. Howell worked on her forever and it was just no use.”

Jessica gasped, and this time when she grabbed at Wren’s arm, she got their attention.

“She’s dead? Olivia Stuart is dead?”

Wren and Dexter glanced nervously at each other, suddenly realizing they’d been gossiping about hospital business in front of a patient.

“Are you a member of the family?” Wren asked.

“No, but—”

Relief spread over both of their faces. “Just rest. It’s the best medicine for what ails you.”

Having dispensed their opinions, Dexter and Wren quickly disappeared, leaving Jessica in a state of confusion. Olivia wasn’t in her kitchen. She was in my office, and she didn’t have a heart attack. Someone tried to kill her. Then she gasped. Someone hadn’t tried to kill her. If Olivia was dead, then the attack had been successful.

But the more Jessica thought about it, the more confused she became. The nurses would have no reason to lie, and it didn’t make sense that someone could attack Olivia in one place and then move her body clear across town and dump it in another place without being seen. Granted, there was a blackout, but the lodge had been crawling with guests.

A fresh wave of pain moved from Jessica’s head to her neck and shoulders. She bit her lip to keep from crying out and closed her eyes. And the longer she lay there alone, the more convinced she became that the blow to her head must have caused her to suffer hallucinations. It was the only explanation that made sense.

She refused to let herself examine the fact that about the same time she was having the hallucination, Olivia Stuart was suffering a heart attack on the other side of town. The coincidence of it all was mind-boggling, but she hurt too much to sort it all out.

Settling back against the pillow, she took a slow, deep breath, trying to convince herself it was going to be all right. In the midst of her thoughts, the door to her room flew open, banging against a nearby chair. She opened her eyes and stifled a groan.

In all her tall, blond beauty, Brenda Hanson burst into the room carrying an armful of wilting flowers. “Jessie, darling! Are you all right?”

Jessica had no time to answer before her sister leaned across the bed and gave her a kiss, unintentionally squishing the IV fastened to the back of her hand and poking the stem of a gladiola up her nose.

“Ouch,” Jessica muttered.

“Ooh, sorry,” Brenda said, frowning as she straightened, then staring at the apparatus they’d stuck in her baby sister’s body. The frown deepened as her gaze moved from Jessica’s hand to her head.

“Ooh, yuck, they shaved off part of your hair, didn’t they.”

Jessica’s hand flew upward in a fit of panic. Slipping her fingers beneath the edge of the bandage, she felt bare skin, then groaned and let her hand fall to the bed with a thump.

“Dog fleas. As if I’m not invisible enough already.”

Brenda sighed. She loved her younger sister dearly, but was of the same opinion their parents had been before their untimely death some years earlier. With regards to looks, fashion sense and her worth on the open market with men, Jessica was clueless. Brenda was all for subtlety herself, but not at the expense of style and looks.

Brenda poked her finger near the edge of the bandage with a sympathetic tap. “I’m sure it will grow back in no time.”

Jessica’s chin quivered. “With my luck, that’s not necessarily a given.”

Brenda ignored her remark and moved on to a different topic, waving the drooping flowers under her sister’s nose. “They’re a little wilted, but you must remember it’s the thought that counts. The power is still off, and Marcel’s Bouquet was letting everything go at half price.”

In spite of her misery, Jessica had to grin. Leave it up to Brenda to find a bargain in a blackout. She brushed her fingertips across limp lavender petals.

“They’re very pretty, but I don’t have anything to put them in.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Brenda said. “Grand Springs is on water rationing until the blackout is over.”

Jessica snorted softly. “It’s been raining for days and we’re now short of drinking water?”

Brenda laughed and waved her hand above her head with a flirty flip. “You know the old saying, ‘Water, water everywhere, but not a drop to drink.’”

Jessica closed her eyes as a fresh wave of pain rolled up her back to the top of her head.

Brenda’s lighthearted expression faded as she stared at the stark white bandage on her little sister’s head. She set the wilting flowers aside and brushed a hand lightly across Jessica’s forehead.

“What happened, sweetie? About an hour ago I got a call from someone telling me you’d had an accident. When I found out you’ve been here since last night, I started to pitch a fit. But I suppose with all that’s been going on, we’re lucky they called at all.”

Brenda’s sympathy was too much to handle. Tears trickled from the corner of Jessica’s eyes as Brenda patted at her arm.

“I fell in my office. Against the file cabinet, I think.”

Brenda glanced at Jessica’s head again and winced. “Poor dear.”

Jessica had the distinct impression that Brenda’s concern was more for her missing hair than the wound she’d suffered.

“Oh, did you hear the news about Olivia Stuart?” Brenda said, suddenly changing the subject.

The room started to turn, and Jessica was thrust into the past with a swiftness she wouldn’t have believed. She was only vaguely aware of her sister’s voice droning on somewhere in the background, as her attention had become focused on an entirely different scene.

Rationally, she knew she was in the hospital, but her mind seemed removed from her body. The room went dark, and, unable to fight the overwhelming sense of being out of control, once again she found herself witnessing Olivia Stuart’s attack. And then the image disappeared as quickly as it came, leaving Jessica weak and shaking and gasping for air.

Concerned for Jessica’s sudden pallor, Brenda grabbed her sister’s hand. “Are you all right? Should I call a doctor?”

Jessica closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing heart. “No, whatever it was is gone.”

“Still,” Brenda muttered, “I think I should let them know that you’re not quite up to par.”

Jessica tried not to glare and wondered what it would be like to be beautiful and dense, then decided it wouldn’t be a good trade-off. She liked being able to balance a checkbook, as well as a job and a life. She rolled her eyes at Brenda’s inane remark.

“Of course I’m not up to par. I have stitches where my hair used to be.”

Brenda’s laugh tinkled like crystal chimes in a gentle breeze. Jessica snorted softly in response and both sisters smiled at each other. There was some truth in the old saying that blood was thicker than water.

* * *

Stone Richardson walked into the precinct, his steps dragging, his expression lined with fatigue. He’d slept in his car in fits and snatches, and dried blood stained the toes of his boots, remnants of the time he’d spent in ER last night.

Erik Chang, an officer on the force and one of Stone’s friends, looked up as Stone walked in.

“Your ex-wife called, and the chief’s waiting to see you,” he said.

Stone’s eyebrows rose, and he thrust a hand through his hair, spiking the short, thick strands. He hadn’t heard from Naomi in years. Why now? he wondered.

“Well, they’re both going to have to wait,” he muttered, and reached across his desk for the coffee cup on the other side of a stack of files.

“There’s no coffee,” Chang said.

On his way to the break room, Stone stopped, then pivoted. The frown between his eyebrows deepened as Chang added, “Because there’s no power, remember?”

Stone’s expletive was brief and to the point. He glanced down at the half inch of yesterday’s coffee coating the bottom of his cup, considered his jangled nerves and tossed it back like a dose of bad medicine.

Chang shuddered and looked away so that no one would see him gag. For a cop, he had a remarkably weak stomach.

Stone dropped his jacket on the back of his chair as he headed for Frank Sanderson’s office. He knocked once, then went in without waiting for an invitation.

The chief looked up, took one look at the drawn expression on his detective’s face, as well as his blood-splattered clothing, and frowned.

“Were you hurt?”

Stone looked down, only now realizing how he must look. “No, it’s someone else’s blood.”

“Then, go home and get some sleep. Come back when you can think straight.”

Stone’s right eyebrow arched. “Why, mother, I didn’t know you cared.”

“Shut the hell up and do what I said,” Sanderson ordered. “This blackout isn’t over yet.”

