Seeing the figure dressed in black
disappearing through her motel room
window had shaken Megan badly.
But the evidence he’d left behind
was almost worse.

The killer was taunting her. Mocking her. Daring her to find him.

He’d turned the murder of a young girl into something personal.

When Luke pulled up in his squad car, she was relieved. “Are you all right, Megan?” he said. “Did he hurt you?”

She shook her head, breathing deep to control her emotions. “No, I’m not hurt.” She turned and gestured to the interior of the motel room. “You’d better take a look, the intruder left evidence behind.”

“So that leaves one question,” Luke said slowly.

She tensed, knowing he’d come to the exact same theory she had.

“Why has Liza’s killer targeted you?”

LAURA SCOTT

grew up reading faith-based romance books by Grace Livingston Hill, but as much as she loved the stories, she longed for a bit more mystery and suspense. She is honored to write for the Love Inspired Suspense line, where a reader can find a heartwarming journey of faith amid the thrilling danger.

Laura lives with her husband of twenty-five years and has two children, a daughter and a son, who are both in college. She works as a critical-care nurse during the day at a large level-one trauma center in Milwaukee, Wisconsin, and spends her spare time writing romance.

Please visit Laura at www.laurascottbooks.com, as she loves to hear from her readers.

Lawman-In-Charge
Laura Scott

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom

shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—

of whom should I be afraid?

—Psalms 27:1

This book is dedicated to my daughter, Nicole,

who has been reading my books

long before I sold my first manuscript.

Nicole, I love you and am very proud of you.

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

EPILOGUE

LETTER TO READER

QUESTIONS FOR DISCUSSION

ONE

Megan O’Ryan kept a wary eye on the black sedan staying two cars behind her. She’d noticed the sedan the moment she’d hit the highway, and the driver had kept pace with her all the way into the small town of Crystal Lake.

A nagging itch settled between her shoulder blades. She’d felt the same sensation of being followed just two days ago. Was someone really tailing her?

With an abrupt move, she cranked the steering wheel to the right and pulled into the first vacant parking space on Main Street.

Moments later, the black car passed her by. Wrenching her neck to peer after it, she noticed the driver kept his head averted, but not before she saw the usual dark T-shirt and baseball cap. The tag number was nothing but a blur by the time she switched her attention from the driver to the license plate.

Megan climbed out of her car and stood for a moment, pretending to debate where she should go but really tracking the black car out of the corner of her eye as it pulled into the Gas N Go station located a few blocks north on Main Street.

No way could this be a coincidence. Not again. Not after experiencing the same thing for the third time in the past week. The cars weren’t always the same make or color, but the guy behind the wheel invariably wore dark clothing and a baseball cap tugged low over his eyes.

Megan stifled a surge of alarm as she turned toward Rose’s Café. She wasn’t hungry, but Rose’s was always packed with people, especially in the summer with tourists aplenty, and she could at least get a cup of coffee while she tried to figure out why on earth anyone in Crystal Lake would want to follow her. Three months wasn’t long enough to have made enemies. Especially considering she’d been holed up in her cabin most of the time, leaving only to go to work and back. She’d spoken to just a handful of people.

“Megan! Wait up!”

Katie? The young voice was so much like her sister’s that she spun toward the sound, her heart hammering wildly in her chest. She blinked against the brightness of the sun to see a lithe young woman with long, silky blond hair walking toward her. Her heart stopped. She couldn’t breathe. Hoarsely she called, “Katie? Is that you?”

“Teagan, wait up. Didn’t you hear me?” The blond-haired girl changed directions, moving toward another girl, this one a petite redhead. The blonde caught up and gave the red-haired girl’s shoulder a playful shove. “There’s no rush. It’s not like the guys are going to leave without us.”

Not Katie. Her vision blurred as the loss hit with the force of a tsunami, sucking every bit of oxygen from her lungs. Katie hadn’t been calling her name because Katie was gone.

Megan blinked, forcing her vision to clear, and watched the girls cross the street heading toward a group of boys who stood waiting on the grassy bank of Crystal Lake. She focused on a scowling boy who held himself aloof, dressed head to toe in black with long dark hair that could have used a comb. He looked like trouble with a capital T. Someone she was tempted to warn the young girls about. Except he wasn’t her problem.

Blindly, she turned her attention back toward Rose’s Café, her stomach tight with nausea, as if she’d been sucker punched.

Katie wouldn’t be heading off to her sophomore year at college in the fall, or hanging around with undesirable boys. Katie was dead.

Murdered.

Logically, she knew her younger sister was gone. Yet in that one brief moment when she’d imagined she’d heard Katie calling her name, she’d wanted so badly to believe Katie’s death was nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

But it wasn’t. Katie was gone.

Her church pastor tried to tell her Katie was in a much better place, but she didn’t buy that theory. The real question was why hadn’t God stopped her sweet sister from being murdered? Why hadn’t he taken her, instead?

Desperately trying to get a grip on her rioting emotions, she paused outside Rose’s Café and glanced once again toward the Gas N Go station, where the black car had pulled in. There was no sign of the vehicle now. With a frown, she scanned the entire area, including the various businesses.

The black sedan had disappeared.

Or she’d imagined the whole thing, just like she’d imagined she’d heard Katie.

Exhausted and shaken, Megan slumped against the building, putting a hand to her throbbing head, and swallowed hard against another wave of nausea. “No. No way. I absolutely refuse to be crazy.”

“You refuse, huh?” A tall man stepped forward, blocking her view of the sun. He stood with his arms crossed over his uniformed chest, looking down at her with an arched brow. “So how’s that working for you?”

She grimaced, realizing she’d spoken out loud. Wasn’t it true that insane people didn’t believe they were crazy? Shaking off the bitter fear that plagued her, Megan straightened and belatedly noticed the crisp tan uniform along with the shiny badge pinned to the stranger’s chest.

A cop. Great. This was not what she needed in the middle of her nervous breakdown. She strove for a light tone. “So far, it’s working fine, thanks. Excuse me.” She ducked past him, seeking refuge in Rose’s Café.

She slid onto the only vacant stool at the counter, figuring she wouldn’t be there long. The main reason she’d come at all was to get a good look at the guy driving the black car.

“What can I get for you, sweetie?” Josie, the middle-aged waitress, called all her customers “sweetie.” Megan suspected Josie thought the term was easier than trying to remember so many names, especially in the height of the tourist season.

