You can run from the past…but you can never truly hide…

Detective Evelyn Davis delves deep into the minds of monsters for a living. She’s the best psychological profiler in the Seattle P.D., with a talent that comes from heartbreaking experience. When Evelyn was just eighteen, she received word of her family’s murder in the form of a horrifying video. Fifteen years later, tracking down other psychopaths is the only thing that brings her some peace.

But now two local families have been wiped out. Though the chilling crime scenes suggest murder-suicides, Evelyn believes a serial killer is at work. So does Special Agent Marcus Moretti, whose easy charm and fiercely protective instincts are breaking down all her defenses. Evelyn needs to put aside her emotional attachment to find the madman stalking her city—but with each discovery, this case becomes more personal. She’s starting to suspect the killer wants her—and he is edging closer with every step, ready to make Evelyn pay a devastating price…

Dead Don’t Lie
L. R. Nicolello

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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To the incredible women in my life—you know who you are—your sass, beauty and courage in the face of adversity is not only stunning, but truly inspiring. I am a better woman because you’re in my world.

“Never, never, never give up.”

—Winston Churchill

About the Author

L. R. NICOLELLO has had an obsession with all things suspense since she was old enough to pick out her own books. She decided to combine that passion with her love of action flicks and strong female protagonists in Dead Don’t Lie, her debut romantic suspense novel. She, her amazing partner in crime and their ninety-pound “dog child” reside in Texas, where she is working on her next novel, Dead No More. Visit her at www.LRNicolello.com or follow @LRNicolello on Twitter.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Title Page

Dedication

About the Author

Prologue

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 Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Chapter Thirty-Three

Chapter Thirty-Four

Chapter Thirty-Five

Chapter Thirty-Six

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty-One

Chapter Forty-Two

Chapter Forty-Three

Epilogue

Acknowledgments

Copyright

PROLOGUE

Fifteen years ago

WITH MUSIC PUMPING and strobe lights flashing, the air felt electric. Alive. The catwalk called to her, its thin, reflective surface beckoning as it sparkled and glistened—a million flecks of diamonds waiting. For her. Without wavering, without hesitation, eighteen-year-old Evelyn Maslin answered its hypnotic call.

She put her forefinger into her mouth, puckered her lips around it and pulled. A bit of fire-engine red lipstick rimmed her finger. A stagehand racing by her slid to a halt. The double take he gave the red on her finger almost snapped his head clear off his shoulders. He held out a tissue, his expression slightly awestruck.

She accepted his offering, bit back the smirk dancing on her lips and wiped the lipstick from her finger. As she returned the used tissue to the stagehand, she shrugged nonchalantly. What?

His face flushed. He ducked his head and rushed off.

Laughing, Evelyn held out her fingers and flipped them over to check for any remnant of lip stain. With an eagle eye, she investigated her outfit in the full-length mirror, turning to the left, then the right. Good. Everything appeared normal and in place. God forbid she’d have a wardrobe malfunction on her first sashay down the catwalk.

She wasn’t a prude. How could she have been? Changing in front of virtual strangers was part of her daily job description. Still...the sheer thought of her breasts popping out of her flimsy, Greek goddesslike chiffon dress mortified her.

The music’s tempo changed, morphing into the next number. Taking another deep breath, commanding the butterflies to at least fly in formation, as they refused to leave, Evelyn waited for the signal. At the stage manager’s tight nod, Evelyn stepped out onto the stage.

For a second, the glaring lights left her bedazzled, and the electrified atmosphere sucked the air from her lungs. As she adjusted, she felt all eyes on her. The blood in her ears pumped in time with the tempo of the song blasting over the speakers. Her heart thumped against her chest, it, too, keeping pace with the deep bass as she placed one bejeweled foot in front of the other.

Breathe. Just breathe.

She kept her eyes glued in front of her and focused on each calculated step. One wrong placement and her balancing act in the five-inch stilettos would end with a face-plant.

The end of the runway arrived without incident. She bit back the giggle bubbling in her throat, which definitely didn’t fit the sex-goddess persona she was channeling. Gracefully, she pulled her hands to her waist and popped her left hip as she and her little sister, Olivia, had practiced a million times growing up. She wished Olivia could see her now. Evelyn’s heart raced as the spotlights captured her in their mesmerizing glow. She tossed her long hair ever so gently, then paused.

All of five seconds had passed.

Stomach quivering, Evelyn turned to strut back down the catwalk, her mind tumbling over itself.

* * *

HER FIVE-INCH HEELS might have been exquisite, but they were hell to walk in. Evelyn’s sandals dangled from her fingertips as she and her roommate, Anastasia Kulik, ambled down the Naviglio Grande canal. The two friends took their time as they walked the quiet Milan streets, over the cobblestones and past the closed storefronts.

“Oh, my gosh, Evelyn. Did you see the way Raphael looked at you tonight? Seriously! It’s like the gods of luck follow you everywhere. I’d do anything to have Raphael stare at me that way.” Anastasia smiled suggestively. Mischief sparkled in her chocolate-colored eyes. She shook her head, pushed the blond curls off her face and clucked her tongue like her Russian babushka. “And you act as though you didn’t even notice.”

Evelyn grinned at her companion. “The only thing I concentrated on tonight was not falling flat on my face.” Heart still racing from the show, she swung her shoes by their thin black straps. Her smile grew wider.

She was in Milan.

When she’d gotten the call and heard that she’d defied the odds and been chosen from the hundreds of girls vying for this contract, Evelyn had burst into tears. Then she’d done a happy dance with her sister before throwing herself on the sofa and giggling like the teenager she was. The only thing that would make this experience more amazing? Having her little sister here with her. But hell would freeze over before her mother allowed that to happen. Evelyn was still shocked that her parents had allowed her to come to a foreign country, by herself, before college. But they’d said yes, so she’d packed her bags.

And now, Evelyn was living her dream.

She glanced down the deserted street. During the day, it bustled with locals and tourists alike. But during the late-night hours, after the crowds cleared, quietness settled over the tranquil canal water, and the occasional patio light glistened off the water’s glassy surface.

She couldn’t wait to call her sister, to tell her everything about this place and this magical night. She checked her watch and sighed. It was just after three in Phoenix. Olivia would be getting out of school, heading for practice. With the national cheerleading competition fast approaching, Olivia’s time in the gym had quadrupled. It had been a week since they’d last chatted as a family. Tomorrow. Tomorrow, she’d call Olivia and tell her everything.

Anastasia stopped in the darkened street outside the now-familiar red door of their apartment and said teasingly, “Whatever. I bet you didn’t have to concentrate on anything.”

She hitched her oversize bag up her thin hip and dug through its endless bottom, searching for the keys to their tiny two-bedroom apartment. “You were perfect tonight. I saw it. We all saw it. The crowd collectively held their breath when you stepped onto the runway.”

“Come on...”

“I wouldn’t be surprised if tomorrow they swept you into a photo shoot for the cover of Vogue Italia.” Anastasia continued to rummage through her purse. With a small sound of victory, she finally held up the keys.

Evelyn followed her roommate into their apartment and flipped on the light. She dropped her bag onto the antique table in the foyer and glanced at the answering machine. No messages. Just as well. She was exhausted. All she wanted was her warm, soft bed. And maybe some hot mint tea. Maybe.

“I have to admit, I’m jealous.” Anastasia reappeared from her closet-sized room. She’d shed the black leggings and massive sweatshirt. A short red skirt hugged her curves and a low-cut sheer tank played peek-a-boo in the dim light with her red sequined bra. Fastening a large silver hoop through one ear, she looked at Evelyn in the mirror. “And I’ve never been jealous of anyone. Ever.”

“You have nothing to be jealous of.” Evelyn opened her bag, grabbed an elastic and pulled her hair back into a sloppy bun that slanted to one side. “I’m not Raphael’s type.”

Anastasia swung around. Hope, and the tiniest bit of suspicion, flashed in her eyes as she fastened the second hoop. “Really?”

