“He’s threatened to blow up the station if you don’t go on the eleven o’clock news,” Chandler said.

“He also said he’d kill another one of your patients,” he added.

“I’ll do it,” Molly said, ignoring Chandler’s harsh, disapproving look. “He could kill another innocent person. I don’t want that to happen.”

“There has to be a better option. Molly, I don’t like this.” He reached out and allowed his fingertip to trace the line of her jaw. The look in his eyes increased her pulse tenfold. “I’ve got a bad feeling about this,” he murmured.

Molly reached up and covered his hand with hers. “This—the broadcast? Or this—me?”

Tilting his head slightly to the right, Molly’s breath caught as his head dipped toward hers. His mouth hovered above hers as he whispered, “I look at you and all I can think of is this….”

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

This July, Intrigue brings you six sizzling summer reads. They’re the perfect beach accessory.

* We have three fantastic miniseries for you. Film at Eleven continues THE LANDRY BROTHERS by Kelsey Roberts. Gayle Wilson is back with the PHOENIX BROTHERHOOD in Take No Prisoners. And B.J. Daniels finishes up her MCCALLS’ MONTANA series with Shotgun Surrender.

* Susan Peterson brings you Hard Evidence, the final installment in our LIPSTICK LTD. promotion featuring stealthy sleuths. And, of course, we have a spine-tingling ECLIPSE title. This month’s is Patricia Rosemoor’s Ghost Horse.

* Don’t miss Dana Marton’s sexy stand-alone title, The Sheik’s Safety. When an American soldier is caught behind enemy lines, she’ll fake amnesia to guard her safety, but there’s no stopping the sheik determined on winning her heart.

Enjoy our stellar lineup this month and every month!

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Film at Eleven
Kelsey Roberts

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Kelsey Roberts has penned more than twenty novels, won numerous awards and nominations, and landed on bestseller lists, including USA TODAY and the Ingrams Top 50 List. She has been featured in the New York Times and the Washington Post, and makes frequent appearances on both radio and television. She is considered an expert in why women read and write crime fiction, as well as an excellent authority on plotting and structuring the novel.

She resides in south Florida with her family.

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Chandler Landry—Popular news anchor, and hometown hero, too good-looking for his own good. His complacent life becomes complicated and challenging when he meets Molly Jameson, then finds himself becoming the story on the eleven o’clock news, instead of reporting it.

Molly Jameson, M.D.—A psychiatrist with issues of her own. Her quiet, carefully controlled life becomes a media circus when she meets the fascinating Chandler Landry, and a murderer pulls her into his deranged and deadly game.

Peter Geller—A fanatic with a mission… Could it be murder?

Gavin Templesman, M.D.—A respected professor of psychiatry. Molly’s mentor and Chandler’s friend. But could he also be a killer?

Verna Geller—She’s lost her head worrying over her son, but at this stage in her life there’s nothing she can do to help him.

L. S. Wyatt—Molly’s favorite author. But does he have a killer secret?

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

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter One

Molly Jameson considered ways to kill herself.

Figuratively at least.

She wasn’t shy so much as intensely private, which made her current situation disconcerting.

She was vain enough to wonder for the umpteenth time if her clothing was right. Hopefully, the dark-navy suit would convey professionalism to the audience. She’d pinned her long blond hair into a loose twist, but several strands had fallen free. Her stomach flip-flopped yet again as she tried to smooth them back into place.

“Five minutes, Dr. Jameson,” a masculine-looking woman in jeans and a T-shirt said as she adjusted the microphone attached to her bulky headset.

Molly nodded and smiled. Outwardly she hoped to appear cool and calm and tried not to think that she might be the very first person to throw up live on Montana’s most popular morning news show.

Her eyes darted around the chaotic television studio. He leaned against the desk in the center of the large room. He had an easy, engaging smile and seemed completely comfortable.

And why wouldn’t he? Chandler Landry was WMON-TV. His image was splashed on buses and billboards all over the place. Tilting her head, Molly studied him from the relative obscurity of her position behind one of three large cameras positioned around the set.

It wasn’t any secret that Chandler Landry was considered one of the most eligible bachelors in the greater Helena-Jasper area. He had it all—looks, breeding, money, class and confidence.

Molly gave him serious bonus points in the looks department. He was more than six feet of sculpted muscle and genetic perfection wrapped in a perfectly tailored designer suit. His skin was deeply tanned but not leathery. His eyes were light brown, rimmed in dark, inky lashes. The only flaw—if she could call it that—was a slightly crooked smile. But it wasn’t really a flaw. Nope, it was endearing and completely nonthreatening. On any other man, it would have been a sneer. But on Chandler it added an innocent allure that gave him that air of boyish charm.

“We’re coming out of commercial,” headset woman said, motioning Molly toward the brightly lit set. “Follow me.”

Molly did, feeling all of her insecurities knot in the pit of her belly. Silently she cursed Gavin Templesman. Only her beloved mentor could have conned her into doing this silly segment. Gavin knew how she felt about being in the public eye. He also knew how badly she wanted her book to succeed. She wanted to help people. That didn’t mean she wanted to sit under a circle of hot lights and have the intrusive camera trained on her face for the next ten minutes. She knew her stuff. Saying something inappropriate or becoming tongue-tied wasn’t going to be a problem for her. No matter how much she disliked the artifice of the television studio.

No, what she didn’t enjoy was the feeling of vulnerability and discomfort she felt as Chandler Landry strolled across the set toward her. She folded her hands loosely in her lap as she watched him approach, willing her erratic heartbeat to slow and her breathing to remain even. Hard to imagine, but he was even better looking in person than on her twenty-seven-inch screen at home.

She hoped he wasn’t a shaking-hands kinda guy. Her palms were slightly damp. Which annoyed her no end.

“Dr. Jameson,” Chandler greeted with a smile that she felt all the way to her toes.

She subtly brushed her right hand on her skirt before taking the hand he offered and struggled to keep her knees from buckling. Up close, Chandler was a devastating sight to behold. The faint scent of his cologne was as intriguing as the fact that his palm was slightly callused. Why would a pretty boy have calluses?

“Mr. Landry,” she greeted, forcing a lightness to her tone. “I feel like I know you already.”

“Most people do,” he replied easily. “The price you pay for being invited into the homes of viewers day in and day out.”

“We all have our crosses to bear,” she countered, dropping his hand.

“We’re back in fifteen,” a voice thundered through the studio.

Chandler held out a chair for her, presenting Molly with what she assumed was her first in a series of humiliations. In spite of her heels, she was forced to climb up on to the stool, and her perfectly professional navy pumps fell about an inch shy of the foot bar.

“Ten seconds, Chandler.”

He rolled her into place. “Sit on the back of your jacket,” Chandler suggested. “It looks better on camera.”

“I thought I was here to give advice to your callers,” she said as she adjusted the bunched lapels of her suit.

He clipped a microphone to the creamy silk tie that complemented his gunmetal-gray shirt. “This is television, sweetheart. Ninety percent of it is how you look.”

“How positively shallow,” she muttered as she scooted the hem of her jacket beneath her hips. Sweetheart? What a condescending ass.

“People don’t tune in for ugly.”

“In five,” the bodyless voice announced.

“Lucky for you.”

Chandler tossed her an easy smile. “Thanks, I think.”

“In four.”

Molly felt like a few thousand nerve endings wired for sound. While the studio was relatively quiet, everyone was watching the two of them. She felt like a zoo exhibit, and had to force herself not to fiddle with her hair and clothes. Something she rarely did. She was uncomfortably self-conscious and hoped to God it didn’t show. She took a deep calming breath and let it out slowly.

Better.

“Three.”

Her breathing was fine. It was her heart rate that was the problem. Nerves, anticipation and, damn it, the close proximity of Chandler Landry had her hyperaware. How did I allow myself to get talked into this?

“Two.”

Chandler patted her hand just as one of the large cameras wheeled closer to them. “Good luck, Doc.”

Headset woman brought her hand down and pointed at Chandler just as a large red light came on above the teleprompter attached to the camera lens.

“Good morning, again, Montana. I’m here in the studio this morning with author and psychiatrist Martha Jameson.”

Molly felt a trickle of perspiration dribble down between her shoulder blades. Part of it was the bright lights but most of it was palpable, intense fear.

“Dr. Jameson’s latest book,” Chandler continued, holding her book up as he spoke. “The Relationship Mambo, has just been released by University Press. Good morning, Dr. Jameson.”

“Good morning,” she replied in a hideously scratched voice.

“I was reading your book last night and I was struck by the fact that you advocate casual physical encounters in this day and age.”

Leave it to a man to focus on the sex parts. Out of context, of course. This was going to be the longest ten minutes of her life. “Actually,” she began, treading the waters between being pissed and terrified. “You’ve misstated my position.” She ignored the dark flash in his eyes. “Sexuality is part of human nature. And while the ideal situation would be physical intimacy as part of a meaningful, committed relationship, that isn’t always practical. The chapter you referred to is a discussion of the double standard that exists in our society. I was simply stating my opinion that women should take ownership over their sexuality just as men have done since the dawn of time.”

“That’s great in theory, but doesn’t society frown on women being promiscuous?”