Stone’s attitude shifted. “Sorry,” he said quietly. “But it was one hellacious night.”

Aware that his men had worked without routines or orders, filling in where they were needed most, Sanderson asked, “Where were you?”

“Vanderbilt Memorial.”

Sanderson thought of Olivia Stuart. She’d died there last night. God knows how many others had followed her exit. Glancing at the blood splatters on Stone’s shirt, he repeated himself. “Do what I said.”

Stone’s shoulders slumped under the weight of exhaustion. “Yes, sir.”

He shut the door quietly behind him and picked up his jacket on the way out of the precinct. His stomach growled—more from hunger than the cold, stale coffee he’d tossed down moments earlier. And he kept remembering the blood in Jessica Hanson’s hair and then, later, the lost, frightened expression on her face as they’d wheeled her away. He wanted—no—needed to know if she was all right. And as soon as he got a couple of hours’ sleep he would go back to the hospital and see for himself.

Chapter Two

Jessica watched with a wary eye as the nurse who was accompanying Dr. Noah Howell on his rounds removed the IV from her hand.

“Just take it easy when you get home,” Noah said as he signed off on Jessica’s chart.

Jessica glanced at the dim, flickering light in the hallway. Since she’d been admitted, she’d spent most of her time sleeping and was still confused about the time that had actually passed.

“Is the power still off?”

He nodded. The last few hours had been chaotic, and it would seem there was no end in sight.

“Yes, we’re still operating on generators, although I’m told that the crews are out in full force, but the mudslides keep knocking new poles down. I’m sure it won’t be long before power is restored. For now, all you need is a bed.”

Briefly fingering the small white patch of gauze above her right eyebrow, she winced. “That and a new head of hair.”

“We didn’t cut away all that much,” Noah said.

Jessica tried to smile. “That’s easy for you to say.”

He smiled and patted her on the knee. “It’s not so bad. And it will grow back. You’ll see.”

She sighed. “Sorry. I don’t usually whine. After all, what’s a little missing hair compared to everything else that’s been happening.”

The smile disappeared from Noah Howell’s face as he thought back. Olivia Stuart. No matter how hard they’d tried, it hadn’t been enough to save her, and somehow, that still surprised him. Just before she died, she’d whispered the word “coal.” Soon afterward, they’d lost her. Masking his weariness, he tried to focus his concerns on the patient before him.

“You have the instructions the nurse gave you. I’ll see you back in my office in a few days to remove the stitches, okay?”

A few days. What else, Jessica wondered, could happen between now and then? She nodded. “Okay.” Then she added, “These phones aren’t working, I don’t have my cell, and I need to call my sister so she can come get me and take me home.”

Dr. Howell handed her his phone. “Use this.”

The line was busy. “I’ll have to try again after I get dressed.”

Moments later, she was alone. She glanced at the clock. It was close to five p.m. She thought of going home to a house without power, without refrigeration—possibly without a means of communication since her phone was still on her desk at work. She looked down at the wad she’d made of the covers and tugged at the neck of the hospital gown she was wearing. While the aspect of those discomforts was disheartening, the idea of crawling into her own nightgown—and into her own bed—was enough to make it all worthwhile.

She sat up and looked out the window. On the surface, everything about Grand Springs seemed the same. The lush green of the majestic mountains marking the skyline of the city were capped by low, overhanging clouds, but for now, the rain had stopped. The sky was dark and overcast. Night would come early.

Dusk was near. Normally, streetlights would be coming on and people would be closing down businesses and hurrying home for the evening meal. But not tonight. The streets were eerily empty, and the lack of vehicles on the roadways seemed an ominous sign of impending doom.

Suddenly, she wanted to be home. To find the familiar within her own house before dark. Throwing back the covers, she got out of bed and went to the closet. Brenda had brought her clean clothes as well as the discount flowers. At least she wouldn’t have to go home in torn and bloody clothing.

But getting dressed wasn’t as simple as she’d expected it to be. Every time she leaned down, the room started to spin and she was forced to grab onto the bed to keep from falling. It took all she had just to put on her underwear and jeans, and by then she was in a cold sweat. Barefoot and clutching a T-shirt to her chest, she staggered to a nearby chair, where she sat staring at the tennis shoes still in her closet. They were less than a yard away and it might as well have been a mile. Hating this feeling of helplessness, she closed her eyes and leaned her head against the wall.

“Bug breath.”

It was a fair comment on her condition, as well as her state of mind.

* * *

This time when Stone entered Vanderbilt Memorial, he went in the front door and took the stairs on the right to the third floor. He came out of the stairwell, his long stride carrying him down the hall with single-minded intent. Under the weak glow of the generator-powered lighting, the shadows beneath his eyes seemed darker, the strain lines at the corners of his mouth deeper, and the sun-bleached highlights in his hair gleamed like wheat in a noonday sun. His expression was grim. It was what his friends called his “cop face.” But all he needed was some more rest. And that would come, after he’d seen for himself that Jessie was really all right. He’d tried to talk himself out of this trip all the way to the hospital, yet when he’d parked and gotten out of his car, he knew he would never have been able to rest without seeing her face…hearing her voice…even suffering the guilt he would feel when he saw her. He had to know she was all right. Then he could rest.

“Richardson, haven’t you gone home yet?”

Stone paused and turned. Noah Howell was coming out of a room he’d just passed.

“Hi, Doc. I thought I would look in on Jessie Hanson. Last night, they said she’d been put in 339. Do you know if she’s still there?”

Noah nodded. “But not for long. I just released her to go home. In fact, I’m on my way to the nurse’s desk to call her sister to come and get her.”

Stone didn’t stop to think why he was offering, he just blurted it out before he changed his own mind.

“Don’t bother. I’ll see that she gets home okay.”

Noah grinned. Stone’s defenses went up.

“Get that look off your face,” Stone warned. “Just because I’m concerned about an old friend, it doesn’t mean anything. Hell. I dated her sister once. Besides, she’s just a kid.”

“If my memory serves, she’s twenty-six, old buddy. That’s hardly robbing the cradle,” Noah said.

Stone ignored the comment and knocked, waiting for an invitation to enter. When it came, he went in, unprepared for the woman inside.

* * *

Jessica jerked as the knock sounded on her door. Still sprawled in the chair with the T-shirt clutched to her chest and expecting one of the hospital staff, she spoke without thinking.

“Come in.”

When Stone walked into the room, she gasped and grabbed her shirt with both hands, holding it up beneath her chin.

“How dare you!” she muttered, and tried hard to glare, but frowning made her head hurt worse.

Stone was transfixed. He’d expected her to be safe in bed and covered up with a sheet, not half dressed and sprawled out in a chair with a shirt clutched to her front like a shield. All he could think to say was “You told me to come in.”

Jessica’s lower lip slid forward. “But I didn’t know it was you.”

She looked so lost and hurt sitting there. Stone fought the urge to hold her.

“Sorry, do you want me to leave?”

She nodded, then groaned. If only she could remember to speak instead, it would be a lot less painful.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

She grimaced, closing her eyes to steady the sudden sway of the room.

“Of course I’m not all right!” She sighed, trying to relax the tension knotting at the back of her neck.

Stone frowned. The past two years had certainly changed one thing about Jessie. She never used to be so angry.

“I told Doc Howell I’d take you home.”

Jessica’s eyes flew open, and the shirt began to slip. When it revealed two mounds of creamy flesh held fast beneath a white lace bra, Stone reacted by pointing at the T-shirt.

“You gonna wear that home or just carry it?”