“A cup of coffee, please.” She glanced back in time to see that the cop who’d followed her into the diner had joined another officer in one of the booths that lined the wall. She turned her attention back to Josie. She wasn’t paranoid enough to think he’d followed her inside to keep an eye on her. Cops had to eat too. “Cream, no sugar.”

“Is that all?” Josie arched an exasperated brow, propping a hand on her plump hip. “Sweetie, you picked the middle of the lunch rush to order a measly cup of coffee?”

Josie obviously wasn’t pleased she’d taken a seat that an otherwise paying customer may have occupied. Since Megan wasn’t sure her legs could hold her weight if she left, she tried to recall the menu. “Ah, I almost forgot. I’ll take a grilled chicken sandwich too.”

“Coming right up.” Josie poured her coffee, pushed a container of cream at her, and then disappeared to give her order to the cook.

Megan sipped her coffee, trying not to notice how several of the locals stared at her with obvious suspicion. Since she’d taken over her aunt’s property, a small cabin on the north shore of Crystal Lake, her status was barely one step above the tourists, but not by much. She’d moved here from Chicago, and people in the town of Crystal Lake, Wisconsin, seemed to carry a grudge against people from Illinois. She should be used to the sensation of being the unwelcome newcomer by now.

Crystal Lake wasn’t a large town, but it was right in the middle of Hope County, which made it the hub of all county activities. The courthouse, the post office and the sheriff’s department headquarters, to name a few. Her tiny log cabin was located ten miles outside of town on a very deserted road with an awesome view of the lake, nice and private, the way she preferred. So what if the general population of Crystal Lake considered her little more than a weird hermit? She didn’t care.

Except when she was being followed.

She turned her head to peek at the pair of cops seated behind her. The taller of the two had impossibly broad shoulders and black hair kept military-short, which did nothing to soften his broad, rugged features. His square jaw was strong and firm, but his nose looked as if it may have been broken at one point. He had dark eyes and tanned skin that made his teeth look shockingly white when he smiled. He was definitely attractive, if you appreciated a tall man in uniform. Since the other cop was much older and shorter and had a slight paunch around his middle, she knew it was the taller man who’d overheard her talking to herself outside. With the sun glare in her eyes, she hadn’t gotten a very good look at him.

What would he say if she went over to announce she thought she was being followed? Probably not much, since she’d also practically told him she was insane.

So how’s that working for you?

Her cheeks burned and she ducked her head, deciding not to bother. There was no point when she hadn’t even managed to get a simple license plate number. Once she had something solid to give them, she’d go to the authorities.

She took another sip of her coffee, reveling in the warmth of the mug despite the sunny day outside. A group from the back of the diner passed behind her on their way out. An elbow hit her hard in the back, causing her to spill her coffee down the front of her green blouse.

“’Scuse me,” a gruff male voice muttered as the group left.

She clenched her teeth against a wave of annoyance and dabbed at the stain. A moment later, Josie set her chicken sandwich in front of her.

“Need anything else, sweetie?” Josie asked, automatically refilling her coffee cup.

“No, thanks.” She forced a smile and gave up on her blouse. Josie slapped her bill upside down next to her plate and sashayed away to attend to her other customers.

She didn’t want to believe the jab to her back had been done on purpose, but she couldn’t help but think so. Why she’d become a target, she had no idea. She wasn’t hurting anyone. She wasn’t even in town very often. She was either in her cabin or working her part-time and rather mundane job of processing DNA samples at the State Crime Lab in Madison.

Obviously, her level of paranoia was already several standard deviations from the mean. Picking at her chicken sandwich, she took only a few bites before pushing her plate away.

Post-traumatic stress disorder. Diagnosed by her psychologist after she’d testified against the serial killer who’d strangled Katie as his last victim. PTSD brought on from being the lead crime scene investigator in a series of murders that included her sister’s. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Katie’s body lying sprawled on the asphalt with the bright orange hollow-braided rope wrapped around her neck.

The image would haunt her forever.

Her boss had forced her to step back from being the lead investigator, but she’d continued working on the case in the lab until she’d gathered enough evidence to nail the man who’d killed her sister. It was small consolation to know Paul Sherman was serving a life sentence in a high-security Illinois prison as a result of her work.

Megan sighed and scrubbed a hand over her eyes. She needed to get a grip. She wasn’t being followed. The people of Crystal Lake weren’t out to get her. And Katie, the sister she’d raised since their parents had died in a tragic car wreck, wasn’t ever coming back.

She’d come to Crystal Lake to heal. To take a break. To find herself. Somehow, she needed to get over her loss. Now that the trial was over, she couldn’t seem to find something to focus on. She tossed down some cash to cover her tab and Josie’s tip before sliding off the stool and heading toward the door.

She really, really didn’t want to believe she was going crazy.

Because if that were truly the case, sheer determination might not be enough to prevent the inevitable.

Lucas Torretti watched the petite woman, her shoulder-length red hair glinting brightly in the sun as she left the diner. She was pretty, in a wholesome girl-next-door kind of way. Must be the sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her cute nose. And when she’d looked up at him, her bright eyes had been almost mesmerizing. He caught Frank’s gaze and lifted his chin in her direction. “Do you know her? Or is she one of the summer tourists?”

Deputy Frank Rawson followed Megan’s lean figure as she climbed back into her car. Out of the group of guys working for the sheriff’s department, Frank was one of the few who didn’t begrudge Luke’s position as interim sheriff. Mainly because Frank had never wanted the job for himself. Frank was serving the last two years of his duty before taking a well-earned retirement. “Yeah, that’s Megan O’Ryan. Moved into the old Dartmouth place. Lucille Dartmouth was her mother’s sister.”

Luke nodded, noting the make of her car, a white Pontiac Sunfire, as she pulled away from the curb. He memorized the tag number, thinking he might run her DMV record just for fun. “What’s her story?”

Frank lifted a disbelieving brow. “What, have you been living under a rock? How could you not have heard about Megan O’Ryan? She’s the infamous crime scene investigator that helped convict the St. Patrick’s Strangler down in Chicago earlier this year. Her younger sister was the perp’s last victim.”