“I’m not advocating promiscuity, Mr. Landry. I’m acknowledging that women have the same physical needs as men.” And apparently the same homicidal tendencies, Molly thought, wanting to smack that smug smile off his handsome face. Strangely, her heartbeat felt just fine and dandy now.

Great looking—yes. But smug, arrogant and very sure he was the be all and end all for any woman he met.

Nice try, Molly thought, narrowing her eyes slightly, but no cigar. It would take a better man than you are, Gunga Din.

Chandler smiled and winked. “Let’s hope every woman out there adopts your philosophy. Dr. Jameson will answer any of your relationship questions. Call the number at the bottom of your screen.” Chandler flipped her book open to a premarked page. He glanced down, then looked at her from under his brows as if surprised. “You also advocate divorce, Dr. Jameson.”

Molly’s blood boiled as she tried to maintain her fake smile. “Again you’ve misinterpreted my position.” Read for comprehension, pretty boy! “I advocate divorce in situations where there is abuse, both physical and emotional.”

“Or lack of love,” he read.

“Which is a form of emotional abuse, Mr. Landry. Relationships are living things. They need fuel to survive. If there is no love, the relationship withers and dies.” Which is exactly what I’d like to have happen to you!

“You don’t confine your advice to men and women,” he continued. “You write extensively about parent-child relationships, as well. Do you have children, Dr. Jameson?”

“No. My book is based on research and almost a decade as a therapist.”

“Isn’t it hard for you to hold yourself out as an authority on children when you’ve never had any of your own?”

“Psychiatrists often can’t have firsthand knowledge of a given situation. For example, a doctor doesn’t have to beat his wife in order to understand the dynamic of spousal abuse.”

He gave her a slight nod of recognition. “We’ve got John on line one. Go ahead, John.”

“Yes,” a deep voice crackled through the studio. “My life sucks.”

“This is morning television, John,” Chandler warned politely. “Watch the language.”

“Anyway,” John’s voice sounded annoyed and tense. “I’ve got a crappy job. My mother’s always ragging me. The government screwed me.”

“Doctor?” Chandler interrupted. He gave Molly a “help me” look.

“John, it sounds to me like you’re overwhelmed right now. I suggest you take some ‘me’ time.”

“I can’t. I need my lousy job to pay my bills. And my mother needs me. I do everything for her.”

Molly heard the anger and torment in the voice. “You have to make a choice, John. I hear your frustration. When we’re in that place, it affects everything we do. You have to take responsibility for your own happiness. If your job is making you miserable, then find another job. As for your mother, give yourself permission to take a break.”

“She needs me.”

“That may well be. But you need you, too. Once you’re happy and fulfilled, you’ll find that the other pieces of your life fall into place. Find something that will make you happy, John. One thing. Then do it.”

“We’ve got to take the next caller, John, good luck,” Chandler said, pressing one of the blinking lights on the phone in front of him. He greeted the caller by name as provided by his producer.

Chandler smiled over at the small woman with the authoritative tone. She was too damned cute to be such a tight ass. He’d actually found her book enlightening, insightful even. His producer had insisted he mention the section on sex. The plan had been to mention it once to please the higher-ups, and then move on. Then he saw Molly Jameson.

She was a prim, professional package at serious odds with the frank discussion on sexuality he’d read. This, of course, was far, far sexier. There was something incredibly appealing about this woman. He guessed she was much more than a pretty face hidden beneath a layer of navy linen.

Chandler had to struggle to look interested as the next few callers chimed in. Three women involved with losers who couldn’t or wouldn’t stop the cycle of the dead-end relationship. To her credit, Molly seemed to be taking it all in stride.

“…time for you to put a period on this relationship and move on,” Molly advised. “Don’t look at it as a failure, think of the two years you spent with Tony as a learning experience.”

“Thank you.”

Chandler listened as his producer’s voice boomed in his ear, then said, “Dr. Jameson, our first caller, John, is calling back.”

“Hello again, John,” she said.

Chandler watched as she wiped her damp palms across her lap. Odd that such a confident woman should be so uncomfortable on camera.

“I took your advice,” the caller stated.

“That’s good, John,” Molly replied, her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“Hey, John?” Chandler asked, “You only called a few minutes ago. How did you change your life in such a short period of time?”

“I did what she said,” John answered. “I just killed my mother.”

Chapter Two

“It worked! They bought it.” Feeling triumphant and high on success, he looked at his companion.

Approval. Admiration. Reading that in those eyes eased the rapid pounding of his heart. He felt fortified, bolstered. Because he’d done his part perfectly, the plan was in motion.

“Patience, son.”

Oh, for— He didn’t want to be patient. Not anymore. Patient sucked. It was his time, damn it! His turn. Without responding to the unnecessary caution, he rose and went into the tiny, galley-style kitchen and ran water over his hands until the stream went from red, to pink, to clear. Grabbing the vegetable brush his mother kept in a frog on the lip of the sink, he began scrubbing at his finger tips. Who knew it would be so hard to get blood out from under his nails?

How like his mother to be a pain in the ass even in death.

His companion stood, collected his briefcase and brought it over to the kitchen table. The metal locks clicked loudly as he depressed the tabs. “This should tide you over through the next phase.”

Drying his hands, he moved to ogle the tidy rows of money displayed neatly in the open leather briefcase. Wiping his palms down the leg of his pants first, he lifted one banded stack of bills. Heavier than he’d’ve thought. His heartbeat sped up as he fanned the crisp notes, enjoying the breeze created against his face. “This is great.”

His companion pulled the money from his grip and dropped it back into the case with an authoritative plop. He closed the lid and snapped the locks back in place. As if he had the right. As if he still owned the money. “This is to be used as we agreed.”

“I know.” Of course he knew. Hadn’t he gone over and over this countless times? He wasn’t a moron. Still, as much as he resented it, he craved the man’s approval.

“You must stay focused. Too much is at stake here.” His expression softened as he returned the cash. Next, he reached beneath the bills and took out a metal rod with a circular emblem welded to one end. “You know what to do?”

Once again he felt torn; irritated by the implication that he didn’t know what he was doing, and then annoyed by his need for approval. He nodded stiffly. “I rigged the propane tank out back.” Why did he always have to explain himself? Hadn’t he proven that he was loyal and capable? The right choice to lead them toward their destiny? Hadn’t he made the ultimate sacrifice?

“Can I trust you to handle the rest of the arrangements on your own?”

“Of course,” he answered, resentment building at always having his abilities questioned. “I’ve got it under control.”

His companion nodded, turned to leave, then hesitated. “There is much at stake.”

Yeah, yeah, yeah. “I know that.” Feeling more in control, now that he had the money and he’d accomplished the biggest hurdle, he reined in his temper. This powerful man would see a display of temper as a sign of weakness. Just you wait, he thought, feeling smug and self-satisfied as he stood, shoulders slightly hunched, eyes downcast. Just you freaking wait. Soon he’d be the one making all the decisions. He’d be the big man in charge.

That was the goal.

That was his destiny.

He was so close to making his goal a reality.

“SPEAKING FROM EXPERIENCE, I don’t agree.”

“It was a prank, Dr. Jameson,” Chandler insisted. “Do you have any idea how many times this sort of thing has happened in the past?”

Molly squared her shoulders, feeling mildly annoyed that she had to tilt her head back in order to hold his gaze. He was the most annoying man. And the prime reason she felt that way, she had to admit, was her body’s visceral reaction to him. His insistence that the man on the phone had been pulling a prank was, in her professional judgment, a huge mistake. The caller had sounded not only completely sincere, he’d sounded triumphant.

The fact that she was both annoyed and strangely attracted to Landry bugged the hell out of her. There weren’t two more diametrically opposed people on the planet. “You have people committing and confessing to murders on air often, do you?” Molly demanded, trying to drag her libido back in line. Plenty of men had sparkling brown eyes and long dimples in their lean cheeks. Landry looked as though he had a delicious secret.

Molly didn’t care to find out what that might be.

He was good-looking. So what? Jasper had hundreds of good-looking men.

He rolled those chocolate-colored eyes at her pithy comment, and made a dismissive sound that made her want to smack his smugly handsome face. A reaction that horrified her. Not only didn’t she have a temper—under normal circumstances—but her training had taught her the pitfalls of physical violence. In under an hour this man had turned her into someone she didn’t recognize.

She took a deep, calming breath and reminded herself that Chandler was a news reader, hardly in a position to assess the seriousness of a mentally disturbed person appropriately. “He—”

Chandler cut her off. “People seek attention, Molly. It’s a risk and a reality on live TV. It was probably just some fool getting his kicks at our expense.”

“I didn’t get that sense,” she replied, keeping her voice reasonable with an effort.

“We’ve got to clear the studio,” Chandler gathered his script sheets into a pile and stood. “Let’s go back to my office. We can wait for Seth there. I’m sure it was a joke,” he assured her for the umpteenth time. Her gray-green eyes narrowed as she looked up at him, and he saw she wasn’t going for his theory one bit. He sighed inwardly. She was a shrink. Hell, she’d see mental defect in everyone as a matter of course. “Sick,” he said firmly, “but a joke nevertheless.”