Jessica’s eyes teared in frustration as she stopped its escape. “I got dizzy.”

His expression softened. “Need some help?”

She hesitated.

“Come on, honey. I’ve seen it before.”

The look on her face was priceless, and Stone knew he’d reminded them both of something better left forgotten.

Jessica’s ire rose. “Just turn around, you mealymouthed snake.”

He grinned slightly as he turned. “Dare I turn my back on a woman who’s just called me a snake?”

Jessica glared at his backside, reminding herself to ignore the wide shoulders, narrow hips and long legs as she thrust both arms in the shirt, yanking it down over her head in haste. But she’d forgotten the bandage at the edge of her hairline and yelped in pain when the neck pulled too tight for comfort.

Stone spun, took one look at the predicament she’d put herself in and stalked across the room without waiting for an invitation.

“Easy,” he warned, and pulled the shirt back up enough to give himself room to maneuver. She started to sputter. He frowned. “Calm down, damn it. I’m trying to help.”

When she muttered something he didn’t understand, he figured it was better to let lost curses die. This time when he eased the shirt down, he started the opening at the back of her head first, then pulled it toward the front, stretching the fabric as it slid past the bandage. When it cleared her nose, he looked down. Two orbs of pure blue were gleaming up at him with malevolence.

“You’re welcome,” he drawled.

She resented his arrogance. Why did devastating men always smirk?

“What are you doing here?” she asked.

The question took him off guard. What was he doing here? Last night had resulted in a multitude of disasters that had sent literally dozens of Grand Springs residents to the hospital. And Jessica wasn’t the only one he knew who’d been admitted. Why had he felt the urge to make sure she, above all others, was going to be okay? Uneasy as to how to answer her, he blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“I was on my way home. Thought I’d stop by.”

“You live on the other side of town.”

His eyes narrowed. He wasn’t prepared to pursue the issue. Not with her. Not even with himself.

“I know where I live. Do you want to go home or not?”

Jessica’s shoulders slumped. “Yes, please.”

Satisfied to be back on firm ground, Stone nodded. “That’s fine, then.” He looked down at her feet. “Where are your shoes?”

Jessica pointed toward the closet and started to cry. Not loudly, just huge, silent tears spilling out of her eyes and down her face.

At that moment, something tore loose inside of Stone that had nothing to do with compassion. If he hadn’t been so rattled by a particular tear hanging on the edge of her lip, he might have realized the emotion for what it was. But he was, and he didn’t, and by the time he got the shoes on her feet, the notion of pursuing the thought had long since passed.

Their drive home was silent. A half hour later, he pulled into Jessica’s driveway and parked. Every house on the block was little more than a dark shape against the shadows of the coming night. Now and then a weak glow of some lantern or candle could be seen shining through curtains, but it was the depth of darkness out on the streets that made Jessica jumpy.

After offering to carry her inside, and getting a quick glare for his efforts, Stone settled for walking her to the house. Lit only by the glow of a three-quarter moon, he guided her to the porch steps. They were at the door before Jessica drew back in dismay and slapped her hand against the side of her leg.

“Wormy, wormy fudge,” she muttered.

He chuckled beneath his breath. One thing he’d loved about her was the uniqueness of her colorful language, but even that sounded gross to him.

“What’s wrong?”

“My keys are in my purse, and it must be back in my office at the lodge.”

“Not to worry,” Stone said, and slipped a small lock pick from his jacket pocket. Moments later, the lock clicked and the door swung open. He stepped aside.

“Don’t mention it.”

She glanced up at him in silent appreciation. “Thank goodness you’re on our side.”

Stone followed her in, shutting the door behind him. “Got a flashlight or candles?”

“Both in the kitchen. Top drawer on the right.”

He traded the lock pick for his own small flashlight. “Wait here. I’ll be right back.”

When he started toward the back of the house, Jessica frowned.

“How do you know where the kitchen is?”

“I’m following my nose.”

She sniffed. He was right. The scent of burned bacon was still evident.

Smart aleck.

But she didn’t voice her thoughts. She didn’t have it in her to complain anymore. An old Elvis Presley song came to mind as she leaned against the wall to keep from falling. Yes, her legs were shaky, and her knees were more than weak. She was definitely all shook up, but from the accident, of course. Not from the fact that she’d just spent the better part of an hour with a man who’d haunted more than one of her dreams.

Jessica closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. When she looked up, he was coming toward her, carrying a lit candle. His face was cast in shadow, but the cut of his cheekbones, a broad slash of jaw and his lower lip were highlighted by the soft yellow glow.

Exhaling slowly, she watched as he set the candle on a nearby table and then led her toward the chair beside it. She sat.

“Here,” Stone said, and dropped her flashlight into her lap.

Suddenly the intimacy of being alone in the darkness with this man was too much. She’d spent two years trying to forget how it felt to go to sleep and wake up in his arms.

“Goodbye, and thank you for bringing me home.”

His easy laugh did things to her nerves she didn’t need to feel.

As Stone chuckled, it crossed his mind that his ex-wife would have cried and clung with every ounce of her being. She’d hated his job as a cop, but she’d hated her lonely life as a cop’s wife more.

“Damn, honey. I’ve had the brush-off before, but never so sweetly.”

Muttering beneath her breath, she looked away. “That wasn’t a brush-off, and stop calling me ‘honey.’”

He cupped her chin, tilting her face until she was forced to look at him.

“Hey, you.”

Now her nerves were really on edge. There was a low, breathless quality to his voice that she’d never thought she’d hear. At least, not when speaking to her.

“What?”

“It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

Jessica’s heart started to thump erratically. “Long time since what?”

His voice deepened. “Since we’ve been together.”

“I’ve spent two years trying to forget,” she muttered.

“So that’s why you left without so much as a goodbye.”

She swallowed, trying to get past the pain. “You’d made yourself painfully clear,” she said, and then looked deeply into his eyes. “There wasn’t anything left to say…was there?”

He looked away, and then back. “Will you be afraid?”

She gripped the arms of the chair as her heart skipped a beat. Afraid? The only thing that ever scared me was losing you and I survived that. This is a piece of cake. But she didn’t answer.

“If you are, I can have a patrol car swing by here every so often to make sure you’re okay.”

She gritted her teeth. “I’m not afraid of the dark, and I want you to go.”

He sighed, then stood up, hesitating. Sitting there in the dark with nothing but candlelight by which to see, she seemed awfully small and so alone. He couldn’t bear to leave her…at least not like this. He thrust his hand in his pocket and pulled out his card.

“If you need me, the number is on the card.”

Jessica fought an urge to cry. Her fingers curled around the card as he shut the door behind him. Even after the sound of his car engine had faded away, she sat unmoving, clutching the card as if it was her lifeline to normalcy in a world lost in darkness.

She fell asleep in the chair, and when she awoke, the candle was out, yet the room was not dark. Disoriented, it took her a moment to focus on the fact that the light she was seeing was coming through the windows, and that it was growing brighter and brighter with each passing second.

Tension pulled the muscles at the back of her neck, and her breath began to shorten. Her fingers dug into the arms of the chair as the familiarity of her home began to change before her eyes. Unable to look away from the light, she stared into a nightmare that wouldn’t let her go.

* * *

Olivia Stuart smiled as she walked around the kitchen, adding the finishing touches to the ensemble she’d chosen for Hal’s wedding. Teal was her favorite color. Somewhere between true blue and green, it accentuated her coloring to perfection. She paused in front of the sink and picked up a picture that stood on the windowsill, smiling to herself as she remembered the day it had been taken. Eve had been fussing with her hair, and Hal had been laughing at her futile attempts to make it glamorous. Even as adults, they were good children.