Ouch. That must have been rough. He vaguely remembered the story now. It had hit the national news because the crime scene analyst who’d helped put the pieces of the puzzle together had been removed from the case when they’d discovered her sister was the latest victim. But she’d continued working the case in the lab and had testified in court against her sister’s killer.

No wonder she’d been talking herself out of going crazy.

“Which one is the old Dartmouth place?” he asked, curiosity winning out against his better judgment.

“Ten miles north as the crow flies, on the dead end of Barker Road.” Frank flashed a knowing smirk. “Why? Thinking of dropping by for a neighborly visit?”

“Of course not,” he responded, just a little too quickly. He tossed some money on the tabletop to cover their bill and stood. “Let’s get back to work. I don’t want to be late for my meeting with the mayor.”

As they left, he thought again about Frank’s directions to Megan O’Ryan’s cabin. He knew exactly where it was, even if he hadn’t known the locals referred to it as the Dartmouth place. The cabin was isolated, being so far off the main highway. Was Megan O’Ryan afraid to be out there alone? Maybe he should make sure the deputies covered the cabin in their weekly rounds. Luckily, there wasn’t a whole lot of crime in Crystal Lake.

He brought himself up short. Why this sudden surge of concern about Megan O’Ryan? She might be the most attractive woman he’d met in a long time, but he wasn’t interested in a relationship. Not now, maybe not ever.

After his wife’s death three years ago, his life had spiraled out of control. He’d hit the proverbial rock bottom, losing his job and almost losing custody of his son when he’d tried to drown his sorrows in alcohol. With the help of his pastor and God, he’d managed to pull himself together. But he’d soon realized Sam had gotten involved with a scary group of kids, so he’d packed up their things and moved them to Crystal Lake.

Working as a deputy on staff had been good enough for him, but he’d been given the job as interim sheriff three weeks ago when his boss had suffered a major heart attack and had subsequent quadruple-bypass surgery.

Despite the obvious resentment from his former peers, everything was going fine. Except for his relationship with his seventeen-year-old son, Sam. Over the past year and a half, things had gone from bad to worse. In fact, there were days he honestly believed his relationship with Sam would never recover.

Not that he intended to stop trying. He prayed every day for God to help guide them both.

Teenagers, he reminded himself. Teenagers were tough on parents. If he survived Sam’s teenage rebellion, he could survive anything.

Luke finished his meeting with the mayor. He had wanted to know if Luke would consider throwing his hat into the running for the permanent job of sheriff now that Dan Koenig, humbled from his close call with death, had announced his retirement. Luke had promised to think about it, but in reality he knew life would be more difficult than ever if he took that course of action.

Besides, he’d never get elected sheriff. Not when most of the guys in the department figured they had a better chance of winning the election and barely tolerated his presence in an interim role.

There was too much paperwork associated with being the sheriff anyway. Back in his office he stared at the mound that seemed to grow by the hour. He sighed. Likely a few of the deputies would throw their name into the race. They considered him an outsider because he hadn’t lived and worked for most of his life in Crystal Lake. The fact that he’d been a Milwaukee homicide detective for ten years didn’t seem to matter here, where the good ole boys’ club still played poker every Friday night.

Luke wasn’t much into playing cards.

Well after five o’clock, he headed home, knowing the minute he hit the driveway that Sam wasn’t there. Sam was never home if he could help it, and most of the time Luke had no idea where Sam was. Mayor Ganzer would never have offered to support him in the election for sheriff if he’d known Luke couldn’t keep tabs on his own kid.

Sam had promised to be home, but of course he wasn’t. So much for trying to talk, even to ask how his son’s day had been.

He looked for a note from Sam, and after finding no clues to his whereabouts, he pulled a cold bottle of water and a plate of leftovers from the fridge. Outside, he plopped into a wide plastic deck chair overlooking the lake. He closed his eyes and murmured a quick prayer before digging in, eating the spaghetti cold as he watched the activity on the water. Boats sped by, some towing skiers, others inner tubes, as locals and tourists made the most of the too-short Wisconsin summer.

Sam had a cell phone that Luke paid for. Not expecting much, he pushed the speed-dial connection for his son.

And almost fell of his chair when Sam answered. “Yeah?”

Nonplussed, he tried to think of something to say. Yelling at Sam for not being home wouldn’t work. “Hey, how are you? I’m sorry I missed you.”

“Fine.”

He grimaced at the one-word answer but doggedly tried again. “What are you up to? Have big plans for tonight?”

“No.”

Pulling every tooth out of his head without novocaine would be easier than carrying on a conversation with his son. “Oh yeah? So you’re just hanging around? With anyone I know?”

A pause. “Doug. Look, I gotta go. See ya later.” Sam hung up before he could remind his son that his curfew on Friday nights was twelve-thirty.

Luke snapped his phone shut, trying to look positively on the one-sided conversation. His son had answered the phone. And he’d admitted he was hanging out with Doug. Maybe Sam was mellowing out a bit. Maybe Sam wasn’t just biding his time until he was eighteen and finished with high school and could blow his father off for good.

Too bad he didn’t really believe that.

The ache in his chest intensified, and he rubbed the area over his heart with his hand. Sam’s resentment hurt. Luke was very afraid of losing his son, hardly able to find remnants of the good kid Sam had once been before Shelia died. Sam’s lack of respect made him so angry. Yet Sam had only started getting in trouble after Luke lost control when cancer stole Shelia’s life.

How long would his son pay for his own sins? He hoped and prayed it would not be for long.

Luke stared out over the water long after the hubbub of activity had died down. No-wake rules after dusk usually put an end to the fun. Or rather, he thought with a grimace, the fun took another form, like bonfires and parties.

Is that where Sam was now? Partying somewhere with the other high school kids? Drinking? Drugs? Sex? He had no idea what Sam was doing these days. He’d searched Sam’s room for incriminating evidence but had yet to find anything. Sam was too smart to make it easy. Sam rarely invited anyone from high school over to the house, so he didn’t really know his son’s friends very well, except for Doug, who lived on the other side of the lake.

Sam hadn’t exactly blended into the crowd when they’d moved in, and Luke wasn’t sure how much had changed in the past year and a half.

He kept his police radio close at hand. He was always expected to be on call in case something happened. Luckily it almost never did. The worst thing he’d experienced was when Eric Landers got drunk and put a gun to his head. They didn’t have access to a crime team, so he’d used his old homicide skills to make sure they weren’t missing something. After examining the evidence, Dan Koenig and the ME had both ruled Eric’s death a suicide. There had only been one other death in his short tenure here, a hunter who had been shot by accident when he’d stayed out past dusk. Tragic, but not a homicide. The two events had created a lot of stir amongst the locals, providing gossip fuel for weeks.