“Really.” Moving to their petite kitchen, Evelyn spoke over her shoulder. “I’ve heard from a very reliable source that blonde, brown-eyed beauties are more to his liking.”

Tea could wait. She opened the refrigerator door and took a bottle of water from the top shelf. The rest of the shelves sat bare. Tomorrow she’d have to go to the market.

“Us blue-eyed girls?” Evelyn pointed to herself, feigning complete and utter disappointment. “We don’t stand a chance.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all week.” Anastasia bounced on her toes, then rushed over and kissed Evelyn on the cheek. She stole the water from Evelyn’s hand, twisted the top and tilted her head back to take a sip. Holding the bottle out to her roommate, she smirked. “Because guess who’s going to be at SilverTongue Club tonight?”

Evelyn took the bottle back and suppressed a smile. “Raphael?”

“Yes.” Glittering dots danced in time to Anastasia’s animated movements as the red sequins made a soft rattling noise. “And guess who else is going tonight?”

“You?”

“Us.” She clapped her hands, as thrilled as a child on Christmas morning.

Evelyn’s grin vanished as she slid toward the kitchen doorway, inching away from her wild, party-crazed roommate and toward the sanctuary of her small room.

“You.” She leveled the bottle at Anastasia and moved three steps closer to her escape. “There is no us in this equation tonight.”

Anastasia’s lower lip jutted out, making her appear even more like a Russian goddess. She followed Evelyn down the miniature hallway. “Please?”

Evelyn laughed and walked into her room. “No.”

“Fine.” Anastasia pouted. “But I’m not taking no for an answer next time.”

“Deal.” Evelyn smiled at her new friend. It was hard to believe they’d only met six weeks ago. She’d gotten lucky with the roommate her agency paired her with—not all the girls could say the same. She placed her hands on Anastasia’s bare shoulders and steered her to the front door. “Now, go have fun. But be safe, okay?”

Anastasia reached for her bag on the floor and slung it over her shoulder as she pulled open the door. She looked back at Evelyn and grinned. “Don’t wait up for me.”

With Anastasia gone, silence blanketed the apartment. Evelyn grabbed her bag off the table and padded to her room. While she loved the lights and the runway, she was a bookworm at heart and had her eye on the latest biography her folks had sent. Evelyn hooked her foot around the bedroom door, tugged it shut and turned the lock with the other. A thin overnight package marked Fragile sat on her desk. She glanced at the return address and smiled.

It was from her family.

She opened the package. A DVD fell from the box. Evelyn squatted in front of the TV, slid the silver disc into the machine and pressed Play.

Black-and-white snow fuzzed the screen at first and then faded to a dark, unfocused image. She sat on her bed. Slowly, the picture corrected itself and the color returned. Frozen, she gawked at the small screen, not comprehending what it showed. Horror crept into her stomach as her eyes and brain connected the images to reality.

Her mother and sister sat huddled, ankles and wrists bound. Sweat and blood marred their beautiful faces. Olivia hid hers in her mother’s side. Tears streamed down her mother’s cheeks, and pain radiated from her as she stared straight ahead, unmoving.

Why was she not comforting Olivia? Why was her mother crying? What was happening? Where was her father?

A tiny movement at the bottom left corner of the screen caught her attention. It was her father, bloodied and beaten. Arms and feet shackled, pulled tight behind him in an awkward, bowed position. Evelyn squeezed her eyes tight, trying to dislodge the foreign image of her father.

He murmured. Evelyn opened her eyes. She strained to hear, but couldn’t make out what he said. In a trancelike state, and without glancing away from the screen, she reached for the remote and pressed the volume button. Her father spoke again and bucked against his restraints.

“It’s going to be okay.” Slurred words fell from swollen lips. His mangled face was almost unrecognizable. “It’s going to be okay. I swear. It’s going to be okay.”

Evelyn’s throat tightened. Her mother’s chest rose and fell with each rapid breath. Soft sobs broke from her bleeding mouth.

“No, it won’t. He took my baby....”

Evelyn’s eyes snapped back to Olivia. A deep red slash spread from ear to ear. Evelyn’s stomach heaved, threatening to empty itself as the shadow of a person stepped into the edge of the screen.

“What do you want with us? We haven’t done anything to you.” Her father’s panicked voice broke as the figure kicked him in the face.

Evelyn’s hand flew to her mouth. She swallowed a scream. Her mother whimpered softly. Her father moaned, writhing in agony. Then her mom’s blue eyes grew wide as their captor—careful to stay to the perimeter of the video—walked toward her.

“Please,” her father screamed. “Please. I’ll do whatever you want. Don’t hurt her. Please. I swear. Tell me what you want.”

The figure ignored him and raised his arm. Evelyn saw the gun at the same time her father did. Her mother shut her eyes and bowed her head.

Bullets ripped into her broken body.

“No!” Evelyn’s father cried out.

The shadowed figure took three quick, long strides toward her weeping father. He knelt at his side and yanked hard on her father’s hair, exposing his neck.

“Why?”

Without answering, the shadow pulled a knife. Her father’s neck ripped open.

Evelyn turned and vomited onto the floor. When the convulsions stopped, she wiped the back of her hand shakily across her mouth. She lunged for her desk and rummaged through the mess.

“Where is it?” She cursed aloud, frantic for the lifeline to her family. Her father insisted that she have a calling card at all times.

Her dad. She whimpered.

“Daddy...”

Grabbing her black wallet from her bag, Evelyn tore through its contents. Her fingers landed on the worn calling card. She snatched up her phone, breath coming in shallow gulps. She punched her father’s cell phone number into the lit keypad, its soft green illuminated lights taunting her.

She commanded herself to calm down. She didn’t know anything yet. The DVD could’ve been a prank. It could be...has to be.

She concentrated on the shrill ringing of the phone. It felt distant, foreign. For the first time since she’d signed her modeling contract and boarded the flight from Phoenix to Europe, she truly felt the distance from her family.

She felt completely alone.

“Hello?” a rough, gravelly stranger’s voice answered.

“Who is this?” Evelyn’s voice cracked, emotion and confusion clouding her senses.

“Detective Nikols with the Phoenix P.D. Who is this?”

“My family...” Her words sounded hollow.

“Evelyn?” The voice on the other end of the line softened. “Evelyn Maslin?”

“Yes,” she whispered. She wrestled the next sentence out of her mouth, determined to voice it. “This is Evelyn Maslin. My family? Tell me what happened to my family.”

The pause on the other end of the line lengthened, making her heart threaten to stop even before the detective pulled in his breath to speak, even before the words fell from his mouth.

“Ms. Maslin, we’ve been trying to track you down. I’m so sorry to have to tell you like this...”

Evelyn’s vision narrowed, and her stomach sank. She slid down the cool wall and dropped to the floor. The detective’s voice faded as her perfect, larger-than-life world shattered into a million painful pieces.

CHAPTER ONE

Present day

EYES FOCUSED ON the mark one hundred yards in front of her, Evelyn pulled the trigger. Anticipating the buck of cold metal in her hand, her body absorbed the kickback as three short bursts echoed in her ears. Her lips twitched into a tight smile. She couldn’t have been more accurate if she’d been at point-blank range.

Evelyn holstered her piece, pushed her protective glasses up and smirked at the man standing next to her. Detective Ryan O’Neil pressed the green button to their right, refusing to meet her gleeful stare, and watched as the tethered paper target danced its way down the shooting lane closer and closer into view.

Her partner sighed ruefully. “Two to the chest, one to the head. Not bad, little Miss Evelyn Davis, not bad.”

Evelyn flinched slightly. Most of the time, she wasn’t bothered by the new name she’d adopted fifteen years ago. But every so often, hearing “Davis” instead of “Maslin” still shocked her a bit. It seemed like today was going to be one of those days.

Ryan pulled the target sheet from the hanger and waved it in Evelyn’s face. He grinned, the dimples in his cheeks deepening. Standing at six foot one and a solid 190 pounds of pure muscle, Ryan had the eye of every passing woman. His easygoing smile and casual mannerisms perfectly balanced out her sometimes cool, detached approach to their work. They were the perfect pair, and in looks, they could easily pass as siblings.