Just as she started to move toward the table, to pick up her purse and the umbrella lying there, the scent of flowers drifted into the room. A slight frown drew between her brows as she tried to identify the scent. Gardenias! She was smelling gardenias!

A hand came around her mouth without warning, and Olivia dropped the picture and shrieked, swallowing her own cry as the fingers upon her face clamped too tightly for the sound to escape. Fear shattered her control as she reached behind her, trying to tear free. The struggle was brief. Shock turned to pain as a sharp, burning sensation pierced the back of her leg.

She remembered thinking that this didn’t make sense. Her leg had been stabbed, but there was pain in her chest. She reached out, gasping desperately for air. She wasn’t going to make Hal’s wedding, after all.

My son…my son.

Pain blossomed and burst, splintering throughout her body in a white-hot heat.

* * *

Jessica jerked. The bright orb of light was still present, but there was a constant, repetitive thump that hadn’t been there before. She blinked, then blinked again as she realized this wasn’t part of the dream. Someone was knocking on her door.

It took her a moment to switch gears, and when she did, her first thought was that Stone had come back. And then she heard her sister’s voice.

“Jessica! Are you in there? Jessie, it’s me, Brenda! Let me in!”

Jessica blinked again, her perception of what she’d just seen suddenly clear. The light was nothing more than the headlights of Brenda’s car shining through the sheer curtains at her front window.

I must have been dreaming again.

“Be right there,” she called, and headed for the door. As soon as she turned the knob, Brenda came rushing in and threw her arms around Jessica’s neck.

“I went to the hospital and they said you’d been dismissed! Why didn’t you call?”

“I tried. It was busy, so I got a ride home.”

Brenda threw up her arms in disgust and pointed to Jessica’s phone on a nearby table. “Is your phone working yet?”

“I don’t know. Stone brought me home. I didn’t think to check.”

Even in the shadows, Jessica was aware of her sister’s shock.

“Stone? As in Richardson?”

Jessica shrugged. “Do we know another? For Pete’s sake, Brenda, come inside. I need to sit down.”

Brenda’s mouth pursed. “Obviously you’ve been keeping secrets from me. However, we’ll discuss that later. You need to be in bed. Here, take my flashlight.”

“I have one somewhere,” Jessica muttered, looking back toward the chair in which she’d been sitting.

“No. Take mine and don’t move,” Brenda said. “I’ll be right back.”

Jessica waited while her sister killed the car engine, turned off the lights, then returned, carrying an overnight bag in her hand.

Jessica pointed the beam of the flashlight at the small blue bag. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Spending the night. And don’t argue. You have a concussion. You shouldn’t be alone.”

Jessica groaned. The last thing she needed was a baby-sitter, but from the look on Brenda’s face, it would seem she was getting one, just the same.

“You’re a mess,” Brenda said, fingering Jessica’s matted hair and drawn expression. “Come with me. I’ll get you cleaned up and tucked in a bed.”

“I don’t need to be tucked in. Besides, someone told me water is being rationed.”

“Up to now, you haven’t used any, so I’d say you’re allowed a quick bath. And you know what Mother used to say. Everything will look better in the morning.”

Jessica sighed. She knew better than to argue with Brenda when she got on a roll.

“Then, will you help me wash my hair? It feels awful.”

Brenda hugged her. “We’ll have to be careful not to get your stitches wet, but I suppose something can be arranged.”

“Then, okay. But you have to stick to your side of the bed.”

In the glow of the flashlight, Jessica saw her sister grin.

* * *

Jessica awoke in a panic and sat straight up in bed. Her heart was pounding, and the scent of gardenias was thick in her nostrils. She covered her face with her hands, fighting the urge to cry. Why was this happening? Why did she keep having this same awful dream, over and over and over?

Brenda sighed and rolled onto her back, one arm outflung on Jessica’s pillow, the other trailing off the side of the bed. Jessica glanced down and frowned. As if the dreams weren’t bad enough, Brenda had a tendency to take her half of the bed from the middle. She patted Brenda on the shoulder.

“Brenda!”

Brenda snorted softly, muttering something in her sleep.

The pat turned into a shove. “Brenda!”

Brenda groaned and cracked an eye. “What?” Then she remembered where she was and why she’d come. When she saw Jessica sitting up in the bed, she came awake in an instant.

“What’s wrong? Are you in pain?”

“No, but you’re going to be if you don’t move over,” Jessica muttered.

Brenda blinked like a baby owl. “Sorry,” she said, and scooted back to her side of the bed.

With a defeated sigh, Jessica tried to go back to sleep. But she kept seeing the needle glittering in the lamplight as the assailant plunged it into the back of Olivia Stuart’s leg. Something kept telling her there was more to what she was seeing than just a dream. Long minutes later, she rolled over.

“Brenda. Are you asleep?”

Brenda shoved a lock of hair from her face. “I’m not now,” she mumbled.

“Have you ever had a vision?”

Brenda rolled over. “Jessie, honey, does your head still hurt?”

“Of course it does. But one thing has nothing to do with the other.”

Brenda eyed the clock and groaned. “It’s three in the morning. Don’t you think we could save this conversation for daylight? You need your rest. I need my rest. Go back to sleep.”

“I’m afraid to,” Jessica said in a quiet, resigned tone.

Brenda sat up, her attention caught. “What do you mean?”

Jessica picked at a loose thread on the edge of the blanket without answering until Brenda yanked the blanket away.

“Jessica Leigh Hanson, I asked you a question.”

Jessica’s smile was slight as she looked up. “You sounded just like Mother.”

Dismayed, Brenda sighed and slid her arm around her sister’s neck. “Jessie, if you don’t talk, I can’t help.”

Jessica frowned. “I could talk from now to daylight and I still don’t think you can help. In fact, I don’t think anyone can help.”

“You’ll never know until you try.”

Jessica sighed. “I keep having this dream about Olivia Stuart dying.”

Brenda’s voice softened. “Oh, honey. That’s understandable. You must have been in the ER when they brought her in.”

Jessica shook her head. “I don’t think so. If I was, I don’t remember. I don’t remember much of anything after I hit my head.” Except Stone Richardson…but that doesn’t count.

“Maybe talking about it will help. What were you dreaming?”

“She was by a table.”

“Who was by a table?” Brenda asked.

Jessica rolled her eyes, trying not to let her frustration show. “Olivia Stuart,” she repeated. “At first I thought she was at my desk, but she wouldn’t come help me.”

Brenda brushed the hair away from Jessica’s bandage and patted her arm. “Honey, head injuries do weird things to people. Maybe you just—”

Jessica drew back in frustration. “I knew you would say that, but it’s not so! I know what I saw. I mean… I know what I saw in my dream, and in my dream, Olivia Stuart did not die from a heart attack. She was stabbed.”

Brenda gasped, for the moment caught up in the telling. And then she remembered. “But don’t you see? Now you know for certain it was just a dream. I heard that the doctors and nurses at Vanderbilt worked on her for some time. They would have seen a stab wound. There would have been blood. Lots of blood.” She patted Jessica’s arm. “It’s just a bad dream caused by the blow to your head.”

Fighting exhaustion and tears, Jessica laid back down and pulled the covers up to her chin as her sister rolled over to her side of the bed. Wrapped in quiet and lulled by a false sense of security, Jessica began to settle. But at the edge of sleep, her voice broke the silence.

“She wasn’t stabbed with a knife. It was a needle. A hypodermic needle…in the back of the leg.”