Clearly not convinced, Molly frowned slightly as she rose. Chandler didn’t move back as she straightened, so they were closer together than two strangers would feel comfortable with. Her perfume drifted up to him. Something soft and subtle. Roses, he thought. Maybe with a touch of citrus. He stayed where he was, waited to see what Molly would do.

She held her ground. She might not be willing to show that his size and nearness intimidated her, but he sure as hell noticed the sudden increase of her pulse in the creamy hollow of her throat. Points to the lady.

“Maybe,” she said, meeting his eyes unflinchingly. “But he sounded serious to me. I guess that’s the problem with call-in therapy. It’s really hard to diagnose someone as a sociopath over the phone.”

He grinned, nice to meet a shrink with a sense of humor. Normally he found members of her profession way too serious, and frequently screwier than the people they purported to treat. For example their regular guest for the mental health segment Gavin Templesman. Now there was a guy filled with his own self-importance. Knowledgeable but pedantic and superior. Chandler thought the guy was an ass. He figured he should keep that opinion to himself, since he wasn’t clear on the relationship between Templesman and Molly.

The lights in the studio dimmed. A broad hint from the control room.

“Are we going somewhere?” Molly asked pointedly. “Or are we staying here in the dark?”

He wouldn’t mind standing in the dark with Dr. Molly a while longer, but Chandler figured she’d get a little cranky if he didn’t move it.

“My office. He placed his palm against the small of her back to guide her out of the studio and toward his office. The stiffening of her spine was infinitesimal beneath his palm, but she didn’t make a verbal protest. “You must know Dr. Templesman pretty well for him to suggest you fill in for him at the last minute.”

She slanted him a look. “Was that a question?”

Yeah. He wanted to know if the old guy was her lover. Chandler smiled. “Are you partners or something?” Mentally, he added, professional or otherwise?

She blandly replied, “I’ve known him for twelve years,” walking a little bit faster so that his hand fell away from her waist in a silent rebuke. Another point to the lady.

And a nice nonanswer, he thought. Her movement caused some of the silken strands of wheat-blond hair to slip from their neat bundle. His fingers itched to reach out and give a gentle tug, just enough so that her hair spilled over her shoulders. Instead, he shoved one hand into his pocket and dropped the other to his side. Best to keep his hands to himself…at least for now.

He paused at the entrance to his office and ushered her inside with a wave of his hand. “Make yourself comfortable,” he suggested, grabbing two three-quarter-inch tapes off the chair. He put the tapes and his script into the top drawer of his desk. “Seth should be here shortly. Just a formality. While I’m sure the guy wasn’t serious, the station will want to be sure to cover its ass. Just in case.” Everyone was sue happy these days.

The base of his chair squeaked as he dropped into the battered leather cushions that conformed perfectly to his body. His eyes scanned Dr. Molly’s very serious face. She was really pretty—wholesomely pretty, femininely pretty. And pretty much not interested in him, apparently.

This, of course, made Chandler that much more fascinated. Without vanity, he knew he was attractive and attractive to women. It had been a while since his advances, subtle as they were, had been coolly and politely rebuffed.

“You’re staring,” she commented. Her voice was soft, nonthreatening, almost observational. Despite the scrutiny, she neither shifted in her seat nor fidgeted under his perusal. More points to the lady. She was racking them up.

It irritated him a little that he couldn’t get a read on her. Observing people was his forte. He flashed her his best and most effective smile. “You’re a beautiful woman. It’s my job to stare at you. Part of the Man Code.”

No grin, no smile, not even a faint twinkle in her eyes. Flattery didn’t impress her. Okay, he’d try another tack.

“Your book really was quite good.”

Full-on, perfect-teeth smile. Okay, I get it. The way to this woman’s heart was through her intellect.

“Thanks.” A little of the frost left her eyes. “I’m surprised you read it. I’d expect someone like you to glance at the Table of Contents, maybe check out at a few chapter headings.”

Chandler leaned back in his seat, stretching his legs off to the side and crossing them at the ankles. She was really something. What, he wasn’t yet sure. But her quick assessment of him stung. He shot her a cool look. “Someone like me?”

Her cheeks held just a hint of color. “I didn’t mean to offend you.”

That wasn’t an apology, he surmised easily. Not a real one. She wasn’t sorry she’d implied that he was too stupid to read, only that telling him as much wasn’t supposed to be offensive.

“I like to read,” he replied easily. “I’m especially fond of books with lots of colorful pictures.”

Her cheekbones flamed. “I…I.” She snapped her mouth shut as her brain scrambled for a way out. But there wasn’t one. Taking a deep breath, she met his dark eyes and admitted, “You’re right. That was an unkind way to put it. But the truth is, you’ve got a reputation as someone who, well, who…who…”

“Isn’t too bright?”

She felt herself cringe. “Well, people don’t usually mention your IQ, Mr. Landry. Any time you make the papers, there’s usually mention of the fact that you’re gorgeous and single. Montana’s Second Most Eligible Bachelor, as I recall?”

“Imagine how pissed off I was at not being named number one,” he countered. “And yes, I’m aware of the focus often placed on my appearance, but then, I work in a visual medium, so I can’t really complain.”

“I suppose not,” Molly agreed. “I shouldn’t have accepted the stereotype so easily. I do apologize.” And boy, did she hate doing it too. Stupid, stupid, stupid, she told herself. Making a thoughtless comment like that to a man like this, was tantamount to poking a sharp stick through the bars of a lion’s cage just to hear him roar. She knew better.

Chandler simply shrugged. Well, it wasn’t all that simple. Not when the fabric of his jacket pulled taut against broad, hard muscle. Molly swallowed and willed her brain not to dwell on his physical attributes.

“Most of the time my, er, celebrity is a bonus. I can get into most of the decent restaurants without a prior reservation and I can usually find a date on short notice.”

Molly mentally rolled her eyes but kept her gaze steady and her hands neatly in her lap. “Two important life skills,” she told him dryly.

“That was pretty snippy,” he said without even a hint of annoyance. “How about I get us some coffee?”

“That would be great,” she agreed readily. Maybe a shot of caffeine would improve her mood.

Chandler rose from behind his desk, a large, powerful, charming male in his prime. Her mouth went dry. She inspected a slight hangnail on her thumb as he walked past her chair and disappeared. Leaving her free to explore his small, tidy office. She took a couple of quick, necessary breaths to control her heart rate. The man was potent.

She glanced around his office. The first thing that struck her was the organization. It wasn’t just orderly; it was Obsessive-Compulsive-Disorder neat. His functional desk was gray laminate and formed an “L” shape out from the wall. He’d divided it into two separate and distinct areas. The portion facing the door was devoid of anything but the telephone. Not a pencil, not a scrap of paper, nothing. Just the telephone. With a perfectly coiled cord. Very precise.

On the short portion of the “L” sat a state-of-the-art laptop. It was one of the sleek, chrome models that supposedly traveled well. Next to the computer was a small tower of disks, color-separated and labeled in bold, block letters that were so perfectly matched in shape and size that she had to look twice to confirm they were handwritten.

Dropping her purse next to the chair, Molly rose and went to the first of three bookcases that lined the opposite wall. Black plastic videotape cases were lined like soldiers on the first three shelves. A closer inspection revealed that they were in alphabetical order. Seriously anal.

The second case was a collection of reference books, alphabetized and separated by size, color and topic. He had everything ranging from the Annotated Laws of the State of Montana to a Zoologists Guide to Bears. Pathologically anal.

Had it not been for the contents of the third bookcase, she would have started wondering about his mental health. On these shelves she found glimpses of him as a man. There were several framed photographs. Many, she guessed, were family pictures. They seemed to cover decades. One in particular caught her eye. Carefully, she lifted it off the shelf. Nine sets of smiling eyes looked back at her.

She shivered at the mere thought of such a huge family. The parents made a handsome couple. Chandler obviously came by his good looks honestly. His father was a very handsome man and his mother was stunning. She looked quite out of place among all that testosterone.

She also looked sad, Molly thought. There was something in her clear-blue eyes that seemed distant, unconnected. Molly felt herself smile, the poor woman was probably sleep deprived. She probably hadn’t had a decent night’s sleep since the birth of her first of seven sons.

“I’m the cute one—second from the left,” a slightly familiar male voice said from the doorway.

Molly turned to find Seth Landry smiling a greeting. He looked quite official in his sheriff’s uniform. And her brain made the predictable comparisons. Seth, like Chandler, was tall, dark and incredibly fit. His smile was warm and charming. Charm seemed to be an inherited trait among the Landrys.

Molly replaced the picture in its spot and extended her hand as she stepped forward. “Nice to see you again, Sheriff.”

“That’s right,” he acknowledged with a slight nod. “You worked with my nephew a few years back.”

“How is Kevin?”

“Great. Spoiled. Adjusting to being a big brother.”

“I ran into Callie at the grocery store,” Molly recalled. “She had little Sheldon with her. He’s adorable.”

“I think so, but then, I’m the favorite uncle, so I’m prejudiced.”

“I’m the favorite uncle,” Chandler insisted. He moved past Seth to place two mugs of coffee onto the desk, then hugged Seth and gave him a loud slap on the back.