Luke was glad there weren’t many crimes in Crystal Lake. It was one of the reasons he’d moved here. He’d hoped Sam would flourish in better surroundings. In a place where life was simple and there were fewer negative influences.

Please Lord, help guide Sam home. And help me to be patient with him. Help give me the strength and wisdom to know how to handle him. I’m asking You to watch over him, Lord. Amen.

Luke must have dozed, because his radio blaring next to him woke him up. “Sheriff? Sheriff? Do you read me?”

Night had fallen, and he reached for the radio, fumbling with the buttons. “Copy that. What’s up, Tony?”

“Found a dead body floating in the lake.”

Oh, boy. He had heard tourists who drank too much and fell out of their boats were not uncommon in the summer months in the area. And there was nothing worse than a floater. “Got an ID on the vic?”

“Yeah.” There was a small silence. “You’d better get out here, Sheriff. This girl is local and she didn’t die by accident.”

He shot to his feet, instantly wide awake, his gaze sharp in the moonlight. “What do you mean she didn’t die by accident?”

“She was murdered.” Tony’s voice sounded strained. “Strangled with a towrope before being dumped in the water.”

TWO

Megan had trouble falling asleep, and when she did she dreamed of Katie. Even though at some level Megan knew it was a dream, she still heard the sounds of a struggle as Katie fought her captor. Katie’s muffled cry somehow pierced her consciousness and she awoke, her heart pounding as if she’d been the one attacked instead of her sister.

If only she could go back, to the night Katie had been murdered. Maybe if she’d gone with her sister to the pub, Katie would still be alive today. Katie had asked her to go along to Flannigan’s, as she was planning to meet some new guy she’d met during her job in the college library, but Megan hadn’t gone with her because she had to work early the next morning. So she sent Katie off by herself.

Only to be woken hours later to investigate a crime scene. Never in a million years had she expected to find Katie as the victim.

Megan splashed cold water on her face and then crawled back into bed and tried to fall back asleep. But as much as she needed rest, she kept hearing sounds outside. Wildlife, no doubt. After so many years in the city, the sounds of the animals took some getting used to.

A loud pounding on her door startled her so badly she almost fell out of bed. For a moment she wondered if she was dreaming again, but no, the pounding continued. Then it stopped. Her imagination? Or reality? She hated not being sure.

Her cell phone rang and she grabbed it from her bedside table, staring at it apprehensively, not recognizing the number. When was the last time anyone had called her? Her friend from Chicago, Shana Dawson, had probably called once or twice, but it had been so long ago she honestly couldn’t remember. Hesitantly, she flipped open the phone. “Hello?”

“Megan? This is Sheriff Torretti. We need your help. I’m standing outside your door.”

Relief that she hadn’t imagined the pounding was quickly replaced by surprise that the sheriff had her cell number, and then replaced again by cold dread. She scrambled out of bed and grabbed her robe. “I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you.”

Why would the sheriff need her help? She cinched the robe tightly around her waist and flipped on the porch light so she could see through the front window to verify that it was, indeed, the sheriff out there, before she unlatched the dead bolt on the door. When she opened it, she realized the man standing on her doorstep was the same one she’d met earlier that day outside of Rose’s Cafe. She flushed. “Sheriff? What’s going on?”

He hesitated a moment. “There’s been a murder. I don’t have access to a crime team and I really need your expertise.”

Her first instinct was to refuse. She didn’t go on-site to investigate crime scenes any more. She’d given up her career after Katie’s death. These days, all she could manage was processing routine DNA samples. “Surely someone on your staff is qualified to gather evidence?”

He shook his head, his expression betraying his frustration. “In normal circumstances, yes, but we don’t get many murders here. I’ve already called the Madison crime lab. They’ll process our evidence of a serial killer, which they’d never believe considering we only have one victim. So as of right now, we’re on our own.”

She frowned, realizing he was right. Crime teams existed in big cities like Chicago, New York, and Los Angeles but not in small communities like Crystal Lake. Once she’d thrived on the details, the exactness of the work that helped piece a complex puzzle together. But since Katie’s death, she’d lost her edge.

“I’m retired from CSI work,” she protested weakly.

“Please?” She had the impression from the hard set to his jaw that he didn’t beg very often, and the worried concern she glimpsed in his gaze tugged at her in a way she couldn’t describe. “I’ll take your rusty skills over nothing.”

A murder. She shivered in the dark night. She’d always believed victims and their families deserved justice. Once she’d been at the top of her game, but not any longer. Yet could she honestly refuse to help?

No. She couldn’t. Ignoring the dread curled in her stomach, she nodded. “Give me a few minutes to get dressed.”

“Of course. Thank you.”

She tried to smile as she closed the door, but her hands were shaking. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly. She brushed her teeth and then quickly donned a pair of jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt and her work boots before heading outside. Sheriff Torretti was waiting patiently beside his squad car.

“Where’s the body?” she asked.

“On the south shore of the lake. You can follow me,” he said as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

She did as he requested, and all too soon, she followed him to a place where several cop cars, red and blue lights flashing, were parked in front of a path leading down to the lake. Carrying her camera and a flashlight, she climbed from the car.

“This way.” Sheriff Torretti gestured toward the path.

She didn’t walk down the path right away, but swept her high-powered flashlight over the scene to see if she could pick out any clues. She saw nothing more than a few bent and broken branches, indicating that someone, most likely the cops, had been down this way. Using her camera, she took several pictures, just in case.

She continued making her way down to the lake, acutely aware of the sheriff following behind her. Despite her initial embarrassment at being with him, she had to admit his presence helped her to feel safe.

When she reached the clearing, she stopped and once again scanned the area with the flashlight. “Have your deputies been down here?”

“Yes. Deputy Tony Markham pulled the victim out of the water because he didn’t realize at first she’d been murdered.”

“He found the victim?”

Luke nodded. “Yeah, apparently her mother called when her daughter didn’t come home at curfew, so he went looking for her. This path is used by the high school kids when they come down to the lake.”

She didn’t move, but swept her light around the wooded area, searching for clues. “Do you often have bodies washing ashore?”