* * *

Brenda thrust her foot into the leg of her jeans and yanked them up while Jessica watched from the bed.

“Thank you for spending the night with me,” she said.

Brenda smiled. “That’s what sisters are for.” And then the smile quirked. “That is, when there are no good-looking cops around.”

Jessica refused to look at Brenda. Her heart was so full of memories that she feared if Brenda saw her face, she would know. “I already told you. I have nothing in common with the man. You’re the one he dated, not me.”

“And there’s your answer. Dated. As in…past tense. Also, that was ages ago. I haven’t given him a thought in forever.”

Yeah, well, I wish I could say the same.

Brenda stuffed her nightgown into her bag. “There. I think I have everything. I need to go home and feed the cat and check my messages.” She glanced toward the clock and realized it was running. “Oh, look! The power is back on.”

Jessica followed her sister’s gaze and sighed. At least one part of this nightmare was over.

Brenda continued, unaware of Jessica’s disinterest. “The boss is out of town and probably frantic because no one’s there. However, I doubt there’s a soul in town who’s interested in redecorating their home right now.”

Jessica nodded. “I know. I was in the middle of payroll at the lodge when the power went off. Everyone’s probably having a fit because their checks will be late, but I didn’t want to risk direct deposit—and I was right. Who knows if the bank would have received everything.”

Brenda picked up her bag and then fixed her baby sister with a long, assessing stare.

“Jessie.”

Jessica looked up.

“About last night and what you said…”

“What about it?” Jessica asked. Her voice was defensive and she knew it.

“If I were you, I wouldn’t be telling just anyone that you’re having hallucinations. They might get the wrong idea.”

Jessica’s lower lip slid slightly forward. “What if it’s not a hallucination?”

Brenda shrugged. “I still wouldn’t be talking about them.” Then she glanced down at her watch. “I’ve got to run. You’ve got juice in the fridge and cereal in the cabinet. However, your milk is sour.”

“Oh, yummy.”

Jessica’s sarcasm was not lost on Brenda. She grinned. “I’ll call you later. Stay in bed. Rest. I love you.”

Jessica rolled her eyes. “In spite of your incessant need to boss me around, I love you, too.”

Brenda left, and then moments later, came back on the run.

“Jessie, have you seen my car keys? I can’t find them anywhere. I thought they were in my bag, but they’re not.”

Without waiting for Jessica to answer, she began turning the bedroom upside down, looking under cushions and then dashing into the adjoining bathroom to see if they might be there.

Just as Brenda slammed a cabinet door, Jessica began to lose track of where she was. The air in front of her seemed to shift, and suddenly she had a clear and perfect vision of a set of keys sticking out of the lock on a trunk. She got out of bed just as Brenda came out of the bathroom.

“Shoot,” Brenda muttered. “I can’t seem to find them—”

“You left them in the trunk lock last night.”

In the act of looking under the bed, Brenda froze. Slowly, she looked up, meeting her sister’s gaze over the edge of the mattress.

“What did you say?”

“I said, they’re in the lock on the trunk.”

Realization dawned. Brenda remembered opening the trunk to get her bag. Yes! That was the last time she’d had them! She got to her feet with a look of relief on her face and was almost out of the room before it hit her.

Jessica hadn’t been outside. In fact, she hadn’t been out of her bed since Brenda had put her there last night. She stopped and turned.

“Jessie?”

“What?”

“Why did you just say that?”

Jessica shrugged. “I don’t know. I just suddenly saw them dangling out of the lock.”

The hairs stood up at the nape of Brenda’s neck. She shivered, refusing to give way to what she was thinking. “Nothing more than a lucky guess. That’s all it could be.”

Jessica’s expression didn’t change. “Go see if I’m right.”

She listened, and when she heard the sound of a car engine firing, she shuddered and crawled back into bed.

Toad tracks. Now I am scaring myself.

She lay back on her pillow and flung her arms above her head in a dramatic gesture of disgust. The longer she lay there, the more convinced she became that something out of the ordinary was happening to her. The question remained—what was she going to do about it?

Chapter Three

That night, Jessica ate her evening meal by the light of the moon. Although the power had been restored all over town, she still felt the need to escape, and the dark of her backyard was as far as she could go. She sat on her porch with a can of pop in one hand and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich in the other, unwilling to move indoors.

Grape jelly squished out of the edge of the bread as she took a big bite. Before it could drip, she caught it with the tip of her tongue and swallowed it whole. It wasn’t exactly fine dining, but for Jessica, who at her best was just a fair cook, it sufficed.

Thanks to a co-worker at the lodge, her car was back in her driveway and her purse and cell phone were safely on a chair in her bedroom. But her stitches kept pulling beneath the bandage and her long hair was driving her crazy. The longer she sat, the more she thought about cutting part of it off. At least, the part that was making her nuts.

It shouldn’t be all that hard. She had scissors, and thanks to the power company, a good light by which to see. Since she could work any computer program on the market, she could surely cut her own hair without making a mess. Besides, Dr. Howell had given her a jump start by shaving the part around her stitches. All she had to do was tidy it up a bit.

An hour and a half later, she stood before her bathroom mirror, staring at herself in disbelief. Yes, she was a whiz with figures, but she should have remembered that she couldn’t sew on a button without bringing blood.

The length was gone, just like she’d wanted. But so was the shape and the style. And for hair that was remarkably straight and limp, she’d somehow given it a life of its own. It no longer lay on her head. Instead, it sort of sprang from it, like new sprouts on a severely pruned tree. Oddly enough, the new cut gave her gamine features an engaging quality that her old style had not. The flyaway do was, in its own way, quite charming. But Jessica couldn’t see the charm for the harm. She dropped the scissors in the sink and sighed.

“Mouse poop.”

That pretty much said it all.

* * *

The next day dawned with an inevitability she couldn’t ignore. She needed to go to Squaw Creek Lodge and finish the payroll. When she got in her car, her nerves began to draw. A short while later, she turned into the parking lot and sat with the engine running, staring up at the grand log-and-stone edifice with dread. And as she stared, the same thought kept running through her mind. This is where it happened.

But she wasn’t referring to the accident. It was what happened afterward that was making her nuts. While she sat, lost in thought, someone knocked on her window. She turned with a jerk, expecting to see Olivia Stuart’s ghost.

But it wasn’t a ghost. It was Sheila Biggers, administrative assistant to the manager of the lodge. Jessica glanced at herself in the rearview mirror as she killed the engine. No use putting this off any longer. At least she wouldn’t have to go inside alone.

Sheila squealed. “Jessica, ooh, your poor little head.” She pushed aside a swag of Jessica’s gypsy-cut hair to peek at the bandage beneath and made a face.

But Jessica didn’t bother to answer, because Sheila Biggers could shift conversational gears faster than a drag racer on a hot track. They started toward the lodge, and Sheila continued without taking a breath in between.

“Did you hear! That bride-to-be, Randi Howell, disappeared the night of the blackout! The Stuart wedding never did take place!” She took a deep breath and moved on to another subject. “I love, love, love your hair! Who did it?”

Jessica’s mouth dropped. “Really? You don’t think it’s too drastic a change?”

Sheila reached out to touch the ends of Jessica’s hair. “I always said you looked like a younger Goldie Hawn. Didn’t I say you looked like Goldie Hawn?”

“Yes, you did, although I must say I never saw why.”