Molly looked on with a twinge of envy. It must be nice to have a sibling. She hadn’t had that kind of physical contact with anyone since her father’s death. While she adored Gavin, it wasn’t the same. It wasn’t this.

“Sorry to drag you out here,” Chandler said. “I’m sure it’s a waste of your time.”

“I disagree,” Molly insisted. “I think that once you review the call, Sheriff, you’ll believe, like I do, that there is cause to investigate.”

“I’ll defer to you, Doctor,” Seth replied easily. “Chandler rarely takes anything seriously enough. It’s been a problem his entire life.”

Chandler tossed his brother a “kiss-off” look, then turned his attention back to Molly.

Her pretty eyes were little more than angry gray-green slits. Her pale skin was flushed but otherwise perfect. She was beautiful. And she was wrong.

“I’m sure it was just a crank call,” he reiterated.

“I disagree,” she countered. “I think if you listen to the tape—I assume one was recorded?”

“Yes,” Chandler supplied.

“It’s being cued in the control room as we speak,” Seth added. “I’d like the two of you to walk me through it.”

“My pleasure,” Molly said, spinning on her heel and walking ahead of them.

Chandler shook his head at the sight of her rigid back. His expression softened as his eyes dropped lower. Down to the gentle slope of her hips, lower still, to her shapely, toned legs. The woman had a great body.

Chandler’s brother grabbed his upper arm, holding him back and leaning closer before whispering, “Killer body.”

“You’re an old married guy, you shouldn’t be noticing bodies anymore. Killer or otherwise.”

“Just doing my job,” Seth retorted.

“How is admiring the good doctor’s tush part of your job description?”

“Investigation.” Seth shoved his Stetson back against his forehead and tilted his head slightly to the right as they slowly followed Molly down the hallway.

“Knock it off,” Chandler groused. “You have a beautiful wife. Go look at her.”

“I do,” Seth said on a contented sigh. “Every chance I get.”

“Then leave this one for me.” He saw Seth’s reproachful look out of the corner of his eye. “What?”

“She knows Callie. And Sam. And Kevin. And Taylor.”

Chandler’s brain flashed the images of his sister-in-law, his brother Sam, their son, and the Landrys’ housekeeper, Taylor Reese. None of the pictures in his mind deterred him from admiring the enticing view of Molly in her fitted navy suit. “So?”

Seth made a sound somewhere between a grunt and a groan. “Don’t be stupid, Chandler. You know better than to fool around with a friend of the family. When it ends—and we both know it always does—there’ll be divided loyalties and hell to pay.”

Chandler shrugged, knowing there was some merit to Seth’s argument. Very few things in life were as scary as the wrath of a woman. One surefire way to incur said wrath was to date and dump a friend. Women were amazing. Their friendships created a universal agreement that made the Musketeers look like pikers. Dump one and the others made you pay. Big-time.

“I’m just window-shopping,” Chandler said. “No harm in that, is there?”

“With you?” Seth asked. “Hell yes. You’re never satisfied by looking. Never were, never will be.”

Chandler jabbed his brother in the ribs with his elbow. “I’ll have you know I’m the picture of self-control.”

Rolling his eyes, Seth snickered. “You’re like a two-year-old, little brother. You need instant gratification. You see something you like, you want it five minutes ago. And you bore easily.”

Chandler watched as Molly shifted her purse from one dainty hand to the other. “How could anyone get bored with such a stunning creature?”

“You’d find a way,” Seth insisted. “Try some restraint. It builds character.”

“Screw character,” Chandler whispered as he donned his best poker face.

They reached the end of the corridor and Molly appeared to be at a loss. Placing his hand at the back of her waist, Chandler nudged her gently in the direction of the control booth. Inwardly he smiled as he felt her body shudder beneath his touch. To a lesser man, that might have been a deterrent. But he knew better. That small flinch was an acknowledgment, tangible proof that she was aware of his fingers splayed against her spine.

“In here,” he said, stepping to the side of the door and gallantly making a production out of allowing her to enter first.

Seth stepped forward and mumbled, “Suck up.”

“Jealous.”

“Hardly. I’ve got a wife, remember?”

“Who wants a wife when you can have her?”

“Who says you can have her?” Seth countered. “She seems pretty uninterested to me.”

“She won’t be for long.”

“Don’t go there, Chandler. She’s a nice lady. Been good to our family.”

“And those are two very good reasons for me to invite her to dinner.”

“Suit yourself,” Seth sighed. “But when you mess this up, I won’t save you from Callie or Taylor.”

“Who says I’m going to screw up?”

“Your entire life history.”

He shrugged and muttered, “I wish I’d been an only child.” Still, Seth’s words struck an unpleasant chord. Though he’d bite off his tongue before admitting it to his brother, Chandler knew his dating credentials fell far short of stellar. He did tend to rush into relationships, only to discover after the fact that he’d chosen poorly. But that didn’t make him incapable of having a real relationship. Did it? He sighed. Okay, so he’d done some borderline wrong things. But never once, not even for a split second, had he ever intended to hurt anyone.

Molly was fascinated by the vastly complicated electronic equipment crammed into a small, two-tiered room. One entire wall was monitors. Some were tuned to network programming, others were blank, still others were live feeds from the cameras located in the studios.

There were two long consoles in the room, with too many switches, dials and colored buttons to count. Several casually attired people with headsets manned the control boards. Yanking off his headset, a rotund man in a rumpled golf shirt stepped forward to welcome them.

She recognized the voice immediately. He was the producer who had called her with arrangements to do Good Morning Montana. He was also the disembodied voice she’d heard over the studio’s speakers.

“I’m Mike Murray,” he said, offering a beefy hand, and looking at Seth over her shoulder. “We’ve got the tape all set-up, sheriff.”

“Thank you,” Seth said. “Mind if we do this in private?”

The producer looked perplexed. “Yeah, I do. This is a newsroom. If it turns out there’s something to this call, then we have a responsibility to our viewers to stay on top of it.”

Seth did not appear pleased. “You also have a responsibility not to hinder my investigation.”

The burly producer seemed to be mulling it over.

Chandler stepped up and said, “Don’t sweat it, Mike, I’ll run the tape machine and if anything of interest comes of this, I’m on it.”

As soon as the other employees were dismissed, Molly and Seth were given seats at the console. Chandler opted to lean against the edge of the second row, his fingers within easy reach of the machine’s controls.

They watched the tape twice in silence, then Seth began asking for their impressions at various parts. After almost three hours, Molly had memorized every syllable of John’s call.

“He’s young,” she said when the tape ended. “Early twenties.”

“Why do you say that?” Seth asked.

“He mentions the government screwing him. Teenagers don’t really have much interaction with the government.”

“But he could be older than twenties, right?” Seth asked.

“Assuming he isn’t a crackpot,” Chandler spoke up, “his vocabulary is more in keeping with a young adult.”

Molly turned and gave him a smile. “Very good. And I agree. He used ‘lousy’ and ‘crappy’ which would be more appropriate for a twenty-year-old than a thirty-five year old. He also said his mother needed him. It indicates an inflated sense of self-importance.”

“Aren’t all men self-important?”

Molly again had to smile at Chandler’s question. “Pretty much,” she agreed, amused. “But in this case, he lumps his mother in with all his other problems. It shows minimal separation. I would guess this guy hasn’t had a great deal of life experience apart from his nuclear family.”

“This is good, I think—” Seth’s thought was interrupted by the sound of his cell phone. Grabbing it from the clip on his belt, Seth flipped it open and placed it against his ear. “Yes?” There was a lengthy pause, then “Say that again. Got it. I’ll be right there.”

“Problem?”

Seth’s brow wrinkled into a deep frown that reached the corners of his eyes. “Maybe. Just got a 911 call for a floater in Spawn Creek.”

“A woman?” Molly asked, a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. “Could it be John’s mother?”

“Won’t know for a while.” Seth stood and put his notepad into the breast pocket of his uniform shirt. “I’ve got to go.”

“I’ll go with you,” Chandler offered.

Seth shook his head. “No way. I don’t want any press on this just yet.”

“It’s a crime scene, Seth,” Chandler argued. “I’ve got every right to be there with a camera crew.”

Molly saw a flash of anger pass between the two men. It was so intense that she actually flinched.

“No camera, Chandler. Not on this one.”

“Why? What’s so special about this one?”

“It’s bad,” Seth answered slowly. “Really bad.”

Chapter Three

“Is she still hurling?” Seth asked without turning. He was crouched close to the remains, overseeing the horrific but necessary task of pulling the torso from the brackish shallows of Spawn Creek.

Chandler glanced over his shoulder to where he’d hurriedly parked the car. Molly was doubled over behind a shrub, about fifty discreet yards away. He didn’t blame her one bit. It was everything he could do to keep his own revulsion in check. “Yep. We’ve all been there.” He felt genuine sympathy for the woman but was a little perplexed by her reaction. “She has an M.D., you’d think she’d be better equipped for something like this.”

Seth shot him a quick glance. “I don’t think anyone can be prepared for something like this. Hell, I’m not prepared. What kind of animal could do this?”