The paper fluttered from Ryan’s fingers to the shell-covered, dirty concrete floor. He ran his hand through his thick mass of dark curls, sapphire eyes twinkling as he said, “But can you do that with your left hand?”

They both knew she wouldn’t, or couldn’t, refuse his challenge.

“That’s ‘Detective’ to you, sir. And you know I can.”

She’d needed the release of the gun range after closing the Langdon case. Seeing those broken and battered little girls had taken its toll on her—physically and emotionally. It had been a long time since she’d needed to go that deep into the psyche of a monster, but someone had to do it—no one else on the force had seen past Adam Langdon’s stellar résumé, perfect face and solid alibi.

Evelyn had.

Going on nothing more than a hunch, she’d followed Langdon after work one day. After being detained and released due to lack of evidence the bastard had gotten cocky, not bothering to cover his tracks. He’d led Evelyn straight to his lair—off the grid and hidden—where, unbeknownst to her at the time, his newest victim lay bound and gagged. That sixth sense she’d grown to trust had pushed at her, demanding attention. So she’d done the only thing she could: called for backup and went in alone. Though he was bigger, she was running on righteous anger and quickly got the drop on him. By the time Ryan and the backup arrived, Langdon was in cuffs and the kidnapped little boy sat huddled in Evelyn’s lap, crying softly. Old VCR tapes lined the closest shelves, some dating back fifteen years, of his previous victims.

She’d craved Wild West justice for Langdon. Instead, they’d shipped him to Clallam Bay Corrections Center just southeast of Neah Bay. She wanted him out of Washington State altogether, but knew he wouldn’t last long at CBCC. That gave her some sense of justice served. Even the cruelest killers wouldn’t accept some things—and a murdering child molester was one of them. But he wouldn’t be able to touch another child. He likely wouldn’t be able to do much of anything soon. Her lips tugged up as the dark, primal thought passed through her mind.

“Okay.” Ryan’s voice pulled her back to the present. “Let’s see you prove it.”

He pulled out a worn leather wallet, grabbed a crumbled twenty and slapped it onto the counter in front of them. He stuffed his wallet back in his pocket, then clipped another paper target to the hanger. “Right now.”

“I hate to take your money, O’Neil. But if you insist....” Evelyn shook her head. All thoughts of Landgon vanished.

She was in her element, and Ryan was toast.

She turned, pushed her protective eyepiece back into place and picked up her department-issued 9mm. She flicked off the Glock’s safety and raised her left hand. Focusing her breath, she concentrated on the flimsy target swaying from its ride down the shooting range. With each controlled breath, she slowed her heartbeat. She locked onto the bull’s-eye. Her mind morphed the thin target into the still-nameless face that tormented her dreamless nights: her family’s killer.

Without hesitation, her pointer finger squeezed the trigger...and blew a hole through the target’s middle.

“And that, O’Neil—” she holstered her piece, pivoted and grinned at her partner’s blank face “—is how it’s done in the big leagues.”

“Impressive.” He sank against the wooden stall, hand rubbing the stubble on his chin as he studied Evelyn’s obliterated target.

Evelyn picked up and tossed the empty shell casings into the trash. Ryan crossed his arms across his barrel of a chest and kicked a few casings her way. “So, Kate and the kids want you to come over for dinner tonight.”

Evelyn stopped short and glanced up. Ryan smiled.

She didn’t want to disappoint the kids, but what she really needed was a bottle of Malbec and a bubble bath. She shook her head. “Ryan, that smile of yours isn’t going to help you.”

“My killer smile may not have worked on you. But I have one better.”

Evelyn groaned and leaned back on her heels.

“Kate said she won’t take no for an answer. Be there at six o’clock, Davis.”

There was no arguing with Kate O’Neil. Evelyn knew it. Ryan knew it. Hell, even Kate knew it. Evelyn sighed. She’d clearly lost this battle.

“I guess I’ll see you at six, then.” She threw a shell casing at Ryan’s head, but he ducked without so much as a blink. “But I’m bringing a date.”

“Oh, yeah?” Ryan’s eyebrows arched together. “Who’s the lucky man?”

She fluttered her lashes. “His name is Mr. Malbec. Ever heard of him?”

Ryan’s deep laugh bounced off the wooden walls of their shooting stall. “Nice one, Davis, real nice.”

Evelyn picked up her gear and made her way toward the exit. She pushed open the door, turned and winked at her partner. “Thought you’d like that.”

“Six o’clock, Davis. And don’t be late,” Ryan shouted after her.

* * *

EVELYN STEPPED OUT of Starbucks, nursing her double-short, no-foam, soy latte as she crossed the cobblestoned street and walked to her favorite spot in Seattle—Pike Place Market. Heading straight to the end of the market, past the infamous fish-throwing stand, she turned right. She let the heavenly scent of lavender lead her, its invisible tether reeling her in. The soft aroma invaded her senses and melted the stress of the preceding weeks. She filled her lungs with the delicate fragrance. Tonight, after dinner at Kate and Ryan’s, she’d sit in a hot lavender bath and let the rest of the stress seep out of her pores.

Arriving at the stall she sought, she smiled at Josie’s familiar face. Pixie-like with her petite figure and a voice to match it, the vendor’s eyes crinkled as she grinned at Evelyn.

“How are you this evening, Detective?”

Evelyn shook her head, still smiling. “Just Evelyn tonight. I’m officially off the clock and desperately need some lavender oil and bath salts.”

She swung her small black bag to her front and riffled through its contents. Where was her wallet? She carried the smallest purse possible, yet always managed to misplace things. Would wonders never cease? Finally locating the item she was searching for, Evelyn looked up. Josie’s head was down as she leaned over the counter that overflowed with lavender and stretched to reach the bath salts.

“Are you ever truly off the clock, Evelyn?” the tiny woman asked as she pawed though her lavender products. She put the oil and salt into a tiny opaque bag and held it out to Evelyn. “Somehow, I doubt it.”

“Well, this—” Evelyn exchanged money for the bag and held it up, the soft scent floating up to her nose “—helps with my half-hearted attempt. Thank you.”

“You’re most welcome.” Josie winked and turned to help the tall man who had strolled up to her small boxy stall.

Evelyn left. She walked back through the marketplace, soaking up the late afternoon activity. She didn’t have to be anywhere for an hour or so and had every intention of enjoying her downtime. God knew she needed the break, and this was the perfect place for her to get it.

She loved Pike Place Market. The hustle and bustle was strangely refreshing, and she came here as often as possible. People never seemed to have a care in the world as they purposely, yet leisurely, went from stall to stall searching for that perfect treasure. It was a place to enjoy, a place to discover. And nowhere else could she fade into the background so quickly and easily.

* * *

HE FOLLOWED BEHIND EVELYN, twirling a lavender sprig. Just far enough away that she wouldn’t notice him in the sea of people, but close enough to smell the lavender trail wafting behind her. He seethed as she ambled from one marketplace stall to the next. He’d wanted to move in, destroy her as she’d laughed and bantered with that vendor woman. He’d even stepped closer, his hands twitching in anticipation. But no, it wasn’t time.

Not yet.

So he’d bide his time, and watch, then make her feel pain she’d never known before. Then. Only then would he take her.

His step lightened, the mental picture of her bleeding out at his feet pulsing through him. He stopped behind the column, held his breath and waited for her to finish at the wood-carver’s stall. She laughed. Anger burned in his eyes. How the hell can she be cheerful? She doesn’t deserve it. Not with what she’d done, and what she’d taken from him. He crushed the lavender sprig in his hand and threw it to the ground. She didn’t deserve happiness, but that would soon change.

He’d see to that.

CHAPTER TWO

KATE THREW THE wide glass door open. Evelyn smiled and held out the bright assortment of lilies, roses and baby’s breath that she’d picked up at Pike Place Market.

“For you.”

Kate’s face lit up. “Thanks, sweets. They’re beautiful. How do you manage to find these? I swear, I never have the same luck when I venture down there.”