His lips thinned. “No. Before I came there was a drunk tourist who fell off his boat and hit his head on the way into the water. But that was over two years ago. This is the first homicide in the eighteen months since I’ve been here.”

Even one homicide in the small town of Crystal Lake seemed like too much. It took a minute for her to register what he’d said. He was relatively new to the area, just like she was. “Do you think the murder actually happened here?”

“I couldn’t see anything to indicate the crime had taken place here. The lake is spring-fed, so there is a slight current running north to south. To be honest, this could have happened anywhere.”

Not good news. It was always harder to find detailed evidence when a body has been moved. Even worse when the body was dumped in the water.

Interesting that this was the normal hangout place for the teens of Crystal Lake. If the crime had been committed elsewhere, had the killer chosen his spot on purpose, knowing the body would wash up here to be found quickly? Crystal Lake was several miles long and surrounded by woods. There had to be a zillion other places in the area to hide a body.

Fighting apprehension, she headed closer to the lake. A young female victim was lying on the bank, where the deputy had dragged her from the water. She flashed a light along the ground, seeing a mess of trampled footprints, more than just from the deputy, but she supposed if the kids were down here often, that wouldn’t be unusual.

As she moved closer, the scene became surreal. The water changed to a blacktop parking lot at the corner of Flannigan’s Irish pub. The young woman was lying at an awkward angle, the orange braided rope bright against her slim neck. Katie? No, it can’t be. Katie? Katie!

“Are you all right?”

The deep voice beside her snapped her back to the present and she drew an uneven breath, trying to focus on the matter at hand. Her victim, the girl in the water, was blonde, just like Katie. Megan moved closer, focusing on her face, realizing with dread that she remembered the girl. “Oh, no,” she whispered.

“What?” Luke Torretti followed beside her, careful not to disturb anything. “Do you know her?”

“Teagan,” she murmured, remembering the scene outside the diner. “No, that isn’t right, she called her friend Teagan. I don’t know this girl’s name.”

“Liza Campbell, an eighteen-year-old high school senior.” Sheriff Torretti’s tone was grim. “When did you see her last?”

“This afternoon, just before I ran into you outside Rose’s Café. She was heading down to the lake with a redhead named Teagan and they met up with a group of boys.” Megan took another step and almost went to her knees. The rope wrapped around the girl’s neck was badly faded, but in the light of her flashlight she would guess the original color had been red, pink or orange. Regardless of the color, it was polyurethane and braided.

Just like Katie’s.

Luke saw Megan sway and reached out to grab her. Her arm was slim yet strong beneath his fingers. It was the second time she’d appeared about ready to faint. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked her to come out here. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

His question snapped her out of the reverie she’d fallen into. Her shoulders stiffened. “I’m fine.” As if to prove it, she shrugged off his hand, lifted her camera and began taking pictures, pretending the brutal slaying of a young girl didn’t bother her.

He stayed close, just in case, watching her work. Crime scene experts were usually not squeamish when it came to violent death, but having heard about Megan O’Ryan’s history from Frank, he could understand what she was probably going through. Her younger sister had been strangled too. The similarities between the two crimes had to be difficult for her. Yet she approached the scene with cool professionalism, obviously stronger than her slim, petite frame looked.

She spent a lot of time looking around the area. She walked over to the fire ring not far off the lakeshore and bent to examine the ashes. “They’re still warm,” she murmured.

“I know.”

Nodding, she stood and went back down to the young girl’s body. “Rigor mortis has just set in, so I estimate the time of death is approximately within the past four hours.”

He agreed with her assessment and knew the warm ashes gave credence to her time frame. “I suppose the lake water washed away any evidence.”

“Maybe, maybe not. There’s still some mud embedded in the bottom of her running shoes. And I would recommend sending the faded rope around her neck to the lab. If the perp wasn’t wearing gloves, there might be skin cells in the fibers of the rope. We could get lucky.”

Luck wasn’t his strong suit, but he nodded. He wasn’t going to take any chances. Not with this. His first murder as interim sheriff.

Dawn was breaking over the horizon by the time the medical examiner left the scene, taking Liza’s shrouded body with him.

Megan came up beside him. “Liza didn’t die here. The dirt embedded in the bottom of her shoes has the consistency of clay. I can’t see anything around here except sandy dirt and a bit of moss.”

“So what do you recommend?” he asked.

She grimaced and shrugged. “It’s a long shot, but we could do a broader search, to see if there’s some other area around the lake where a scuffle might have taken place. Can you shut down access to the lake for a while?”

“We can shut down the public boat launch, but there are at least twenty-five dwellings surrounding the lake. I can send a few deputies out to ask everyone to stay off the lake, if you think it will help.”

“I think it would help. We need to start as soon as we have more light.”

“And what if she wasn’t killed close to the lake?” Luke couldn’t help but point out the obvious. “She could have been killed anywhere, there’s natural forest for miles around. Don’t you think your plan to search the entire lake is a bit extreme?”

“Extreme? Or inconvenient?” Her gaze bored into his. In the faint light he couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, but for the first time tonight, there was a fiery determination shooting daggers at him. “If she was your daughter, don’t you think a little inconvenience would be worth it to find her killer?”

Touché. As a cop he knew very well how family members of victims needed closure. She was right. He raised a hand in silent surrender. “Okay. I’ll approve overtime for every single deputy to help us search.” He’d better call the mayor too, because it was only a matter of time before both of their phones would be ringing from angry and worried citizens. Especially once they started questioning everyone, including the hordes of tourists.

“You’re going to want to question Liza’s friends, Teagan and the boys she went out to the lake with.”

He swallowed the spark of annoyance. He had asked for her help, so there was no point in complaining when she gave it to him. “Yeah. I know.” He could get the names of the boys from Teagan, no doubt, and Liza’s best friend was exactly the place he intended to start.

Megan hesitated. “I realize I shouldn’t make rash judgments, but there was one boy, lanky and tall, with long dark hair, dressed all in black, who seemed to be a loner, standing apart from the rest of the group.”

His breath froze in his throat at her description. Long dark hair? Lanky and tall? Loner? Sam?

Was she really describing his son?

Oblivious to his internal turmoil, she continued, “He appeared angry, a deep scowl on his face. I remember thinking he looked like trouble. Maybe his anger got the better of him.”