Chandler shrugged, knowing his brother’s question was rhetorical. There wasn’t an explanation for this kind of savagery. At least, none that any sane person could conjure. This was brutal, ugly and violent. As bad as anything he’d seen during his tour in the first Gulf War.

“It’s going to be tough to get an ID,” Seth remarked to the crime-scene tech preparing to transport the remains. “Whoever did this went to a lot of trouble to make it virtually impossible for us to identify her.”

“Unless you can find the rest of her,” Chandler suggested. That thought made his stomach clench with renewed repugnance.

Seth stood and expelled an audible breath. Chandler knew his brother well. Seth would do whatever it took to find justice for this poor woman.

As the tech was lifting the remains onto the body bag, Chandler spotted something. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing in the general direction of a dark impression on the torso’s left shoulder.

Both men peered closer, examining the bizarre marking. “Maybe that’ll help you with the identification.” Chandler suggested.

“Looks postmortem,” the crime tech offered as he stopped to photograph the marking from various angles. “A burn of some kind.”

“It’s something,” Seth remarked, though his tone didn’t indicate much hope that this bit of information would actually bear fruit. “I want the M.E. on this now,” he instructed. “Don’t want to wait for the full report. Have someone send over the photographs as soon as they’re printed. And get me the estimate on time of death.”

“That’s going to be hard,” the tech replied. “The water temperature is fifty-two degrees, hard to get exacts on floaters.”

“I’ll take approximates for now,” Seth fairly barked, frustration evident in his tone. He turned to Chandler. “Why don’t you take the doctor back to her car. I’ve got my guys coming out here for a full search of the banks and divers on their way to see if the rest of our Jane Doe might be somewhere upstream.”

“Three different rivers and two lakes feed into this creek, bro. That’s going to be like looking for a needle in a stack of needles.”

Seth shrugged. “True, so after you drop off Dr. Jameson, give Savannah a call and let her know I probably won’t be home for a while.”

“Will do,” Chandler agreed, placing a hand on his brother’s shoulder to give a comforting squeeze. “God. Do you think—”

“This was the work of your morning caller?”

Seth met his gaze. “My gut tells me yes. Guy calls in, says he offed his mother? If it wasn’t, this would stretch coincidence.” Seth shot a sympathetic glance across the clearing. “I think that also means you owe the good doctor an apology.”

“One of the first things on my list,” Chandler agreed easily. Molly looked rather pathetic, and his protective instincts came rushing to the fore. It surprised him that he should feel such a strong desire to walk over and pull her into his arms. She was, after all, an acquaintance. For now, his brain suggested. So he lusted for her and he didn’t like seeing her so upset. That didn’t make him a creep. Actually, he thought, his posture straightening, it made him one hell of a nice guy. Hopefully she would notice. He gave Seth’s shoulder a final squeeze. “Keep me in the loop on this one, okay?”

“You were the first point of contact for him. You’re already in the loop.” He jerked his chin across the field to Molly. “So’s she.”

“My thought exactly,” Chandler said grimly. “Keep me posted?”

“Will do.” Seth was back in sheriff mode as he strode to talk to his people. Chandler went the other way. Walking through the long grass, he was mindful of each step, knowing the police would be combing every inch of the area for evidence over the next several hours. So what was the deal? he wondered. What kind of sicko could hack a woman up like that, and, most disturbing, was it John? Was this the mother he had claimed to have killed? If so, something told him this was the beginning rather than the end.

He found Molly sitting in the grass. Her slender shoulders lifted and fell as she sucked in deep, calming breaths. She seemed to have regained most of her composure, even though her skin was still a pasty shade of gray.

He reached his hand out to pull her up. She wobbled unsteadily. He shot out his other hand to support her elbow, and at the same time she put a shaky hand on his chest to brace herself. “Ready to go?” he asked.

“About half an hour ago would’ve been fine. Thanks, I’m okay now.” She took a small step back, and reluctantly he let go, allowing her to brush the grass and debris from the back of her skirt in what he recognized as a “hands off” sign. Interesting.

He pointed to his car. “How about I run you home?”

“Oh, I—”

He started walking toward the row of vehicles parked off to the side. “I’ve got a bottle of water in the car. You still look a little green.” And, God only knew, he felt a little green himself.

She gave him a small smile. “Sorry about that.”

“No need to apologize. I’ve seen battle-tested soldiers and seasoned detectives have the same reaction. It’s basic human nature to be nauseated seeing something like that.”

“I should have been able to handle it. I thought I’d graduated from being a total wuss.”

Chandler smiled sympathetically. He gave her points for maintaining her sense of humor. “I had no idea there was a graduation process for wussiness.”

She rolled her pretty, green eyes. “Silly, I know.” Her soft mouth curved. “But medical schools insist on future doctors having some sort of qualifications before they practice. I made it. But unfortunately not before earning the nickname ‘Meltdown Molly’ after my first anatomy class. Saw the body on the slab and dropped like the proverbial stone.”

He laughed. “Since you’ve got an M.D. after your name, I assume you overcame that tendency.”

“Yeah. So did I,” she said on a deep sigh. “Until a little while ago.” Her eyes flickered toward the activity on the shore, then back to him. “That poor, poor woman. Only someone consumed with hatred could’ve done something that vicious.”

“There are a lot of sick bastards out there,” he agreed grimly. “I believe you nailed it this morning. Caller John wasn’t a hoax.”

She stopped in midstride to clutch his arm, surprising him by the strength of her grip. And his own reaction to having her slender fingers clasped around his bicep. Heat shot up his arm. Talk about bad timing.

“Is that—I mean is she John’s mother?”

“Since Jasper isn’t the murder capital of the world, it only makes sense that whoever called in this morning was telling the truth.”

“Sick bastard is right,” she agreed under her breath, surprising him again.

Her hand fell away and they continued up to where his car waited. “Isn’t that a little harsh for a shrink? Aren’t you supposed to understand depraved behaviors?”

“Understand—sure. I also understand that anyone who can decapitate a woman’s head, as well as her hands and feet, deserves whatever severe remedy is available from the courts. Hopefully something that involves a lethal injection after he’s spent all those years of appeals locked in his cell watching an endless loop of videos of his victim.”

HE WISHED HE’D MADE A VIDEO so he could watch himself killing her over and over again. But he wasn’t that stupid. Hell, he didn’t even have a video camera. He’d have to make do with the sharp, full-color mental images of the Big Event.

“This is so cool!”

He looked at his friend and easily accepted the praise. Now if you could just see the movie in my head—that would really impress you. “All I have left to do is connect these two wires.”

He liked having an audience as he worked. Even if the audience was only two of his peers. Well, he didn’t think they were his peers. While they were the same age and had grown up together, the other men were followers, and he was a leader. Soon everyone would know that. Soon everyone would see that he really was destined for greatness.

“Will this, like, totally blow up the whole street, or what?”

He finished capping the twisted wires and fit them inside the remote-control device. “It’ll get the job done.”

“So then we call the TV station and the papers and—”

His pointed stare silenced his friend. “We don’t do anything. I make the decisions.”

“We’re in this, too,” the youngest member of the group whined.

Man, he hated whining. It reminded him of her. And thinking about her always made his heart race and his palms sweat with helpless rage. Ha! he thought triumphantly. Not so helpless now, am I Mama? He gave the other man a cold look. “Do you want to end up like my mother?”

The younger man gulped and shook his shaved head.

“This operation has one leader and that’s me.” Jesus. Power was euphoric. His heart raced, but this time from excitement. It was all coming together. Just like he’d said it would. Like a ball rolling downhill, his confidence gained momentum. He was empowered by his own smarts and skill. “I chose you all,” he looked from one to the other. The boss man. In charge. Master of his own fate. Hell, yeah!

“Handpicked each one of you,” he said as if it were God’s hand that had chosen them. And why not? He was the next best thing. “This mission is critical. If my orders aren’t followed to the letter, or if either of you gets out of line, you’ll be replaced.” He paused for effect. Nice, real nice. They were about wetting their pants. “Is that clear?”

He gloated inside as they nodded, eyes wide, showing fear and demonstrating the respect he so richly deserved. His mentor was right. He was a natural-born leader. This was his destiny. It was so close now, he could almost taste it.

“We’ll store the bomb in the shed out by the old Greeley Mine,” he told them.

“Why not just plant it now?”

Again his authority was being challenged and again he felt a sudden and intense rush of rage. Pain, sharp and intense stabbed behind his eyes, and blood rushed to his skin like fiery sheet lightning. He grabbed his questioner, balled up his fist and punched him. The other man staggered backward from the blow, crashing into a table and scattering components onto the floor.

“Don’t.” He got a grip on the fallen man’s shirt and hauled him to his feet.

“Ever.” He punched him again, this time blood spurted from his friend’s nose.

“Question.” He pulled back and gut punched him. His pal doubled over.

“Me.” He jerked up his knee and made contact with the other man’s chin.

Bleeding and unconscious, the guy crumpled to the floor, then lay motionless.

Power. He had it. He was invincible now. He gave the other man a hard look. “Any more questions?”

“Not me, dude.”

As it should be. “Good.” Though his knuckles hurt from the contact with the man’s jaw, that little bit of physical exertion had allowed him to release some of the fury surging through his system. Not as much as killing him would’ve done, but killing the weasel dog wasn’t in the cards. He smiled inwardly. At least not today. He still had a use for his good old buddy.