She put the flowers down on the foyer table, turned and pulled Evelyn into a massive bear hug. As they stood at the same height of five foot ten, it was easy for Kate to do. The affectionate contact surprised Evelyn every time she found herself in her friend’s tight embrace. She had accepted Kate’s need to hug her. But it wasn’t always like that. After her family’s death, Evelyn had kept everyone at arm’s length—literally.

“I knew you wouldn’t say no.” Releasing her hold, Kate stepped back. Her curly red hair fell to one side as she tilted her head slightly. She clucked her tongue. “Wow, Ev. You look awful.”

Evelyn laughed and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks.”

She was forever amazed at her friend’s bluntness. It was the trait that had initially drawn Evelyn to her. The moment Ryan introduced them, a tight bond had formed between them. Knowing where she stood with Kate had been a welcome place for Evelyn. And eight years later, she still appreciated Kate’s candor and friendship. Looking at the green-eyed beauty, one would never guess that she was a cutthroat, shoot-from-the-hip, take-no-shit assistant district attorney.

“Just saying how it is,” Kate teased as she closed the door behind them.

Kate moved across the foyer, entered the dining room and flipped the light switch. Evelyn followed behind her. The clear, blown-glass chandelier twinkled to life. The room had plush cream carpets and pale blue walls. The table settings were laid out on the pub-style table.

For six.

Evelyn, plus the O’Neil clan, made five.

“Why are there six plates on that table?”

She pushed down the frustration bubbling inside her. If she had known Kate planned to pull this tonight, she would have declined—and nothing would have stopped her. Damn Kate, always trying to set her up.

“Are there?” Kate smiled innocently.

“Tonight, of all nights? You know how much the Langdon case took out of me. And how much I hate you trying to set me up.” Evelyn fought to keep her voice level.

Kate giggled.

“Why are you laughing?”

“Ryan owes me ten bucks.” Kate reached for the sixth place setting and gathered it into a neat pile. “Do you honestly think I would have made this a blind date? Tonight? Not in a million years. I haven’t seen either of you in weeks, and I want you all to myself. Besides, Ry thought it would be funny to see how long it took you to notice the number of place settings. I told him less than two minutes. He said ten. We bet, and I won.”

Evelyn should have known better. Heat kissed her cheeks. Apparently she needed this evening with her friends more than she realized.

Kate balanced the plate setting on one hand and reached for the flowers. She stopped, tilted her head. “Hear that?”

Little feet clapped down the hardwood floors, tiny giggles bouncing off the hallway walls. Evelyn grinned. She dropped to her knees and waited for the assault to commence.

Right on cue, Ava, Kate and Ryan’s six-year-old daughter, charged around the corner, long blond hair swinging wildly, and flung herself into Evelyn’s open arms.

“You’re here! You’re here!”

Ava tightened her grip around Evelyn and squeezed. Her little face pressed into the soft curve of Evelyn’s neck. She returned the child’s hug and quietly sighed. Kate knew her too well. This was exactly where Evelyn needed to be tonight.

Here with this family...her adopted family.

Ava pushed back from Evelyn’s embrace and, despite her lisp, babbled a mile a minute. Evelyn and Kate exchanged an amused look—the child was an attorney in the making. Evelyn turned her attention back to the chatty child as Kate headed toward the kitchen.

“Ry, can you grab me a vase?”

A baby’s contagious laugh pulled Evelyn’s lips into a smile, and she shifted Ava to one side to lock eyes with the little love of her life.

Liam O’Neil. At sixteen months, he was still a sweet baby to her, but he’d started to tear around the house as soon as he learned to walk, and his constant nonsense babble was heartwarming to hear. Liam hesitantly toddled toward her, his eyes sparkling with determination and untold mischief. Oh, dear. He took after Ryan with his playful demeanor, jet-black curls and matching dimples.

Liam was going to be one solid heartbreaker when he grew up.

His feet got ahead of his small body as he glanced up at Evelyn and he face-planted. Hard. His chin connected with the floor with a hard crack. Ava’s jabber halted. Her eyes grew wide as she stared at her brother’s crumpled figure.

He lay there for a minute, hugging the floor, his tiny body a statue. A whimper escaped his lips as he slowly lifted his face toward Evelyn. His chin quivered and tears collected in his eyes.

Evelyn set Ava down and, in two steps, scooped him into her arms to cuddle him close to her.

“Look at you, little man. You’re okay, sweetheart.” She lightly kissed the red, angry knot on his chin. He whimpered again, fat tears threatening to roll down his cheeks.

“You’re okay. See? All better.”

Evelyn pushed the curls away from his eyes. Liam tentatively smiled up at her. She kissed the tip of his nose and felt his body relax. She looked into his eyes, the stress of the Langdon case gone. She didn’t know how or why, but the tiny man in her arms pushed back the darkness in her world.

Seeing that her brother wasn’t broken, Ava once again launched into chatter about the red-haired boy who sat behind her in class, always pulling her hair. Why did he do that anyway? When no one answered, she embarked onto her next story.

“Kate, can I get a bag of frozen peas?” Evelyn grabbed Ava’s hand, cradled Liam to her chest and headed toward the kitchen.

* * *

RYAN AND EVELYN’S phones beeped at the same time. In tandem, they reached for them. Their delightfully calm and refreshing evening crashed and burned.

Ryan skimmed the text and set down his frosted mug of Guinness. “Son of a bitch.”

“Ryan,” Kate chastised between clenched teeth, casting a quick glance at Ava.

A look of chagrin crossed his face. Kate had a mouth that made the trashiest sailor blush, but demanded clean language around the children. It was one of the many contradictory things about her partner’s wife, and Evelyn knew he loved every single one of them.

Ava giggled at her parents’ exchange, nothing lost on her brilliant young mind, and went back to her favorite meal: cedar plank salmon. Which still boggled Evelyn’s mind—what six-year-old loved salmon? But after one nibble off Evelyn’s plate when Ava was five, the little munchkin was sold. Liam stuffed mashed potatoes into his mouth without the use of his fork, which now lay on the floor. Kate had given up that fight not even five minutes into dinner, as he insisted on using the utensil as a drumstick against the wood. Fearing for her lovely table, she’d left the fork on the floor when it went flying after her son’s last particularly creative drumming session.

Evelyn scanned the message and silently agreed with Ryan’s choice words. She pushed back from the table and ruffled Liam’s curls as she popped another piece of asparagus into her mouth.

“Gotta go, babe.” Ryan stood, leaned over to his wife and kissed her.

Ava scrambled down from her chair and threw herself at Evelyn. “Don’t go, Ev. You haven’t seen my new book yet.”

“I see how I rate.” Ryan chuckled, then shrugged on his North Face jacket.

Evelyn hugged Ava tightly. “Next time, sweets. That’s a promise. Okay?”

After letting her go, Evelyn leaned down to hug Liam, who was reaching up from his high chair. She laughed as he dug his chubby face into her neck and gave her a slobbery, openmouthed, potato-covered baby kiss.

God, she loved this family, these kids. No one could replace her own family. Ever. She ached for them daily, the pain still as fresh as it was fifteen years ago. But the O’Neil clan came a close second.

The gaping wound in her soul healed a bit with every minute spent with them. She didn’t know if she’d ever be whole again—some days, she doubted it completely. But this family made her feel like she had a fighting chance, and she’d do anything for them.

Ryan stood by the door. “Let’s go, Evelyn. The captain will piss himself if we don’t get there soon.”

“Ryan.” A groan of exasperation escaped Kate’s lips.

He shrugged, a sheepish smile crossing his face. It morphed into a smirk as he took a giant step forward and wrapped Kate in a tight embrace, noisily kissing her. Ava squealed in protest. Twisting out of her husband’s arms, Kate blushed and rolled her eyes at Evelyn.

“But he will. Truly. Piss himself,” Ryan said straight-faced. He laughed as he dodged Kate’s playful swat.

No need to remind Evelyn of that. Captain Kessler’s temper was legendary. Hot lava bubbled just beneath the surface of his even, cool disposition, just waiting for the right moment to erupt. It didn’t do so often, but when his temper flared, it was hot and violent.