Angry accurately described Sam. Trouble did too. But even if his son had been at the lake last night, that didn’t mean he’d had anything to do with Liza’s death. As far as he knew, Sam hadn’t been caught doing anything illegal.

Yet Sam hadn’t been home earlier when he’d come in from work. And he’d claimed he was hanging out with Doug. Luke thought back to when he’d gotten the call about finding Liza. He’d torn out of the house, heading straight to the crime scene without checking Sam’s room.

But now that he thought about it, Sam’s large, rusted, black four-wheel-drive Chevy truck hadn’t been in the driveway when he left. His gut clenched again. What time had the call come in? Quarter after two in the morning?

He told himself to relax, that Sam often didn’t come home by his curfew. He’d verify where Sam had spent the night, and it was highly likely Sam had a decent alibi.

Sam claimed to hate Luke for moving them to this small, podunk town, as he described it. But Sam wasn’t a bad kid. He may have gotten into a few fights, but always with other boys, never taking his anger out on a girl. Sam was quiet, not doing well in school, but that was normal teenage stuff. No, there was no reason for him to worry about Sam, not over something like this.

Not cold, premeditated murder.

“Thanks for the information,” he said, when he belatedly realized Megan was waiting for his response. “Don’t worry, we’ll check into every possibility.”

“I’m sure you will.” Megan looked slightly embarrassed, as if realizing she was ordering him around. She gave him a strained smile before turning toward her car. “We’ll need decent light, so I’ll meet you at the diner in three hours to start the search.”

“I’ll have everyone ready to go by then,” he agreed.

He watched her drive off. He didn’t leave right away. First he made his phone calls, ordering the deputies to report to work and then leaving a message for the mayor. Once those two most important tasks were finished, he debated between going home and going straight to the office.

After a short internal argument, he headed home. He told himself the main reason was to change clothes, knowing that this was going to be a long day with potential media exposure. As the interim sheriff, he was expected to be in uniform at all times.

But his heart squeezed in his chest when he pulled into the driveway.

Sam’s truck still wasn’t there.

Luke strode into the house, straight down the hall into Sam’s room. The bed wasn’t made, but then again, it rarely was. He stood in the center of the room, looking for some sign, anything to tell him that Sam had been there at least at some point during the night.

Dark clothing was scattered all over the floor, but he couldn’t tell if any of the garments had been recently worn and discarded. His son’s entire wardrobe consisted of black T-shirts and black jeans. Luke had taken some dirty dishes out of Sam’s room the day before, and there were no recently used plates or glasses lying about to indicate he’d come back at some point during the night.

Nothing at all to indicate Sam had been here. Luke swallowed hard.

Did that mean he didn’t have an alibi? That maybe his son had been with the dead girl? Sam did seem to be angry, but surely not angry enough to take someone’s life.

He desperately needed to find Sam, to question him before one of his deputies did.

THREE

Megan decided to eat breakfast at Rose’s Café before meeting Luke and the rest of his deputies to begin the search. She wasn’t really hungry, but her brain needed nourishment in order to remain sharp enough to find any clues as to where Liza might have been killed.

The similarities between Liza’s death and the victims of the St. Patrick’s Strangler, as the press had dubbed Paul Sherman, bothered her. She wanted to talk to the sheriff about her suspicions, but he hadn’t been at the office when she’d stopped by on her way back to the café.

Josie was behind the counter again. Megan ordered an omelet for breakfast and then asked Josie if she’d seen the sheriff recently.

“He’s out back, sweetie, talking to his son.”

“His son?” She couldn’t hide her shock. “He’s married?”

“Widowed.” Josie grinned, enjoying the gossip. “His boy runs a little wild, though, if you know what I mean.”

Widowed. Why the tragic news made her feel a mixture of sadness and relief she had no idea. Megan slid off her stool and walked outside, circling the corner of the diner. She stopped abruptly, remaining semi-hidden behind the Dumpster, when she caught a glimpse of Sheriff Luke Torretti facing down his son.

“How long have you been drinking?” Luke asked in a low furious voice.

“What do you care?” The boy was the same one she’d noticed the day before, the tall, lanky kid with the long, dark tangled hair, only today his hair was pulled back in a stubby ponytail, partially hidden by the paper hat the boy wore. Dressed in scruffy jeans and a long apron tied around his narrow waist, he looked to be the café dishwasher.

She should leave, go back inside rather than stand here eavesdropping, but investigative instincts she’d thought long dead came to life, preventing her from leaving.

“You’re right, Sam. Why should I care? So what if you go to jail? So what if you’re convicted of strangling Liza Campbell? Why would I care about what happens to you, when you don’t?”

The boy, Sam, blanched, and Megan thought he looked ready to throw up. Maybe it was a hangover from the drinking Luke mentioned or the blunt description of Liza’s death. “Doug will vouch for me. I slept on the floor of his bedroom.”

“And what time was that exactly?” Luke didn’t give his son an inch. “Because from what I’m hearing, you were the last one to see her alive, and your only alibi during the time of Liza’s murder is your best friend Doug.”

“That’s really great, Dad. Thanks a lot.” The familiar sneer was back on Sam’s face. “It’s really nice to know my own father suspects me of killing some stupid chick.”

“Stupid chick?” Luke’s voice had gone dangerously soft. “Is that what you think of her? What’s the matter, Sam? Did she turn you down when you asked her out? Did she look down her nose at you? Make you mad? Did you have a fight? Tell me what happened between the two of you. If you come clean and tell me everything now, it will be better for you in the long run.”

Something in Luke’s tone must have warned Sam not to push it. Instead of hiding behind sarcasm, he responded to his father’s questions. “I didn’t fight with her. I never asked her out. She wouldn’t have gone with me anyway, she’s still hung up on Sean Mathews.”

“Is Sean her boyfriend? Was he with you guys last night?”

Sam shook his head. “No, Sean left two weeks ago to join the army. He’s in basic training down in Kentucky somewhere. Liza was mad he broke up with her.”

“So your story is that Zach, Doug, Teagan and Patrice left first, but you stayed behind a little while longer to talk with Liza. At midnight, you left Liza and went back to Doug’s house. There were six of you at the bonfire and you split a case of beer. After you and Doug went to his house, you sat around and finished off a bottle of Jack Daniels while playing video games.”