“Never mind, because I was wrong. I see it all now. It’s the hair that does it. It’s not Goldie Hawn. It’s Charlize Theron.” She fluffed the back of Jessica’s hair with her fingers and shrieked in delight when it fell back in disarray. “Cute, cute, cute!” She glanced up, realizing that she was already at her office. “Gotta run. Talk to you later.”

Jessica continued down the hallway, wondering how far a cute chin would take her in life. She opened the door to her office and turned on the lights, then hesitated, almost afraid to shut herself in the place where she’d first had the dream. When nothing out of the ordinary happened, she stepped inside and closed the door.

A dark stain shadowed the carpet near the bank of file cabinets. Blood. Her blood. She shuddered. A couple of steps farther, she saw her umbrella sticking out from beneath the desk where it had rolled after she’d tripped. She picked it up and put it safely on top of the cabinets where it belonged.

When she sat down behind her desk and turned on the computer, a feeling of well-being settled upon her. The familiarity of her desk, her computer, her things, eased the tension she’d been feeling. Now maybe everything would return to normal.

Before the program came up on the screen, she caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection and grimaced. Everything else might be normal, but her hair was not. Although it still made her look like a waif, there was an unplanned benefit to the shaggy style. The wild fall of bangs across her forehead hid the lump of white bandage quite nicely. Then the program came up and her reflection disappeared and she forgot about everything except payroll checks.

Less than an hour later, she picked up the house phone. Her part of the job was finished. Now all she needed was Jeff Dolby’s signature on the checks and she, along with the other employees of Squaw Creek Lodge, would get paid.

It should have been a simple call. Punch in the three numbers that dialed the manager’s office, then tell Sheila that the checks were ready to be signed.

She punched the numbers, and as she’d expected, Sheila answered the phone. But Jessica didn’t tell her the checks were ready. Between dialing and waiting for her call to be answered, something else started to happen. When she heard Sheila’s voice, she started to shake. And when Sheila raised her voice to repeat her hello, Jessica heard herself shouting.

“Your house is on fire!”

Sheila’s gasp was audible. “Who is this? If this is a joke, it’s not funny.”

Sweat beaded on Jessica’s upper lip as she stared down at her desk. The checks were right before her, but she didn’t see them. All she could see were tiny orange-red tongues of flame eating their way up a kitchen wall. Her voice deepened, and she spoke in a vocal shorthand, trying to impart the urgency of what she was seeing.

“In the kitchen! Up the wall. Fire! Smoke! Hurry! Hurry!”

The line disconnected, and Jessica dropped the phone and laid her head on the desk, fighting an overwhelming urge to cry.

Some time later, she made herself get up. Her hands were still shaking as she walked down the hall toward the manager’s office. When she went inside, she made herself look. Just as she’d expected, Sheila’s desk was empty.

What have I done?

But there were no answers, only questions. Taking a deep breath, she knocked on Dolby’s door. When he called out for her to enter, she did.

Trying to focus on something besides the vision she’d just had, she laid the checks on the manager’s desk.

“I thought you might want to sign these now, since we’re a couple of days late getting them out.”

He looked pleased. “Good job! I wasn’t sure you’d show up. I take it you’re not suffering any ugly aftereffects of your fall?”

“Hardly any at all.” Except for losing my mind.

“Wonderful! Wonderful! This was smart going with paper checks since direct deposit could have been screwed up during the storm and take days to fix.” He picked up a pen. “Have a seat, will you? Give me a couple of minutes and they’ll be ready to go out.”

As she sat down, she realized that Jeff Dolby was sporting a new hairpiece. For once, she was thankful she had something besides her own problems on which to concentrate. It was all she could do not to stare. This month’s hairpiece was dark and wavy, which was a unique contrast to the one he’d worn before. This one rode his bald dome like a loose saddle on the back of a swayback horse. It was there, but it just didn’t fit.

Jessica sighed and closed her eyes. She knew about not fitting in. It had been the story of her life. Now, with this thing that kept happening to her, she felt like more of an outcast than ever. Tears burned at the back of her throat as she struggled with her composure.

Dolby’s pen scratched across the surface of the checks as he wrote his name in small and contained flourishes. When he got to the last one, he looked up.

“If you don’t mind, Miss Hanson, I would appreciate it if you would distribute these. Normally that’s Sheila’s job, but she got an emergency phone call and had to leave, and since these are already late—”

He shoved them toward her, expecting her instant acquiescence.

Jessica stared at the checks, but couldn’t bring herself to move. She tensed, then cleared her throat.

“She did?”

He nodded, unaware that his hairpiece went one way as his head went another. In spite of the oddity of Jeff Dolby’s hair, it was what he’d said that gave her pause. She licked her lips, wanting to ask, but afraid of what he might say. Moments passed, and finally, she could stand the suspense no longer.

“I hope it wasn’t serious.”

“Well, yes, I believe that it was,” Dolby said. “She called me just before you came in.” He paused, and then continued. “You know, it was the strangest thing. She got an anonymous phone call here at the office. Someone said her house was on fire.”

“Oh, my,” Jessica said, and felt the skin on her neck starting to crawl.

“As it turns out, the call was on the up and up. If it hadn’t come, her house would have burned down. She said most of the damage was confined to the kitchen.”

And then Dolby gasped and suddenly bolted from his chair. His hairpiece slid forward over his left eye as he made a grab for Jessica. But he was a couple of seconds too late.

She slid out of her chair in a faint.

* * *

Smelling salts stunk. Enough so that wherever Jessica had gone when she fainted, she came back in a rush.

“Easy now,” someone said.

She looked up, noting that Mr. Dolby had more natural hair up his nose than he had on his head.

“Don’t move just yet. Take a couple of deep breaths and relax. When you feel able, we’ll help you up.”

One of the maids was cradling Jessica’s head in her lap while another mopped at her face with a very wet cloth that smelled of disinfectant.

At least I will be clean when I die. “What happened?”

“You fainted.”

She covered her face with her hands.

“Bat barf.”

Dolby patted her arm. “Now, now, you’re going to be fine. I appreciate the fact that you came in this morning to finish payroll, but I think you came back too soon. We’ve called for an ambulance. They’re going to take you—”

She pushed them aside and sat up with a jerk, then clutched her head with both hands, reeling as the room began to spin. Someone pushed her head between her knees and she found herself looking at a dried raisin that was stuck in the carpet. It was a fitting analogy to the way she felt.

“I’m not going back to the hospital,” she said. “I don’t need a hospital.” All I need is a new brain. Mine broke.

The sound of sirens could be heard coming up the road leading to the lodge.

Jessica groaned. “Send them back.”

Her request was too late. Paramedics came in on the run, followed by a couple of curious cops who’d been on their way to the lodge to interrogate the hired help about the missing bride and had decided to follow the ambulance instead.

When Stone Richardson followed the medics inside, it had been in the line of duty. A “just in case he was needed” decision that soon brought him up short. At first, he didn’t recognize the woman on the floor. But then she looked up, and he saw past the new haircut to the face beneath and found himself on the floor at her side.

His gruff voice and gentle touch were nearly her undoing.

“Damn it, Jessie, what have you done to yourself now?”

Jessica’s hand went to her hair, then she paused, uncertain as to which disaster he was referring—her hairdo, or the fact that she was about to go for another ambulance ride.

“She fainted,” Dolby said.

Jessica eyed the paramedic, who was fastening a pressure cuff on her arm. She refused to lie down. “I’m fine. They shouldn’t have called you, and I am not going back to the hospital.”

Stone heard what she said, but he had his own opinion of what she needed. She was pale and near tears, and the thought of Jessie unconscious and helpless did things to his heart he didn’t want to consider.