She tried her best to stay on the easygoing side of his demeanor, but something told her that tonight they just might see him explode. Nothing in the message she’d received alluded to that, yet her instincts screamed that something was amiss. Something big. And ugly.

Evelyn blew out a long breath. So much for time off. She kissed Kate on the cheek. “Thanks for the dinner. Who knows, maybe one of these days you can teach me how to cook.”

Kate smiled. “That’d be nice.”

“You? Cook?” Ryan snorted, pushed open the front door and stepped out. “Not possible.”

Smiling, Evelyn shrugged into her black lightweight North Face jacket, then followed Ryan into the foggy Seattle evening.

CHAPTER THREE

IT HAD BEEN fifteen years. Still...she didn’t think she’d ever stop missing the constant sun and warmth of Phoenix. Shivering in the wind, she zipped her jacket, hunched her shoulders against the bone-chilling drizzle that fell from the sky and headed toward the station’s metal double doors. Admittedly, this misty Pacific Northwest weather suited her—the Evelyn of today. The Evelyn who’d once soaked up the golden sun in Phoenix and traipsed through Milan without a worry in the world had gone into hiding a long time ago. Her chest tightened. She wasn’t sure she’d ever see her again, or if she even existed anymore.

The station’s small foyer sat vacant except for the young officer perched behind the front desk. He lifted his head. “Detectives.”

“Sampson.” Evelyn nodded. “What’s going on tonight?”

His brows pinched together. “Sorry, Detective. Haven’t heard a thing.”

She frowned. “Okay. Thanks.”

A sick sense of dread twisted her stomach. She and Ryan rode to the third floor in silence. This was their night off. Being called in, especially after working the Langdon case nonstop, only meant one thing: trouble.

A soft chime announced their arrival. Captain Kessler sat on the desk closest to them—Evelyn’s desk—his face stormy.

“It’s about time,” he said. He pushed his tall, lanky frame off the corner of her desk and glared at them. Has he been waiting for us? Evelyn cast a quizzical look toward Ryan. He shrugged.

“Come on.” Kessler marched down the hall to his office door.

They passed through the bull pen to follow him. It was small, cramped almost. A dozen or so ancient metal desks butted up against one another. Each pair of detectives faced their partner. Ryan’s desk proudly featured his family’s framed smiling faces. Evelyn’s was mostly empty. No personal knickknacks, save the oversize black coffee mug she’d picked up at the market and one photo of Evelyn with Kate and the kids.

Normally bustling with loud—sometimes bordering on obnoxious—activity, the open space was vacant, quiet. She glanced at the assignment board. The detectives were all out. All of them.

Evelyn started to shake off her jacket.

“Don’t even bother, Davis,” Kessler called to her.

She shrugged back into the empty sleeve. Her brows lifted in surprise at the captain’s agitated jitteriness. With a lift of his broad shoulders, Ryan turned and headed toward Kessler’s office. Evelyn followed.

“I’m sending you over to Mercer Island.”

Evelyn and Ryan exchanged guarded looks. Not good. Not good at all.

“That’s Sanderson’s precinct.” Ryan leaned against the door frame, weary of the coming storm.

Despite her best attempts, anytime Evelyn and Sanderson were in the same vicinity, sparks flew—and not the good kind. Sanderson had made his disdain for her obvious on several occasions. Ever since he’d screwed up the close on the one—and only—case they’d been forced to work on together, his dislike had boiled over to sheer black hatred. Evelyn groaned inwardly.

She’d put up with a lot of bullshit being a woman on the force. But his chauvinistic, Neanderthal behavior was the worst. He was cocky, quick to leap to broad conclusions and straight-up sexist. There wasn’t a woman in the entire SPD who could stand to work with him. And to think she’d just been about to spend a relaxing evening with Kate and the kids.

“Yes.” Kessler gave Ryan a hard look. “Is that a problem, O’Neil?”

Ryan raised his hands. “Nope. Not for us, sir.”

“The chief...”

“Excuse me, sir.” Evelyn threw a shielded glance at Ryan. “The chief?”

Chief Diaz had been responsible for bringing her to the Seattle Police Department. He, Captain Kessler and Ryan were the only officers privy to her complete, sealed file. Though she knew the chief had watched over her—and her career—like a concerned older brother, once her move had been completed, she’d set out to prove herself, by herself. And prove herself she did. Her promotions, as the youngest woman to make detective, had been of her own merit. Still, she wasn’t deaf to the murmurs that the chief favored her.

Having him involved tonight spelled disaster. She took a deep breath and shifted her weight. Kessler’s blue eyes were dark with concern.

She didn’t need any more trouble from Sanderson. Her working relationship with him had gone from bad to worse when she had made detective before him. He’d protested just loud enough and made a not-so-subtle hint about her connection with the chief. It was a load of shit. But still...try as she might to ignore his egotistical arrogance and remain calm and professional, he always found a way under her skin.

Since her promotion, she and Ryan had been kept away from Sanderson. But apparently their luck had just run out. Great.

Kessler glared at her from hooded eyes and motioned for her to sit, which she did. He ran his forefinger over the top of his thumb, picked at his cuticle. Evelyn frowned. She’d picked up that tell during the first month reporting to him. What was making him so anxious?

“Given your background and your closing rate, the chief believes you’ll be an asset to the case.”

She leaned back into the uncomfortable chair, its faux leather groaning.

“And the case is?” She crossed her arms, cautiously intrigued.

Kessler hesitated. His face was ashen, the calm in his eyes dissipating.

“Captain?” Ryan broke the silence in the fishbowl room.

Kessler cleared his throat and, without blinking, answered. “It appears to be a family annihilator case. But something is off....”

She froze as the term family annihilator tumbled from Kessler’s lips. A low whistle came from Ryan as he rubbed his hand over the black scruff on his jaw.

She balanced on the edge of an emotional cliff, and she knew it. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ryan take a step toward her. She gave a tight shake of her head. He stopped, lifted a brow.

Evelyn straightened. She’d opened up to Ryan years ago, after an interrogation that had shaken both of them. She trusted him, and he’d sworn to always keep an eye out for her—no matter how independent and strong she thought she was.

But she didn’t need Ryan, or anyone for that matter, to keep her from tumbling over the cliff’s edge. She could manage it herself, for crying out loud. She reined in the suffocating emotions. She was seasoned at corralling her galloping heart—she’d spent years perfecting the task.

With the help of her therapist, she recognized that emotions didn’t make her weak, but strong. She wasn’t a statistic, but a survivor. Everything she’d walked through made her the woman—and most importantly, the detective—she was.

Kessler picked up a thin case file off his desk and leaned toward her.

Swallowing hard, Evelyn took it from him. She knew her partner had noticed her brief hesitation and seen the emotions dance behind her eyes. To most people, she was unreadable. But Ryan wasn’t most people. He read her like an open book. He’d noticed. If Kessler did, he didn’t say anything. Her lips tightened into a hard line as she flipped the file open.

“Appears?” she said to no one in particular as she studied the photos.

“Yes. It’s the second such case in the past two weeks—in the same precinct, with similar family units. Those photos—” Kessler motioned to the brightly colored crime scene images “—are from the first.”

She flipped through the photos. The wife’s body lay at the feet of what appeared to be her husband. The back of his head was missing. Evelyn swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. With each sweep of her eyes she cataloged the grisly images of the husband and wife. She continued skimming through the photos, then stopped. A young child lay on her back, a deep, crimson gash across her throat. Evelyn’s hand trembled. Her throat tightened, rage and grief warring within her.

“Have either of the husbands recently lost their jobs?”

“No. They’re both successful in their respective industries,” the captain replied.

Evelyn tapped the photos on the table.

Something wasn’t right.

Men who took their family’s lives fell into one of two categories: angry at their partners and seeking revenge, or hopeless and despondent and believing their family was better off dead. It was usually a reaction to a loss of some kind—a job, a wife. They were typically mid-thirties to middle-age, socially isolated and had been depressed or frustrated for a long time. For many family annihilators, the act of murder was a way to reestablish control.