His heartbeat resumed its normal cadence as his blood pressure went down. “There’s still some covert work to be done.” He wiped the spatter of his victim’s blood from his hand to his jeans and stepped over the man’s extended legs. “I’ll be giving each of you a specific assignment. Are you ready for your instructions?”

MOLLY ARRIVED BACK at her modest apartment feeling utterly exhausted. On the plus side, her stomach had quieted. On the minus side, she was struggling to push the horrific image of the mutilated torso from her mind.

She parked and walked the short distance to her front door, inserted her key and breathed in the calming scent of familiarity. Since she lived alone, the scents from her abundance of potpourri and candles were the closest substitute she had to hearing “Welcome home, honey, how was your day?”

As was her habit, she dropped her purse and keys on the foyer table and automatically pressed the button on her telephone’s answering machine. The first four messages were to her home number. Three hang-ups and one from her mentor Gavin Templesman.

“Molly, honey, I heard about the show and I’m just calling to see how you’re dealing with it. Call me when you get in.”

She’d call Gavin back later. When she no longer had a burning desire to damn him to hell for having her fill in on the show. Intellectually she knew that Gavin wasn’t responsible for getting her dragged into the murder of that poor woman, emotionally she felt like sharing some of the bad karma.

Two beeps sounded, followed by a mechanical voice announcing, “Switching to remote message retrieval. Inbox for Dr. Jameson accessed.”

She stripped off her jacket as she listened to the lone message. Her ten-o’clock appointment for the next morning was canceling. Again.

“Lester,” she said as the message ended, “that’s three appointments in a row, pal. I’m sensing you’re not serious about working on your issues.”

She jotted a note to remind herself to send Lester Boyle a letter explaining that his therapy was court ordered, and she was going to have to inform the court of his violation of that order.

“Nothing like telling a guy with a serious anger-management problem that you’re ratting him out,” she mumbled as she walked back through her bedroom to her bath and turned on the faucet. Could this day suck any more? she wondered as she prepared for her favorite indulgence.

As the Roman tub filled with hot, steamy water, she added a handful of lavender salts to the bath. Next, she lit the lavender-scented candles around the back ledge and went into her bedroom to retrieve the latest L. S. Connor novel, Hide and Seek. She placed the book on the tiled first step up to the tub. Next, she went into the kitchen to pour herself a glass of wine, returned to the bath to place it next to the book and then stripped off the rest of her clothes.

In no time she left her world behind, engrossed in the latest adventures of Connor’s fictional hero, Caleb “Lucky” Wyatt. Wyatt was equal parts James Bond and Indiana Jones and Molly’s personal guilty pleasure. The author’s style was wonderful and the larger-than-life tales of Wyatt—head of ACE, the Anti-Crime Enforcement Agency—were both entertaining and romantic.

Yes, she was fully aware of the fact that she was living vicariously through a fictional hero—the kind that didn’t exist in the real world. Yes, she knew that when Wyatt seduced a woman in the book it wasn’t her. And that was a shame, because Wyatt was her ultimate fantasy man. He was intelligent, sexy, handsome, resourceful, cool under pressure, quick on his feet. He was—

A lot like Chandler Landry.

Molly almost dropped her coveted novel into the tub when that disturbing and unwelcomed parallel popped into her head.

Thinking carnal thoughts about a fake guy in a book was okay. It was safe. Equating Chandler to Wyatt was just wrong. Actually, merely thinking about Chandler in those terms was the total opposite of safe.

Aside from being a virtual stranger, he was everything she avoided in a man. There was the whole thing about his looks. It had been her experience that if the Good Lord gave a man physical perfection, he countered the generosity by subtracting important elements from other areas. Gorgeous men were usually arrogant. Usually self-possessed. Usually as shallow as a mud puddle after a long drought.

Then there was the money thing. Chandler—all the Landrys—were loaded. Old-family-money rich. The town of Jasper was founded by and named for Jasper Landry, Chandler’s however-many-greats grandfather. Rich guys were different. Different rules, different standards. Not that she was impoverished, but Molly knew he was way out of her league.

Then there was the celebrity thing. Chandler was a version of local royalty. His life was public and Molly—perhaps above all else—valued her privacy. It was safer to guard her past than to have to answer painful and intrusive questions.

She read the papers. She knew that any woman associated with Chandler normally got a mention of some sort. “Not mention,” she muttered as she put her book down and took a sip of wine. “A label,” she continued, sarcastically recalling what she’d read. “Former model blah-blah, or disgraced debutante blah-blah. Pass, thanks.”

She heard the phone ring in the bedroom but opted to let the machine pick up. She returned to her book and hated the fact that as she read her mind’s eye pictured Chandler in the role of her beloved Wyatt.

IT WAS WELL AFTER MIDNIGHT when Chandler arrived at his family’s ranch house. While he would always consider the place home, the huge clapboard house was currently occupied by his brothers Shane and Sam. But that was about to change. Sam and Callie were in the process of building their own place on the east edge of the property. Chandler guessed the decision to move out was two-fold. First and foremost, Sam and Callie had two kids and smart money said more would follow. Second, sharing living space with Shane probably cut into their private time. Assuming married people with two kids actually had private time.

Shane greeted him by opening the door wearing a deep scowl.

“Good evening,” Chandler commented, unable to keep the brotherly taunt out of his tone.

“Not when you’re stuck with the Housekeeper from Hell under your roof.”

“I heard that!” came a familiar voice from just inside.

Soon Taylor Reese was just behind Shane, her small frame barely visible behind Shane’s huge bulk.

“You drank the last of the milk, so you should be the one making the middle-of-the-night run to the store.”

It was obvious that Taylor wasn’t the least bit intimidated by Shane’s size. In fact, Chandler was certain that if need be, Taylor would climb up on a box in order to slug his youngest brother if the mood hit. And judging by the dagger glances they exchanged, he wondered if some hitting might not be in the very near future.

“Shopping is part of your job description,” Shane countered.

Taylor planted her hands on her slender hips. “I did shop. I just didn’t know you’d be inconsiderate enough to drink the milk meant for the children who live under this roof. Notice I said children,” Taylor continued. “Since you’re the only baby that lives here.” Taylor turned and walked away.

“I want you fired,” Shane yelled at her retreating back as he stomped down the porch steps.

“Well,” Taylor called over her shoulder, “I want you rendered mute, but as my grandma always says, wantin’ ain’t gettin’.”

“Seth’s in the kitchen,” Shane said to Chandler as he passed. “Normally I’d say go on in and help yourself to some coffee, but you’d better run that past Taylor the Tyrant first.”

Chandler was still chuckling as he entered and went to meet Seth. Taylor was nowhere to be seen, so he guessed she had retired to her room for the night.

Seth was seated at the kitchen table, poring over photos Chandler recognized as the crime-scene shots. After grabbing a beer from the fridge, he sat in his chair. No matter how old they got or how long they’d been away, each of the Landrys seemed to automatically fall into the chair assigned them as children.

“Thanks for coming,” Seth said, looking up. “I figured it was closer to have you meet me out here than to drive to my office.”

“No sweat,” Chandler returned easily, twisting the top from the bottle and taking a long swallow. “What’s up?”

“This,” he said, sliding an eight-by-twelve color photograph across the table. It was an enlargement of the mark they’d noticed on the body earlier. “Mean anything?”

Chandler studied the photograph. “A circle with the number thirteen in it. Looks like a burn.”

Seth nodded. “The M.E. says it was branded into the skin post mortem.”

“Well,” Chandler let out a breath as his mind whirled. “It could be from a ranch in the area. Easy enough to check.”

“I did that. Look at the size. Average brand is about three inches. This is smaller than a cattle brand, and there’s no listing in the registries for a thirteen in a circle.”

Chandler took a slug of beer. Unlucky thirteen. Could be anything. But somehow he knew there was a correlation…somewhere. “My station is carried on channel thirteen. Maybe Caller John just doesn’t like WOM-TV 13.” A chill of foreboding made the back of his neck itch. He wondered if Molly was asleep. She might have some insights on the whole thirteen thing. And he wouldn’t exactly mind hearing the sound of her voice. To know she was okay, he reasoned. It had nothing to do with the fact that he found her incredibly attractive and interesting. He glanced at his watch. Twelve-fifteen. Too late to call—

Seth frowned as he pulled the photograph over to take another look. He glanced up, and Chandler could read the concern he saw in his brother’s eyes. “Dislike for the station. Maybe. Or this guy was specifically sending a message to you.”

“Unless that message is to convey he likes to dismember women, I’m not real clear on his meaning. Besides, why me? I’m not exactly a hated figure.”

“Yeah, I know, you’re adored by millions,” Seth teased. “The M.E. enhanced the mark enough to discover an interesting detail.”

“What?”

Seth turned the photo so Chandler could look at it again. “Look at this,” he pointed to the inner edge of the circle. “See the tiny dots around the thirteen? Looks like this was a homemade branding iron. Copper most likely. Something someone soldered in their garage. And look at the edges of the brand. Iron was too hot according to the ME. And left on the skin for longer than the couple of seconds required to mark cattle. No rancher did this. At least not a competent one.”