“You will if they say so,” he said, angry with himself and the emotions he kept feeling whenever Jessie was around.

Stone’s bossy attitude was more than Jessica was ready to accept. She gave him a sidelong glance. “Don’t you have someplace else to be?”

“No.”

Disgusted at being the center of so much unwanted attention, she closed her eyes and slumped forward, laying her head on her knees in a gesture of defeat.

Jeff Dolby patted his hair, making certain it was still in place, then touched Jessica’s shoulder in a comforting gesture.

“We can muddle along without you. I suggest you take off as much time as you need to recover from your injury. If need be, I’ll call in a temp.”

She groaned. Just after she’d started working at the lodge, she’d come down with a virulent flu bug that had taken its toll on the whole staff. Then the temp agency had sent a man who’d reorganized her entire filing system and crashed the computer. Fixing Dolby with a crushing stare, she gave him fair warning.

“If they send Lester Cushing, I quit.”

Dolby looked taken aback and then nodded nervously. “Don’t worry. I’ll see to it personally. You just get well. That’s all that matters.”

The paramedic began gathering up his things. “Miss Hanson, your vitals are normal, but I think you should see a doctor just the same. You can’t be too careful about head injuries.”

“I’ll call Dr. Howell when I get home,” she said. “I just need to go get my purse and keys.”

Restraining her intent, Stone pointed at one of the maids who was standing nearby.

“Would you please go to Miss Hanson’s office and get her purse?”

Jessica started to argue, when he silenced her with a look.

“Look, Jessie. I suggest you use what’s left of that hardheaded brain of yours. You just passed out. You are not going to be driving anywhere. I’ll take you home.”

Jessica slumped again, this time muttering the most disgusting slur she could summon on short notice.

“Tick teeth.”

Stone grinned. “Yeah, well, the same to you, lady.”

Startled, she looked up in time to see him wink. She felt herself blushing and looked away in disgust. I am immune to his charms. I am immune to his charms. The mantra did not work.

While Jessie was stewing quietly, Stone stood up. His partner, Jack Stryker, made no attempt to hide a grin.

“Stuff it,” Stone said as they walked to the other side of the room.

Jack whistled softly between his teeth and shrugged. “I didn’t say a thing.”

“You didn’t have to,” Stone said. “I saw that smirk.”

“I take it we’re going to delay the investigation of Randi Howell’s disappearance.”

A faint flush spread across Stone’s cheeks. “Look, Jessie is a good friend, okay?”

Jack’s grin widened. “From the way you hit the floor when you saw her down there, I’d say she’s more than your friend. However…I could be wrong.”

Ignoring his partner’s comments because they were too damned close to the truth to comment upon, Stone turned and then suddenly bolted across the room. Jessie was struggling to her feet. He should have known she wouldn’t do a damned thing he said.

A few minutes later, Jack leaned in the car window, sympathetically eyeing Jessica’s pale face as Stone fastened her seat belt. He knew Stone had been right in wanting to help her. This storm had messed up a lot of lives. He supposed it was fortunate they’d happened along.

“Miss Hanson, I’ll bring your car to your home when I pick up Stone, but I need to talk to a couple of people here at the lodge first,” he said.

Jessica’s lips trembled as she handed him the keys to her car. “Thank you. I appreciate your help.”

Stryker walked back toward the lodge as Stone pulled out of the parking lot. He gave Jessie a sideways glance.

“How come you appreciate Jack’s help and mine annoys you?”

Jessica stared out the window. Maybe because I don’t dream about going to bed with your partner. She took a deep breath and fought back new tears.

“Detective Richardson, I appreciate your help.”

He tried to laugh off the hurt he kept feeling as she continued to shut him out. “Dang, you sweet-talking woman. You’re just liable to sweep me off my feet.”

She refused to comment.

Stone tried another subject. “I see you cut your hair.”

She burst into tears.

Startled by her reaction, Stone swerved the car to the side of the road and jammed it into Park. Worried, he slid his hand up the back of her neck.

“Are you sick? Do you want me to—”

His touch, his consideration and those damned gray bedroom eyes were going to be her downfall. Desperate to put some distance between herself and the man who could be her Waterloo, she turned on him without warning.

“Stone Richardson, if you don’t put this car into gear and take me home, I will never forgive you.”

Torn between anger and dismay, he moved back to his side of the car.

“Lord love a duck, Jessie Leigh, you’d make a preacher lose his religion.”

Then he grabbed the steering wheel with both hands. The car took off from a parked position like a turpentined cat, leaving black rubber and smoke to mark its passing. A short while later, he turned the corner leading down her street and slid to a stop at the side of her driveway, leaving just enough room for Jack to park.

Jessica breathed a quiet sigh of relief and reached for her seat belt, anxious to make a getaway before she embarrassed herself even more than she already had.

“Thank you for bringing me home.”

This time his laugh was little more than a gruff bark. “You don’t get rid of me this easy.”

Before she could argue, he was out of the car and helping her up the walk. When they reached the door, he stopped and turned.

Pinned beneath his watchful gaze, she realized he was waiting for her to open the door.

“Just a minute,” she said, fumbling through her purse for the keys. “I know they’re in here.” And then she remembered she’d given them to Stryker. She looked at Stone. “Oh, no, I gave them to your partner.”

“Allow me,” he drawled, and before she could think to argue, he had pulled the lock pick from his pocket and, once more, picked the lock to her front door.

She started to comment, but changed her mind when he stepped aside and pointed forcefully.

“You! Inside!”

“But I—”

He took her by the hand and pulled her after him, shutting the door behind them.

“Damn it, honey, you are trying my patience to—”

It was once too many times to ignore. Without thinking, she drew back and let fly, thumping his arm with the bulk of her purse.

“Stop calling me ‘honey’! You gave up that right when you walked out of my life!”

Stunned by the fact that not only had she hit him with her purse, but she was yelling at him, Stone yelled back.

“I’m not the one who walked out, you are.”

In spite of the ominous swing to the purse she still clutched in her hand, Stone held his ground and wished he hadn’t given up the right to hold her. Right now he would give a whole lot to have her in his bed and his arms. The blue in her eyes had turned dark and angry. Staccato bursts of her breath brushed his face. Stone remembered thinking that she was close—but not nearly close enough to suit him.

The next thing he knew, he’d yanked her into his arms and was kissing those sweet, pouting lips. Tasting her shock and the echoes of her words, and knowing it was never going to be enough.

Jessica went from stunned to surrender in just under three seconds, unprepared for the jolt of emotion that tore through her. The only thing she remembered thinking was that she’d wasted the last two years. She hadn’t gotten over a thing.

Stone took a deep breath and turned her loose, and in those moments before he moved away, something precious passed between them that they couldn’t take back. Unspoken, but obvious, just the same.

“Stone, I—”

His voice was gruff, but his hands were shaking. “Get in bed.”

She took a sudden step backward. Where had all the tenderness gone?

He groaned. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he said softly, and took a deep breath while trying to calm his racing pulse. He reached out, lifting the fringe of her bangs to look at the white bandage beneath. “You have to be careful. I still think you should call the doctor. Head injuries are tricky.”

Her fingers brushed the surface of her mouth. “Not nearly as tricky as you.”

He flushed but held his ground. “I will not apologize for what just happened.”

She lifted her chin and walked back to the door, then opened it and stood aside, waiting for him to leave. As he stepped out, she slammed the door behind him. When she was certain there was at least three inches of solid wood between him and her, she shouted, “I don’t recall asking for an apology.”