At first glance, neither of these men fit that profile.

So what triggered this violence?

“Family annihilator cases are extremely rare, especially with family units like this,” she said without looking up.

“I agree.”

“Do we have any leads?” Ryan sat next to Evelyn, peering over her shoulder at the photos.

“Why bring us on now? Why not with the first case?” Evelyn passed the glossy five-by-sevens to Ryan and glanced over at him uneasily. She hadn’t wanted to hand the photos over, concerned about how they might affect him. They made the perfect pair: he was lighthearted, she was serious; he played by the book, she pushed the boundaries. While she held people—and the emotions they garnered—at a distance, Ryan was all in. Had always been all in. It was one of the many qualities that she loved in her partner; he felt deeper than any man she’d ever met. And she couldn’t even imagine what those pictures would do to him if they’d hit her so hard.

Ryan began to flip through the photos, then stopped. He looked up, his face hard. “Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me this isn’t fucking happening. Here. On our stomping ground.”

He held the same photo of the young child with her throat slit that she’d stopped at. The child looked to be about Ava’s age. His hand shook. A muscle in his jaw jumped. They’d seen some twisted things while working homicide. The seasoned—burned-out was more like it—detectives told them it’d get easier. That seeing the capacity of the sickos out there was par for the course. They encouraged both her and Ryan to disengage. Total bullshit. So yeah, she could only imagine that the photo made him see red.

“The Langdon case was a priority,” Kessler said. “We needed your full efforts to close that one down. At the time, we thought it was a one-off. But with this fresh crime scene...”

Evelyn’s mind scrambled to categorize the information they’d been given. Her gaze swept to the captain. She did a double take. The corners of his mouth were turned down in a tight grimace as he clenched and unclenched his fists.

Evelyn leaned forward and gripped the armrest. “Does the chief think serial?”

Ryan’s head snapped up.

“I didn’t say that.” Kessler’s jaw twitched. No police officer in his right mind voluntarily labeled someone a serial killer until they had to. No one wanted that on their watch.

You didn’t have to. Evelyn dropped back into her chair. She’d been right. Again. Whatever they were about to step into would make the Langdon case appear like a walk in the park.

“We aren’t officially saying or thinking anything.” Kessler scrubbed his face, then glanced between the two detectives. “Two family annihilator cases in as many weeks is suspicious. Chief Diaz wants you and O’Neil to head up the investigation and report directly to Assistant Chief Pugel and himself.”

The captain’s secretary rapped on the door frame and stuck her head into the office. “Sorry for interrupting, sir, but he’s here.”

“Thanks. Tell him I’ll be with him shortly.”

Evelyn threw Ryan a guarded look. She’d never known Kessler’s assistant to interrupt him. Ever. So who the hell was important enough to do so now?

Captain Kessler stood. The detectives mimicked his movement. Evelyn glanced over her shoulder, following the captain’s gaze. A tall handsome stranger clad in a perfectly tailored black suit leaned against her desk, animatedly speaking into his cell. She couldn’t place him. But damn, he was beautiful. The stranger caught her staring, smiled and tipped his head in her direction. Evelyn’s heart jumped. What the hell? She swung her attention back to Kessler, momentarily uncomfortable with her reaction. Where did that come from?

“CSI is already on scene, but nothing was moved,” Kessler said. “Get over there, and get fresh eyes on it. Now.”

CHAPTER FOUR

IT DIDN’T SURPRISE Ryan that they’d been put on this case. Some might question the decision, given his partner’s background—if they even knew, which most didn’t. But the chief made the right call. Evelyn’s instincts were primal. In one breath, she could transport herself into the mind of the predator, see what he saw and think how he thought. If a psychopathic serial killer had unleashed fear onto the streets of Seattle, there was no one better than Evelyn Davis to bring him down. Ryan floored the gas.

Watching Evelyn work had freaked Ryan out the first year of their partnership. Kate had chuckled at him when he’d mentioned it. She’d told him to chill out and bring his new partner by so she could meet her new friend.

One case under their belt together, and he was sold. How could he not be? She’d empathized with the grieving widow, whom the rest of the squad felt was a victim, all while asking the right questions to pull out the truth: that the woman had, in fact, murdered her husband.

He’d rolled with Evelyn’s instincts from that day forward, letting her take the lead. She still mesmerized him. She caught things before anyone else did, connected dots that had barely surfaced and her closing rate of 80 percent compared to the rest of SPD’s 50 percent continued to push her into the spotlight—which made her squirm, and him laugh. It was quite possibly the only tell that made her human, instead of a demigod.

So while he wasn’t surprised that Chief Diaz asked for them, he wondered what the hell his partner was thinking. How well had she compartmentalized the information they’d been briefed on?

Ryan knew what she’d kept guarded from everyone, what her background held. He’d made it a priority to get beneath her carefully constructed barriers when they became partners. He needed to know the woman who held his life in her hands. Fiercely private, she’d kept everyone at arm’s length. A year after she’d met Kate, and only when certain of her safety, she’d finally let her guard down. But only around him and Kate, and only so much.

After Ava was born, she’d let him and Kate in—truly in—and what Evelyn entrusted them with horrified them. She’d gone from partner to family that night.

A normal person would’ve become a statistic. But Evelyn wasn’t normal. Instead of losing herself to the grief, she focused on bringing justice to victims’ families. He’d once asked Evelyn why she’d become a cop. She’d quietly told him she wanted to give closure to families—the one thing she’d never gotten, and the one constant that drove everything she did.

He doubted she’d ever fully let them in, and that was okay. She had trusted him—trusted them—with her darkest moment. In turn, he trusted her with his life.

A question gnawed at him, despite his best attempt to eject it from his mind. He took a hard left, tires squealing. Would this case hit too close?

She’d shifted into herself as she absorbed the case file details. He’d seen it before. When she didn’t want to deal with some unseen emotion or issue, a hardness descended. Her sapphire-colored eyes darkened, her lips set into a firm line and her already impeccable posture straightened even more. Fascinating as it was to see someone change like that, he didn’t like it. He hated to see her prepare for some invisible battle, shielding herself from some unseen attack, leaving him—and anyone else, for that matter—helpless to defend her.

“You okay?” He glanced at her.

“You know I am.”

“Do I?”

CHAPTER FIVE

RYAN’S LINE OF questioning was spot-on. Evelyn couldn’t fault him for that. She would’ve been asking the same thing if the roles were reversed. But they weren’t. She gritted her teeth, irritation ripping through her. For being caught off-guard, for allowing the emotions to seep back in where they didn’t belong, for being vulnerable.

“Yes.” She forced the word past compressed lips.

He nodded, the movement brisk. “Okay, then.”

“Okay, then.”

They pulled into the snaking driveway. Ryan whistled. The majestic colonial rose from the evergreen carpet that blanketed the ground. Perfect landscaping drew their gazes to the grand structure of the main house. Evelyn couldn’t help but imagine the family enjoying a rare, million-dollar summer evening, watching the sun dance with the edge of the lake. She shuddered. They’d never do that again.

Figures rushed back and forth, their dark silhouettes a stark contrast to the bright lights shining through the windows. A vibrant red door, etched glass panels on either side, stood slightly ajar.

Evelyn knew what awaited them. Her stomach dropped.

“You know, Kate and I toyed with the idea of moving to Mercer.” Ryan’s voice interrupted her thoughts. He put the car into Park and sighed. “Now...it’s lost its charm.”

Evelyn ignored him and got out of the car. “Shall we get this over with?”

They signed the front door log, then stepped into the mammoth foyer. Two curving stairwells mirrored each other, ascending toward the second-floor landing. A rather large and, by the looks of everything around them, expensive crystal chandelier hung suspended over their heads. Two officers huddled by a black grand piano in hushed conversation.

Evelyn walked past them without a word and entered the family room. Careful not to interfere with the CSI unit or touch anything, her eyes took in every awful detail.