“Great,” Chandler snorted, disgusted. “So we’re looking for a guy who’s good with tools. That narrows the field to pretty much anyone who lives in Montana.”

“I need you to go back through your tapes. Maybe this guy has called you thirteen times before. Maybe you’ve mentioned a story thirteen times. Maybe—”

“Maybe,” Chandler interrupted. “This has nothing to do with me. Have you thought of that?”

“Maybe it doesn’t,” Seth said flatly. “Maybe this sick jerk just branded thirteen on his mother—or whoever this woman actually is—for kicks. Then again, maybe it does have something to do with you.” He got up to grab the coffeepot and brought it back to the table.

“He could just be a sicko who wanted to capture the moment in living color for posterity. Believe me, Seth, we gets lots of calls from people who are attention junkies. It’s probably about him, I was probably just a randomly selected schmuck who happened to have open calls at the time he decided to kill. And there’s still the big, as-yet-to-be-determined ‘if.’ We still don’t know who Floater Jane is, so—”

“I’m willing to lay odds it’s your caller’s mother. But erring on the side of caution, remember that he called your station, your show. So directly or indirectly there must be some sort of correlation. Find out what you can back at the studio, okay? Coffee?”

Chandler shook his head, preferring to stick with his beer. Seth refilled his mug and set the pot on the table before sitting down again. “Nothing would please me more than knowing there’s no connection to you. But I’m sure as hell not leaving any stones unturned until I know that answer for certain.”

He and his brother shared one of those silent, meaningful moments that were as natural among the Landry brothers as breathing. Sure, they’d battled their way through childhood, fighting over little things as most siblings do. But he knew in his heart—as they all did—that Seth would have his back. “I’ll get the info to you ASAP.”

“Thanks. And I think we should ask—” Seth’s words were cut off by the urgent beeping of his pager. “Speak of the devil.”

“What devil?” Chandler demanded as the hair on the back of his neck rose.

He was halfway out of his chair when his brother said, “Molly. A patrol unit was just dispatched to her house. John made contact.”

Chapter Four

“You’ll be punished for not listening to me. Sleep well, Doc.” It was the unmistakable voice of John, echoing through the house.

Rage surged through Chandler as he listened to the message for the third time. Silently he fought to keep from punching the girlie peach-colored wall above the foyer table. Judging by Molly’s frazzled expression and trembling fingers, Chandler was pretty sure the very last thing she needed was a moment of purely macho idiocy from him.

But it sure would have felt good.

“Mind if we sit for a minute?” Seth asked, giving his brother a calm-down-right-now look.

Nice work if he could do it, Chandler thought.

Molly seemed momentarily confused, then smiled weakly as she raised her hand and ushered them further inside the modest town house.

If he thought the paint was girlie, it couldn’t hold a candle to the combination living and dining rooms. It didn’t take any crack investigative skills to see that a woman was the only occupant. The place was a swirl of peach and pink flowers. He felt like a fool when he took a seat on the sofa—if that’s what it was. He was forced to share the diminutive, floral two-seater with his brother. It was a tight fit, and he wasn’t feeling particularly friendly right now. He and Seth fit snuggly side by side, knees brushing the edge of the brass-and-glass oval coffee table that was just big enough for the china bowl filled with dried flowers. Next to the flowers—which he quickly realized were the cause of the subtle fragrance in the room—a stack of silver coasters stood in a precise tower.

“Tell me about the call,” Seth prompted.

“I was in the tub,” she began.

Chandler swallowed. Up to that point he’d been trying to ignore the fact that she was clad in a pale-pink, very clingy robe. Though it was knotted tightly at her waist and fell modestly to just above her knees, it was, in fact, covering her very naked body.

He was going to burn in hell. No ifs, ands or buts. This poor woman had done nothing but fill in on his show and all of a sudden she was caught in the cross-hairs of some sicko. And what am I doing? his own voice sneered inside his head. Lusting. Big-time.

Molly sucked in a slow breath. It didn’t help his lust quotient. Nope. Not when the fabric pulled taut across her chest, leaving virtually nothing to his overactive imagination.

“I let the machine pick up,” she continued.

He tried not to focus on the low, sensual cadence of her voice as it caressed his ears.

“I was reading, so I didn’t get the message right away.”

“That explains the delay,” Seth remarked. “Is the time stamp accurate on the machine?”

She nodded. “But I already checked the caller ID, it was from a blocked number.”

“If you give him permission, Seth can dump the LUDs.”

She blinked, then directed those wide, gray-green eyes in his direction. He wanted to go to her and gather her in his arms. The old, me man, you woman, B.S. Ridiculous. As if she wasn’t freaked out enough after the day she’d had.

Down boy, he cautioned his libido.

“LUDs?” she asked.

“Local usage details,” Chandler supplied, relaxing a little. “Knowing the date and time of the call, the phone company can pinpoint where the call originated even from a blocked line.”

His remark caused the concern to drain from her face. In its place, color returned, leaving her with a freshly washed glow that only seemed to heighten her attractiveness. Chandler made the fatal mistake of stealing a glance in his brother’s direction. Maybe she wasn’t picking up on his secret fantasies, but one look at Seth told him his brother knew full well what direction his thought processes had taken.

Chandler decided to ignore his brother for the moment and silently commanded his mind and body to re-focus. “Is your home number listed?”

She shook her head, allowing a few strands of dark-blond hair to fall forward. She shoved them back off her face, then said, “No.”

“But there was a message from one of your patients?” Seth prompted. “Do you give your home number to your patients.”

“I have remote access to my office voice mail. That call from Mr. Boyle actually went to my office.”

“How do you know the difference?”

She explained the system, then added, “I do give some patients my home number. It depends on the circumstances.”

“So, your number is out there,” Chandler concluded, rubbing the stubble on his chin.

“Selectively,” she replied, a twinge of annoyance in her tone. “I treat a variety of patients. Some for years. I only give out my home number to those select few people I know don’t pose a threat to me.”

“Ever been wrong?” Chandler countered.

Her eyes narrowed slightly before she answered. “No. Not once.”

He knew he couldn’t make the same claim, so he wondered about the veracity of her statement but decided this wasn’t the right time to challenge her.

“Mind if I look around?” Seth asked.

“For what?” she asked.

“I just want to check out the windows and locks, I’ll have the officer who responded to your call do the exterior.”

Seth’s question seemed to drain some of the color from her face. “That’s sweet of you. And yes, I’m careful never to leave anything unlocked, but a second pair of eyes never hurts. Especially not when I consider that John has already managed to get his hands on my unlisted, private number.”

She rose, Seth stood, so Chandler did the same. He went along for the walk, not so much because he didn’t think his brother was capable of securing her home, but just out of sheer curiosity. Besides, he knew that eventually, he’d get a grand tour of her bedroom, and he pretty much planned to savor that moment.

“…is all there is to it,” she finished, leading the parade of very large Landry men into the private sanctuary of her bedroom.

Seth went directly to the window, whereas Chandler made a beeline directly to her bookcase. When he reached for her copy of In Too Deep, maybe her all-time favorite L. S. Connor novel, she had to swallow the urge to yell, “Don’t touch that!” at his very impressive back.

Impressive wasn’t a good enough word. Nope, not for Chandler Landry. A decent sale at her favorite boutique could be called impressive. This man needed something more, an adjective that captured his absolute, unfettered perfection. No wonder he had garnered fame in the Jasper dating world. Heck, in this world he was a god among mortals. At least when compared to her pretty average dating options. Molly wasn’t a nun, but she truly couldn’t remember ever having such an extreme emotional and physical reaction to a man. It was as though every fiber of her being had Chandler radar as she watched him flip through her most-prized possession.

Nerves still frazzled, adrenaline still pumping, she needed a distraction right now. And what better distraction than Chandler? She noted every detail—from his clothing to his expressively handsome face.

His jeans fit like a second denim skin, particularly around the thighs, where the fabric was worn and tight, encasing powerful legs that her brain instantly stripped naked.

Mentally scolding herself didn’t seem to help. Nope, libido had saturated her intellect. She’d wanted a distraction from fear, and what better way than to replace it with lusty thoughts. Just because she was thinking about him naked didn’t mean she had to act on that impulse. She just went with it. His hips and waist were narrow, but, given his height and the breadth of his massive shoulders, she was hard-pressed to classify him as anything other than huge.

Normally she would have considered that a definite deterrent. She wasn’t usually attracted to large men, maybe because she didn’t like feeling physically inferior to anyone. But tonight, as the clock on her bedside table rolled close to 2:00 a.m., had he crooked his finger in her direction, she would have taken a running jump.

She took an involuntary and protective step backward, almost touching the wall in her desire to put some distance between herself and the handsome image of Chandler running his fingertips over her coveted books.

She swallowed the lump of primal desire that was trying desperately to lodge in her dry throat. So what if he was more than six feet of chiseled perfection. It didn’t matter that his eyes were a rich brown, flecked with just enough gold to elevate them out of the “ordinary” category. And the man had a great body, so great, in fact, that she was sure the mere memory would haunt her dreams.