“Yeah.” Sam stared down at his feet for a long minute. “That’s what happened. Liza was fine when I left.”

“You let her go home alone?” Luke pressed.

Sam flushed with guilt. “I offered to take her home, but she said she’d be fine. She gave me the impression she wasn’t going straight home. I figured she might be meeting someone else. None of my business what she does in her free time.”

There was a long pause, as Luke digested that information. “How often do you drink?” Luke finally asked.

“Not that often.” The way Sam avoided his father’s gaze made Megan believe he wasn’t being honest.

“And you didn’t bother to come home last night, or to call to let me know you were planning to spend the night at Doug’s.” Luke’s sarcastic tone made her wince in sympathy for Sam, although it sounded as if the kid deserved it. She would have been just as upset if Katie had pulled such a stunt. “And where were Doug’s parents while you were drinking?”

“His parents are divorced. His mom works nights as a nurse at Hope County Hospital.” Sam hunched his shoulders. “This is the first time we got drunk on hard liquor. Normally we just drink a few beers. Doug’s mom is a nice lady, it’s not her fault we were stupid.”

“You’re right about that,” Luke agreed, his tone slightly bitter. “You and Doug were stupid. Really stupid. Drinking isn’t going to help, Sam. Don’t you realize by now that drinking is only going to make things worse?”

A heavy silence fell, and Megan wondered if she should choose that moment to interrupt. But then Luke dismissed his son. “Get back to work. One of the deputies might need to ask you some questions later.”

Sam looked as if he wanted to say something more, but he clamped his mouth shut and spun on his heel, walking back into the back door of the café. Luke turned and saw her, his eyebrows pulling together in a small frown when he realized she’d heard at least a portion of his conversation with his son. “You were right,” he said with a grimace. “He is trouble.”

She bit her lip, a twinge of sympathy making her regret her rash statement. She took several steps, closing the gap between them. “I’m sorry,” she said in a low tone. “I didn’t realize he was your son.”

Luke shrugged. “Not your fault.” His shoulders drooped, as if the interaction with his son had worn him out. He reached up and rubbed the back of his neck. “Was there something you wanted?”

“Yes.” She had to pull her thoughts together, having been distracted by the emotionally charged interaction between father and son. “It’s about the murder.”

He lifted a brow. “Yeah?”

She let out a breath in a soft sigh. “I’m sure you noticed the similarity between this most recent murder and the series of strangulations I worked on last year. Specifically, the choice of murder weapon.”

“The hollow-braided rope?” Luke asked.

She nodded. The rope disturbed her. Granted, the previous victims were all killed with a bright orange, brand-new rope, but still, could this really be a coincidence?

“You think we have some sort of copycat killer?” Luke guessed.

“It’s a possibility.” Megan glanced around, making sure they were alone. “Polyurethane hollow-braided rope is very common, especially here on a lake where there are lots of boats. And they come in all different colors. Why did the killer pick one that looks like it might be faded orange?”

“I don’t know.” Luke was frowning again. “We’re going to verify the color, since it was hard to tell for sure if it had been orange or not. But regardless, the details of the St. Patrick’s Strangler aren’t a secret. Not anymore.”

“I know.” She shivered, in spite of the warmth of the sun. “Paul Sherman is serving a life sentence in prison for killing my sister, and even though he denied killing any of them, he doesn’t have a chance at parole. I’m sure you would have heard about it if he’d have escaped from prison, right?”

“Yes,” he assured her. “I already checked. He’s still in custody.”

She felt light-headed with relief. “Okay, so if Paul Sherman is in prison, the person who killed Liza might have tried to imitate parts of his crimes.”

“But not all the details,” Luke argued. “He tossed Liza’s body into the lake. From what I remember, none of the other girls had been dumped in the water.”

“True. Sherman stalked his victims at Irish pubs and killed them after closing. All three of them were blonde, all three were strangled with a brand-new orange polyurethane rope, and their bodies were left within a stone’s throw of whichever Irish pub he met them at.”

There was a small pause. “I’m sorry about your sister.”

Her throat swelled with guilt and sorrow and she couldn’t speak, but she nodded. Seeing Katie’s dead body had been the worst thing she’d ever gone through, worse than losing their parents to a car crash four years earlier. The only good thing was that she’d helped find evidence linking Paul Sherman to the murder of her sister. Katie had clawed at his hands, not knocked out by the drug concoction he’d put in her drink. She’d found skin cells buried beneath her sister’s fingernails. The DNA evidence had helped convict him. He claimed to be innocent, but the jury had found him guilty of all three murders.

“I’ll have to review the trial transcripts,” Luke said in a low tone. “See if there are other similarities.”

“Good idea.” She was grateful he wasn’t ignoring her concerns. She couldn’t say why the faded hollow-braided rope bothered her so much. She couldn’t help wondering if the killer’s choice was significant.

Unless she was simply becoming obsessed, because of Katie. For all she knew, this was simply a crime of opportunity and nothing more.

If the killer was a copycat murderer, why not match all the details? Brand-new bright orange hollow-braided rope instead of old, faded stuff? Leaving the body at the crime scene?

Maybe she was making more out of the similarities than she should be.

“When do you want to start searching?” Luke asked.

She remembered the omelet she’d ordered. “Soon. I have food waiting for me inside. Give me twenty minutes.”

“All right, I’ll have my deputies waiting at the south shore where we found Liza’s body. You can let us know how to proceed from there.”

The way he deferred to her expertise impressed her. The sheriff was obviously a man who didn’t mind getting help when he needed it. And as far as she was concerned, they’d need all the help they could get to catch this guy. “Sounds good.”

He nodded and walked away, so she headed back inside the café.

Her food was cold, but she ate it anyway. She couldn’t help thinking about Luke. And his son, Sam. Despite what she’d overheard, especially the part where Sam had been the last one to see the victim alive, she really didn’t want to believe Sam was guilty of murdering Liza. As angry as the teen was, it was difficult to imagine him capable of murder.

Because he was the sheriff’s son? Maybe. Because she wanted to believe the best of him? Probably. Although she was forced to admit Sam seemed just as aloof and alone as his father.

Not that the ruggedly attractive sheriff was any of her concern. When her fiancé, Jake, had dumped her after Katie’s death, right when she’d needed him the most, she’d decided she was better off without men. Including tall, dark, handsome cops. Her main concern right now was to find the spot where Liza had been murdered.