In front of the large marble fireplace lay two blonde girls in their pajamas. Bound and gagged. One with a bullet hole through her forehead, and the other with her throat slashed. Evelyn walked over and looked into their faces, sadness washing over her. Even in death, they appeared sweet...innocent.

She took in the scene at her feet. Something was off. What was it? She bent down again and leaned in. “What in the world?”

The younger child’s wrists were cinched tight behind her back, causing an involuntary arch in her body. She hadn’t had any way to defend herself as the knife ripped into her neck. Strangely, the older one’s hands had been bound in front. They huddled together. The younger one slumped into her sister’s chest, her head resting at an odd angle against her big sister’s shoulder. The older girl couldn’t have been more than fourteen.

Olivia’s age.

Evelyn banished the thought and focused on the girls in front of her. In her mind’s eye, she could see the older sister scooting closer, reaching her arms around her dying sister and cradling her. Blood from the gaping slit in the little girl’s throat soaked the front of her sister’s yellow pajamas and formed a dark crimson puddle around them. Evelyn frowned. That blood looked darker than the splatter on the fireplace, almost as if the blood on her chest—her sister’s blood—had dried before she’d been shot.

Evelyn jerked back. Her stomach rolled. “Ry—”

She looked up and into the scowling face of her nemesis, Detective Josh Sanderson. Shit. She’d walked right by him on purpose and assessed the scene on her own with fresh eyes. Hadn’t that been Kessler’s direct order?

Wrong move.

She stood and tipped her head in recognition. “Sanderson.”

The short athletic man’s face twisted into a snarl. She swallowed a sigh. Were they really going to go around this mountain again? Once, in a drunken stupor, the narcissistic, arrogant man in front of her said that had they met at a local bar, and he didn’t know anything about Diaz’s golden girl, he’d have loved to see what was beneath the jeans and black North Face jacket that hugged her curves just right, positive that it would only be better than his wildest imagination.

She’d wanted to clock him. Ryan had done it instead.

“I’d say it was nice to see you, but it isn’t. This is my case. What are you doing here?” Sanderson asked in an icy tone.

She ignored his glare and locked eyes with him. Apparently being polite wasn’t in the cards tonight. Fine. She doubted he knew that they now led this investigation. If he did, he wouldn’t have been so pleasant—if she could call this pleasant.

“Chief Diaz sent us over. What have you got, Sanderson?” Evelyn asked.

Ryan walked up, crossed his arms. Evelyn bit back a smirk. Ryan would surely win any pissing match with Sanderson, and the other detective knew it.

Sanderson glanced between the two detectives and shoved back his cheap blue suit jacket, looping his thumbs through his belt as he jerked his head toward the elegant family room. “Family annihilator.”

“Shit,” Ryan muttered under his breath.

She normally dealt with Sanderson’s kind in a perfectly PC way, took all the egotistical bullshit in stride. And judging by the way Sanderson glared up at her now, she’d have to do it again—take his bullshit. She took a deep breath—no use egging him on any more than her sheer existence on planet Earth already did.

“And how did you come to that conclusion, Detective Sanderson?”

She’d meant it as a polite question, trying to be cordial. Sanderson’s face reddened. The vein in his neck bulged.

“Listen, Davis. It’s a theory.” Although anger had pushed color to his face, icicles dripped from his tongue. “Just because you have the chief wrapped around your little finger doesn’t mean you can come in here and make accusations.”

She seethed, but managed to ignore the underhanded, out-of-line remark—she’d deal with that later—and tilted her chin down to look into his shadowy eyes.

“Yes, actually, I can. I’m the senior officer here and we—” she pointed to Ryan and then herself “—have the lead on this case. Not to mention that this little ‘theory’ of yours, the one you so flippantly expressed, is one you cannot substantiate until further into the investigation. If ever.”

Sanderson took a menacing step toward her.

Evelyn’s pulse jumped angrily as she also took a step forward. Before she could respond, Ryan stepped between the two detectives and shoved an open hand onto Sanderson’s chest.

“How about you stop right there, Sanderson,” Ryan said in a gruff, don’t-mess-with-me-you-little-shithead voice. “You can call the chief and confirm what Detective Davis just said.”

Sanderson tried to take another step toward Evelyn. Ryan’s face hardened. “Make the damn phone call.”

Sanderson shot a look past Ryan’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, Davis.”

Turning on his heel, he stormed into the kitchen, punching numbers into his phone as he went.

Ryan grabbed Evelyn’s wrist and towed her outside, where he released her.

“Okay, look, I know you were trying your best to be nice—” he rubbed his hands over his face “—but are you out of your mind?”

“Ryan—”

“Stop. Anything that puts Sanderson on edge weakens this team. You know that. I know that. So what the hell’s going on? Are you—”

“I’m fine.”

Evelyn wasn’t sure she could explain her actions. They were just as foreign to her as they were to Ryan. Her cool, steel-like outer shell, which had served her well the past fifteen years, had just cracked, ever so slightly. And that scared the hell out of her. At the sound of Sanderson uttering those two horrid little words, she’d wanted to rip off his face and weep at the same time. If he had pushed it much further, she didn’t know how she would have responded.

Ryan paced in front of her, hands clasped behind the back of his neck. He halted, stared at the floor, then glanced back at her. “No, Ev. You’re not.”

She went to argue, but snapped her mouth closed as he put up his hand.

“Maybe you’re too close for this one.”

“What? Why?” She felt her cheeks flush. “Because tragedy struck my family? Is that it?”

“Maybe.”

He’d said it so softly as he sagged against the porch railing, watching her, that she almost missed it. Almost.

Rebellious tears gathered in her eyes. She couldn’t believe he’d thrown her family’s murder into her face like that and questioned her ability to do her job. He knew the job meant everything to her, kept her sane. She’d never jeopardize her position. How could he not trust her to handle herself and put her work first? Her heart stumbled and her shoulders sagged. How could he think she wasn’t okay?

But was she really fine? She’d already harnessed the ghosts of her past—and their occupying emotions—twice. In less than two hours. She grimaced. Okay, so maybe he was right. Still...she wasn’t ready to give in to that emotional tailspin. Not now.

“Don’t use that against me, Ryan. I’m a damn good cop, and you know it.”

He jerked back as if she’d struck him. “Evelyn. I’m your partner. I’m looking out for you. That’s what partners do. I’m concerned.”

She glanced up at him, heat rushing to her cheeks again. She shouldn’t have pushed Sanderson so far. She hung her head. “You’re right.”

“Sanderson’s an asshole. But I’ve never seen you react like that. The chief put you on this case for a reason, and it wasn’t because of your pretty face. You know these types of cases better than anyone on the force, and your instincts are right on target.”

She walked toward the open door. She peered through the grand foyer at the room that held the family and shuddered, a chill racing down her spine. “Just because it looks like a family annihilator, Ry, doesn’t mean it is. If the media even gets a whiff of that theory, they’ll run with it.”

“I know,” Ryan said.

“There won’t be anything sacred left for this family. Everyone will believe this man, this father and husband, killed his family—even if we’ve proved otherwise.”

Her throat closed around unspoken emotion. She knew all too well what the media could do. Her father’s name and dignity had been shredded once the media sharks had sunk their teeth into the “family annihilator” tag. The grisly video Evelyn had received from the killer came too late to clear her father’s name in the eyes of the public. She’d had to flee Phoenix, its warmth, its sun, its beauty—the media had seen to that. She shook her head and vanquished the dark, haunting memories that rose from the depths of her soul.

She faced her partner and stuck her hands deep in her pockets. “The first look doesn’t always mean everything. The dead don’t lie. We just have to see what they’re trying to show us.”

“You’re right. They don’t. So whatever ghosts keep surfacing, push back. Lock them down.” He took two steps to stand beside her and studied the house. “We’ve got a job to do. That family needs us. They need you.”

She nodded. She wouldn’t allow the horrors of her past to hijack her present. She was stronger than that. She had endured more than most people had in a lifetime and made it out the other side. Ryan was right: whatever dark shadows clawed at her needed to be caged. Permanently.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the grand foyer. “Okay, gentlemen. Show’s over.”