Stone froze in midstep and then pivoted. His hand was on the doorknob just as a familiar click sounded. His eyebrows arched in disbelief. The little witch! She’d locked him out.

“What about your car keys?”

“Drop them through the mail slot, and thank you for the ride.”

“You call the doctor or I’ll do it for you!” he shouted.

She didn’t answer, and he could hear the sounds of her footsteps as she walked away. Torn between elation and frustration, he kicked at a rolled-up newspaper lying on her porch and sent it flying. It landed on top of a nearby bush.

“Damned woman.” He dropped down on the top step, waiting for Stryker to come with her car.

It didn’t dawn on him until later that he’d actually thought of her as a strong, capable woman, not one who cried and begged and blamed as Naomi had. But by the time he’d come to that conclusion, Stryker was pulling into the driveway in Jessie’s car.

Jack got out with a mile-wide grin on his face. “What are you doing out here?”

“None of your damned business,” Stone muttered.

Jack held up her keys. “What about these?”

Stone stuffed them through the mail slot in the door. They rattled as they hit the floor, and the moment they were out of his hand, he realized he should have kept them. Now there was nothing to keep her from getting back in the car and driving. And she was just stubborn enough to try it.

He sighed in frustration and headed for his car. Maybe he could find peace of mind in his work.

* * *

Jessica sat huddled on the floor in the hallway, listening for the sounds of Stone’s departure. She was afraid to sleep—afraid she would dream. But the real truth was, she was even afraid to think. She hadn’t been asleep when she’d seen Sheila’s house on fire. She’d been at her desk and minding her own business.

Her lips still tingled, and she thought of Stone and shivered with sudden longing, wishing that things were different. Wishing that she wasn’t so certain she was about to come apart at the seams.

He was an officer of the law, trained to help, trained to serve. She’d been injured. It only stood to reason he would consider it his duty to offer assistance. However, she reminded herself, he’d had no earthly reason to kiss her just now as he had. Except, she reminded herself further, she had been irritating him unnecessarily. Maybe he’d done it just to shut her up. She inhaled on a soft, helpless sob. Well, it had worked. She felt lost and rudderless, uncertain of what would come next.

She leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. Tears trickled out from beneath the lids, and she bit her lip to defend herself from the threatening flood. The truth be told, Jessica Hanson was afraid—afraid of herself, and afraid of what she might see next. She got to her feet and went to bed. Right now it was the only place she felt safe.

* * *

Horror shattered the joy in Olivia Stuart’s eyes as a hand clamped across her mouth and she was shoved forward, pinned between the table and the unyielding body of her attacker. The overpowering scent of gardenias mingled with a sudden pain in the back of her leg. Moments later, another pain, different and more threatening, mushroomed in the center of her chest. Her arms flailed outward and upward. She would never see her son again.

* * *

Jessica woke with tears streaming down her cheeks and the scent of gardenias swirling around her. She sat up with a jerk and took a long, deep breath.

“Why,” she whispered, and buried her face in her hands. “Why is this happening?”

She crawled out of bed and walked through her house toward the kitchen, comfortable in the darkness and with the familiarity of her own things. She poured herself a cold drink of water and drank it from start to finish without pause. When it was empty, she set the glass in the sink and then looked out the window to the night beyond.

Moonlight bounced off the nearby hedge, coloring the neatly clipped branches in a cold, silver glow. She shuddered as echoes of the last three days crept back in her mind.

Olivia Stuart’s attack.

Her sister’s lost keys.

Olivia Stuart’s attack.

The fire at Sheila Biggers’s house.

Olivia Stuart’s attack.

Something she hadn’t considered suddenly occurred. She hadn’t been wrong about where Brenda’s keys had been. She hadn’t been wrong about the fire at Sheila’s house. She started to shake.

Then, what if I’m right and they’re wrong about the reason for Olivia Stuart’s death?

The longer she stood, the more certain she became of what she must do. Like it or not, she had to talk to the authorities. If she didn’t, someone would be getting away with murder!

Chapter Four

Stone Richardson’s day was already screwed when he walked into the precinct on Wednesday morning. Thanks to the massive storm, there was a backlog of cases they might never get through. And when a handcuffed hooker called out his name and then winked, he muttered beneath his breath in disgust. There was a real good chance that the day might never get better.

Ready to get down to work, he draped his sport coat on the back of a chair and reached across the permanent stack of files on his desk for his coffee cup.

Stryker, who sat across the aisle, was on the phone. When he looked up and saw Stone, he put his hand over the receiver long enough to give Stone a message.

“There’s a man waiting to see you. He said Dr. Howell sent him.”

Stone nodded. “Tell him to have a seat. I’ll be right back.”

He headed for the break room, moments later, pouring what was left in the pot in his cup, dregs and all. When some of it splattered on the toe of his boot and the edge of his jeans, he frowned, then took a quick sip on the way out the door, thankful it had missed his white shirt. It was the last clean one he had.

On his way back to his desk, he glanced into the hall at the brawl in progress. Two men were trading blows while a woman stood nearby, screeching at the top of her lungs. In the midst of it all, he got a glimpse of red hair and a dark blue uniform, and grinned. Delancey, a beat cop and a nineteen-year veteran of the force, had it under control. The complainants just didn’t know it yet.

As Stone reentered the room, he paused in the doorway, taking careful note of the man sitting at his desk. He was lean and looked unnaturally pale. His blond hair had recently been cut. His jeans and shirt were unremarkable in style, but clean. As Stone neared his desk, the man suddenly stood, and the cold blue intensity of his gaze, as well as the way he waited without moving, gave Stone an impression of military bearing.

“Have a seat,” Stone said.

They both sat, and Stone took a last sip of his coffee before shoving aside a stack of papers to make room for his cup.

“So, what can I do for you, Mr.—?”

The man shifted nervously. “You can call me Smith. Martin Smith. However, I seriously doubt that it’s my name.”

He had Stone’s attention. “Excuse me?”

The man took a deep breath. “I don’t know who I am. My entire memory consists of the past few days. I don’t remember anything before Friday evening, when I wandered into the emergency room of your local hospital.”

Stone gave him another glance, this time more thorough.

“Were you injured?”

Smith shook his head. “Yes, but not much. They guessed I probably suffered a blow to the head. I had some cuts and bruises, but I’ve had worse.” The moment that came out, he looked startled. “How did I know that?” he muttered, then sighed in frustration.

Stone picked up a pen and started making notes. “Friday. That would be five days ago.”

“During the storm.”

Stone nodded. Another set of troubles to add to the mess they were already trying to unknot.

“And you hadn’t been in an accident?”

Smith shrugged. “I don’t know. All I remember is that my head hurt. I’d been walking for some time, through mud and debris. Most streets were blocked off. Everything was dark. And then I saw lights in the distance and headed toward them.”

Stone remembered what Vanderbilt Memorial had looked like that night. The lights had been weak and flickering, but the security they represented had been comforting, even to him.

“So, what do you want of me?” Stone asked.

Smith hesitated briefly, then his jaw squared and he leaned forward. “Maybe you could check missing persons reports. And I want you to fingerprint me. See if I have an identity on record. See if I’m—” He paused and then looked away, unable to finish the horror of what he was thinking.

Stone finished it for him. “See if you’re in our database or if there’s a warrant somewhere for your arrest?”

He looked up. “Yes. No matter what, I want to know.”

“Okay,” Stone said, and turned a fresh page on the pad. “Let’s talk. We might get some answers from you that you didn’t know you had.”

Smith began to talk while Stone asked the occasional question, making notes in between and trying to make himself heard above everything else that was going on.

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