There was always a clue. Sometimes the clues didn’t mean much by themselves, but in the end, the truth prevailed.

When she finished breakfast, Megan drove back to the south shore of the lake where Liza’s body had been found. True to his word, the sheriff had well over a dozen men waiting.

Since they all looked at her, she fell into the role of leading the investigation.

“We’ll split into groups of two,” she announced. “That way we can take our time and really search for clues. I’d rather have you pick up every small clue that might be evidence than overlook something important.”

Luke stepped up. “The victim was wearing a light blue tank top and denim cutoff shorts. She had long blond hair. A hard, clay-like substance was found embedded in the heel of her right shoe.”

The group of deputies and retired deputies, mostly men except for two younger women, all nodded solemnly, filing away the bits of potential evidence, and then split up as directed.

She and Luke split up. She paired herself with one of the deputies, named Adam. They started at the shore and then fanned out in opposite directions. The work was slow. She moved at a snail’s pace for fear of rushing over some minute piece of evidence. She found a long dark hair that reminded her of Luke’s son, Sam. She bagged it for evidence and marked the spot. She also found a thread, possibly a piece of denim, and followed the same routine. There were several empty bottles of Point beer, evidence of the partying she’d heard Sam talk about. She placed her third marker there before continuing her search.

Mostly, she found a lot of nothing. But she didn’t give up. Sheer determination kept her moving forward.

Her radio crackled a few hours later and she heard a female voice. “We found something! A large area where an obvious altercation took place. A small footprint that looks like it may belong to the victim and a piece of blue thread.”

Exhilaration filled her lungs. They must have found the scene of the crime. She swiped a sweaty arm over her brow and pressed the button on her radio. “Excellent work. Where are you?”

“We’re on the north shore. The suspected crime scene is about fifty feet from a tiny log cabin. There’s a red canoe tied to the dock on the lake.”

Megan’s radio slipped from her fingers, hitting the ground at her feet with a soft thud. Tiny log cabin with a red canoe. Her house. A wave of nausea dropped her to her knees.

Liza Campbell had been murdered fifty feet from her back door.

Luke stood beside Megan, both of them watching as the deputies took several photographs and bagged the evidence from the area where they believed Liza had died.

A stone’s throw from Megan’s backyard.

He slid a glance at Megan, who stared straight ahead, as if completely lost in her thoughts. She was pale, deep circles cutting a groove beneath her eyes. With her arms crossed over her chest, she seemed to be holding herself upright. He suspected a stiff breeze would have blown her over.

“You didn’t hear anything?” Luke finally asked, breaking the heavy silence. She didn’t move, didn’t acknowledge in any way that she’d heard him, so he repeated the question. “Megan? You didn’t hear anything last night?”

She shook her head slowly, turning to face him. “Not really. I had a nightmare, about Katie’s murder, and in my dream, Katie cried out in pain, fought her attacker—” Her voice broke, and she drew a deep, steadying breath. “Maybe it was Liza I heard and not Katie. I wish I knew for sure.”

“Do you have a time estimate?” He hated asking, hated the need to push her to relive the horror, but he suspected she had heard Liza, and it was her subconscious that put Katie in the role of the victim.

Her sister’s death obviously still haunted her.

He understood, considering he had a few problems of his own. Although he was much better now that he’d found his way back to God. He found himself wondering if Megan had the same spiritual support.

She rubbed a hand over her eyes. “Twelve-thirty, when I woke up and looked at the clock. But it seemed as if I heard Katie much earlier than that. Her struggle with the attacker lasted forever.”

He wasn’t so sure. Dreams had a way of seeming like hours, when in reality they were only a few minutes. Twelve-thirty was probably right on. If Sam was telling the truth, he’d left Liza about midnight. Liza must have been accosted as she headed for home.

But that didn’t explain how the killer had gotten Liza so quickly from the south shore, where the kids were partying, to the north shore, where the crime actually occurred. Or why. Why had he chosen this place, so close to Megan’s house, to kill Liza? Why hadn’t he picked something more remote? There was plenty of deserted lakeshore around.

Unless the killer hadn’t seen the house in the dark? Was he a stranger to the area? Would be a bit of a coincidence if the killer tossed the body in the water where it just happened to drift from the north shore to the south shore, right where the kids had partied around the bonfire.

Luke frowned. In his line of work, he didn’t believe in coincidences.

Had the killer watched them during the bonfire? Struck out at Liza at just the right time? He could imagine how that might have played out.

The guy hadn’t picked Liza by accident. No, he believed she’d been chosen on purpose. Either because this was personal, against her in particular, or because her long blond hair fit his profile. Especially if he was indeed a copycat killer.

He stood by Megan, silently supporting her, as his deputies finished with the crime scene.

The hour was close to dinnertime and he wanted to talk to Sam, yet hesitated to leave Megan alone. “Are you going to be all right here?”

“Sure.” The response came automatically.

“Megan.” He couldn’t leave her, not like this. He lightly touched her arm, feeling strangely concerned about her. “Is there somewhere else you can go? I don’t like you being here alone in this remote cabin fifty feet from where a murderer killed a young girl.”

She shivered beneath his touch, and he knew she was struggling to remain calm. “I’ll be fine. I don’t know anyone in the area to stay with.”

It was on the tip of his tongue to offer his place, but he knew that would be inappropriate. Besides, he still needed to talk to Sam, and he wouldn’t welcome an audience during his lousy attempt at being a father. Bad enough she’d heard him lose his temper this morning.

“How about the motel?” he suggested instead. “It’s located in the middle of town. Plenty of people will be nearby if anything happens. I can have the deputies cruise by on a regular basis.” The more he thought about the idea, the more he liked it. “Please? I’d feel better if you were someplace safe.”

“All right,” she finally agreed. And the flash of relief in her gaze proved she was as loath to stay in this remote cabin as he was to leave her there. “I’ll go to the motel, at least for tonight.”

“Good.” He couldn’t hide his satisfaction. “Thank you.”

“I—uh—need to pack an overnight bag.” She headed toward her front door. On the steps she paused, and then turned back to him. “Sheriff?”

“Luke,” he interjected quickly. “Call me Luke.”

She gave an almost imperceptible nod, her gaze serious. “Luke. The way Liza was killed right next to my cabin—do you think it’s possible the killer has specifically targeted me?”

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