“That does it,” Seth said.

You have no idea, she thought, plastering as benign a smile on her face as possible.

“We’ll be going, now,” Seth continued, walking toward the second floor hallway.

“Unless you’d like me—uh, us to stay.” Chandler offered.

Us? No. You? Bigger no. “I’m fine now,” she insisted, flattening herself against the wall so that no part of his massive and appealing frame made contact with her.

He paused, looming large above her. He was close, close enough for her to feel the warm wash of his breath against her upturned face.

Speaking of breath, Molly was holding hers. A fact she was fairly sure wasn’t lost on him. She based that on the slightly self-satisfied smile curling the right side of his mouth. She was embarrassed, more so when she felt the heat begin to warm her cheeks.

“I would be happy to stay with you tonight,” Chandler offered in a smooth, inviting voice that had her knees threatening to buckle beneath her.

With some effort, she was able to level her gaze and keep her pleasant smile from slipping. Every cell in her body was screaming, “Yes! Stay! Me first!” but luckily her intellect had returned from its stroll down Chandler Lane. “Tonight is almost over and I have to be at my office by eight. But, thanks, anyway.”

“SHE SHOT YOU DOWN, deal with it.”

Chandler slammed the door of his brother’s cruiser and glared at him by the dim light of the dashboard console. “My offer was sincere.”

Seth snorted loudly. “Sincerely meant to separate her from her panties.”

“I was being nice.”

“Please, bro,” Seth said as he steered out of the small community and turned west, back toward the Lucky 7 Ranch. “I knew letting you come with me was a bad idea. You were practically drooling over the poor woman.”

“She is seriously droolworthy,” Chandler insisted, his mind filling with images of Molly in her silky pink robe. “Did you see the legs? Incredible legs.”

“Leading, eventually, to an incredible mind. Face it, Chandler, the woman is too smart to get involved with a guy like you.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence. What’s that supposed to mean, anyway?”

“It means you’re out of your league. Molly impresses me as a kind, compassionate woman who doesn’t need you messing with her.”

“When did I become a serial killer?” Chandler muttered. “I’m a decent guy. I’ve got—“

“An aversion to meaningful, interpersonal relationships. Face it, dear brother, you don’t want any part of her. She’s happily ever after, and you’re happily even after.”

“You’re making me sound like a real jerk.”

“I love you, Chandler. I’m your older brother and it’s my job to tell you when you’re about to make a huge mistake. Consider it said.”

“And the mistake would be?”

“Setting your sights on a nice lady who has a serious problem just now. John—or whatever his real name turns out to be—has obviously fixated on her. Don’t you think one stalker at a time is enough?”

“Stalker? Don’t you think you’re being a little harsh?”

“Okay, but you get the point. You’re probably only interested in her because she’s pretending not to be interested in you. You’re predictable, Chandler. You always want the things you can’t have. And once you get them, you get bored and move on.”

“That’s not true.”

“Allison Janeway?”

He hadn’t heard that name in years but still remembered the months of pleading phone calls and tearful scenes after he’d broken off with her. “She was an exception.”

“Bethany Carter?”

Chandler winced. “She didn’t take our parting well. But you can hardly blame me for the overreaction of those two women.”

“Cynthia Felder.”

Chandler felt annoyance knot in his gut. “Are you spewing these from memory, or did you keep a list?”

“Actually,” Seth’s tone indicated he was amused, “I was listing them alphabetically. Next comes, um, Debbie Gayle. Edie Hanover. Francine Smy—“

“I get it,” Chandler cut in. “So maybe I’m just picky. Or I haven’t met the right woman yet. Ever consider that?”

“Nope. Every one of the women you’ve dated have been great. I think—“

“Some of them were not great,” Chandler argued. “You may have a long memory but it’s pretty damned selective. Remember Shauna Bellows? She was a long way from great.”

Seth chuckled. “But she loved you, Chandler. She desperately wanted to bear your children.”

“Was that before or after she went to rehab for her secret pill habit?”

“Okay, so Shauna wasn’t the best choice for a life partner. Face it, bro. The truth of the matter is you aren’t ready for a life partner. Everything is still all about you.”

“I don’t recall you falling on your sword at your wedding reception. You’re happily married, and no one ever thought that would happen. Look at Chance and Val. Who knew he’d ever succumb to wedded bliss. Hell, look at Clayton! Sam and Callie. We all thought Sam would never remarry after that disaster with Lynn and then he found Callie.”

“Sam almost blew it by keeping his secret.”

Chandler sighed. “Point. But my secret isn’t like Sam’s. And when I told you, you promised you’d never bring it up.”

“I haven’t told a single person,” Seth said, pausing long enough to make a cross over his heart. “But I’ve never met a secret that didn’t come back to bite somebody in the ass.”

DRAGGING was the only way to describe the way Molly moved toward her door at 7:45 that morning. She was twisting the earphone connected to her cell into her ear while balancing her briefcase and a travel mug of hot coffee.

“Dammit!” she cried as the hot beverage splashed out on her hand as she turned the key and locked her door. The morning wasn’t looking up as she might have liked.

As was her practice, Molly made phone calls during her drive. It was efficient and allowed her to make the best use of her time. She knew which of her friends were early risers, which ones got up late, and she selected the calls to return accordingly.

Slipping behind the wheel of her car, she settled all of her things into place, then pressed the preprogrammed button on her cell and laid it on the console between the seats.

“Hello?” Claire Esterhouse’s voice was chipper, perky and just the thing she needed to jump-start a better mood.

“Hi. Sorry I didn’t get back to you yesterday. I was—“

“On the news and everything,” Claire interrupted. “Did you see that poor woman’s torso yourself? Was it as disgusting as I imagine? Was it the guy who called when you were on TV’s mother?”

“Let me know when it’s my turn to talk,” Molly teased.

She and Claire had known each other for years, been roommates for a while, as well. They were close friends separated by life. Claire was now married, had moved to Helena with her successful, pharmaceutical-salesman husband and was hoping to start a family. They got together whenever they could, but Molly still longed for the old days, when Claire was only a bedroom away.

“Stan and I couldn’t believe it when we watched the tape. By the way, I taped the show with the hunky newsman, in case you’d like to see it.”

“Not really,” Molly admitted. She explained how many hours she had spent with Seth and Chandler reviewing the segment and looking for some insight to John’s identity. Then she told Claire about the message John left on her machine.

“Ohmygod!” Claire cried, genuine concern in her voice. “Why didn’t you call us? We could have come down.”

“A hundred-mile round trip? I don’t think so, but I appreciate the thought. Besides, Seth and Chandler came over and—“

“The hunky newsman was at your place? Please, please tell me you stripped naked and had your way with him. Better yet, tell me he stripped naked and you have pictures.”

“Only in my mind,” Molly admitted. “Pathetic, huh?”

“Then we’re both pathetic ’cause I’m getting a pretty intense mental image right now.”

“Claire,” Molly joked with pretend sternness, “remember your wonderful husband.”

“All I have to remember is not to yell out ‘Ohh Chandler, baby,’ when I’m having a perfectly appropriate and normal fantasy during my next sexual encounter with my husband.”

Molly laughed, and her mood lightened. “You are so bad.”

“Forget me, tell me all about him. Is he as cute as the billboards and posters all over the place? And when are you going to see him again?”

“Yes and no.”

“Good and fool! Jeez, Mol, the man is a walking, talking invitation to wild passion. Take a walk on the wild side, my friend.”

“The last time I took that walk, I tripped and fell flat on my face,” she said.

“So your last few relationships haven’t worked out. That doesn’t mean you stop trying.”

“I haven’t stopped,” Molly insisted. “I’m just taking a leave of absence.”

“Boring. You don’t have to marry the guy. But as a fully qualified, board-certified therapist, I’m strongly urging you to have mindless sex with him.”

“Because that’s always a great way to approach a relationship,” Molly returned easily. “Besides, he’s a Landry, Claire. Of the Landry Family. Of the wealthy and privileged Landrys. Forget being out of my league. He’s out of my universe.”

“What? You don’t think you can love and be loved by a rich guy? Didn’t I teach you anything during our years together?”

“He’s a public figure, Claire. And I’m the Queen of Private. And this conversation is completely silly because I’m probably not going to see him ever again.”

“Chicken.”

She heard the click and bleep of an incoming call, then said, “Gotta run, I’ve got another call.”

“Cowardly chicken.”

Molly was still grinning when she tapped the button to catch the incoming call. “Dr. Jameson.”

“Molly, dear, you didn’t return my call last night.”

“I’m sorry, Gavin,” she said with genuine emotion. “Things got a little strange.” She proceeded to fill him in on the details of her long night. As always her mentor and friend listened patiently as she told him everything.

Well, almost everything. She didn’t share with him that Chandler had her libido on high alert. Nor did she intend to. Not that Gavin wouldn’t have gladly listened, that was a given. He wouldn’t have cared that she found Chandler mind-alteringly appealing. Gavin was the most polished man she’d ever known, with the social graces of royalty. They’d been colleagues and friends since her residency, but she wouldn’t feel comfortable telling him about her fantasy love life. She pulled into the parking lot of the strip medical center where she kept her office.

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