The officers chuckled.

Evelyn moved back into the family room and knelt beside the sisters, once more swallowing the rage and grief that gripped her throat as she stared into the faces of two innocent lives taken far too soon. “Ry—come over here. This is what I wanted to show you earlier.”

Ryan hurried over and squatted next to her. “Talk to me.”

“Notice anything different between these bloodstains?” She pointed to one area, then the next.

Ryan studied the blood splattered from the gunshot wound and that from the knife. He turned, horror in his eyes.

“Holy shit.” He sat back on his heels and motioned to the oldest. “Her sister bled out in her arms, and then she was shot.”

Evelyn nodded. Her heart twisted. What type of monster are we dealing with?

“I’m going to grab the coroner to get the time of death for both girls.” Ryan rose and walked out of the room.

The older girl’s face was frozen in panic and anguish. Evelyn knew that helpless feeling. Her sadness morphed into a fierce rage that simmered beneath her skin. No one should have to die like that.

She stood, pulled out a thin notebook and pen and scribbled a few notes. Snapping the book closed, she shoved it into her pocket and went over to the woman, their mother. Broken and riddled with a dozen or more knife wounds, she lay at her husband’s feet. Defensive bruising covered both arms and blood congealed above her split lip. She’d put up one hell of a fight. Evelyn knelt beside the body. “Good for you, ma’am.”

From her crouched position, she checked the man sitting in the recliner. From this angle, he looked to be asleep. She moved an inch to the left and saw the back of his head splattered against the artwork just behind him. She straightened. This wasn’t a family annihilator case. She knew it. But still...she needed to conduct a thorough examination of every inch of this family’s life.

“Fin?”

The officer to her right jumped. His young face lit up as his eyebrows scrunched together.

“I need you to verify if either parent had a lover on the side. Pull their phone records and check for large cash deposits or withdrawals. If either one of them had a secret life that would provoke all this—” she gestured around her “—I want to know about it.”

The officer nodded as he scribbled down notes.

If they were going to see this case for what it truly was, Evelyn needed to investigate all possible triggers. It was a long shot, but she knew finding out that a spouse had a lover was such a spark, and she wanted to rule it out. Hopefully, once they were done, they’d clear the man staring up at her with lifeless eyes.

Then they could focus on catching the sick, twisted bastard who had done this.

Sanderson rejoined them, face flushed. Evelyn could only imagine the tongue-lashing the chief had given him. Would he ever learn it wasn’t a pissing match?

“We need as many eyes on this as possible,” she said. “This makes two similar cases, and no one wants a third. If it’s not a family annihilator case and, in fact, the same guy, we want to catch him. And fast. So what do you see?”

He studied the room.

“It’s like he just sat, sucked the gun and blew his head off.” Sanderson walked over to her as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “It feels too easy, almost staged.”

“I agree.”

Sanderson eyebrows arched in disbelief.

“What else?”

He circled the husband, stepping around the wife.

“It’s strange that it doesn’t look like he put up a fight. At least...” He faltered, glanced at the two young girls and cleared his throat. “At least at first glance, but I don’t know.”

“The autopsy will confirm that tomorrow.” Ryan joined them again. He tipped his head toward Evelyn once, the muscle in his jaw jumping.

Her mind flashed back to the DVD of her own family’s brutal murder as she viewed the tragedy in front of her. In vibrant color, she saw her father begging the murderer for mercy, Olivia’s neck slashed, the defensive wounds on her mother. She had been a tigress until the end....

“Ev—” Ryan whispered.

Her eyes focused again on the vicious scene in front of her. Sanderson was right in his assessment. There didn’t appear to have been a struggle. But the autopsy would reveal what lay hidden beneath.

“Are you finished here?” she asked the CSI officer, motioning to the girls.

He nodded.

She crouched beside the girls and studied their bodies more closely. Gently, she reached out, put a gloved finger to the first girl’s eyelids and closed them over lifeless, terrified blue eyes. She shifted her weight and repeated the gesture to her sister’s eyes.

“I’ll find the bastard who did this. I promise.” She stood.

Ryan spoke quietly behind her. “We’ll get this guy, Ev. But I need you all here. We need you all here to nail him.”

“I know. I’m sorry about earlier.” Evelyn’s shoulders slumped. “It hit a nerve. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, it will.”

Who was she kidding? Clearly not Ryan. She hated that he was right. It would happen again. And continue to happen until she found the one thing that continued to elude her: closure. The same darkness that drove her at work, always fluttering in the back of her mind, haunted every second of every day. She had to stay one step ahead of it, or it would consume her.

He sighed. “It’s what makes you so good at the job. That drive for justice. You just won’t stop. You’re a bulldog—a gorgeous bulldog—but a bulldog nonetheless when it comes to finding justice. You don’t take that lightly. It’s what makes you...well, you.”

She shook her head, not sure how to respond. “You’re right. I let my guard down, and all my emotions came flooding out. I’ll get it under control. I promise.”

Their phones buzzed simultaneously. A message from Captain Kessler illuminated the small screen.

Need you in my office. ASAP.

Evelyn set her jaw stubbornly. Had that bastard Sanderson really had the balls to submit a complaint against her? She looked up at Ryan. “I need to be on this case.”

“I get it, kiddo, I do.”

Evelyn zipped up her jacket, hunched her shoulders against the cold rain and followed Ryan out to the car.

Did he really?

CHAPTER SIX

SPECIAL AGENT MARCUS MORETTI didn’t move from beside the captain’s desk, just watched as the two detectives stepped out of the elevator. If he hadn’t all but perfected his poker face during his years at the Bureau, he’d be a lost cause.

Evelyn Davis wasn’t just beautiful—she was a knockout of epic proportions.

The rumors of her past life as a supermodel paled in comparison to the goddess staring back at him. He locked eyes with her sapphire gaze and his stomach tightened. He swallowed hard.

Focus, Moretti.

He saw Kessler motion them forward. Evelyn tossed her coat over the back of her chair and said something to her partner that Marcus couldn’t make out. Her partner smiled a tight, wary smile and followed her to Kessler’s office. Shit. Nothing like starting out on the defensive.

Marcus pulled his gaze away from Evelyn’s lips and studied the two detectives as they approached. He’d requested both their files before accepting this case. Ryan O’Neil’s jacket had all the typical information. Evelyn Davis’s, on the other hand was surprisingly thin, especially for someone with her reputation. She was the reason he’d said yes to this assignment. With her experience and skill set, he definitely wanted her on his team. But he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe, just maybe, something was off, and he had to get to the bottom of it first. He needed to find out what, exactly, was missing from her file.

Evelyn walked into the office, her expression cautious yet questioning, reminding him of a black panther coiled to spring. He tried to read whatever he saw swirling just behind her guarded gaze, but he got nothing. He’d hate to play against her in poker. He got the feeling she would wipe the floor with his ass.

He smiled at her. She didn’t return the gesture. Well, okay, then.

“Captain?”

Kessler motioned toward him. “Detectives, this is Special Agent Marcus Moretti. The mayor called in a personal favor to have him consult on this case. Special Agent Moretti, these are my lead detectives on the cases in question, Ryan O’Neil and Evelyn Davis.”

Marcus moved from his spot and extended his hand. Ryan leaned forward first, shook Marcus’s hand, then moved aside for his partner. Marcus looked between Ryan and Evelyn as he stepped closer to her. There’s always an alpha in a partnership, so which of you is it? She reached for his hand and nodded. He locked eyes with her again. Her soft but firm grasp surprised him. He let go and crossed his arms over his chest, resuming his seat on the edge of Kessler’s desk.

The captain cleared his throat. “The mayor requested the chief bring the FBI in to consult on this case. Last night’s murder was the second in just as many weeks. We need all the help we can get to shut this down, and fast.”

“Great. We’ll get set up down the hall.” With that, she turned and walked out, followed by her partner.

Marcus’s eyebrows arched in surprise. He’d expected her to push back, not usher him into the middle of their investigation.

Kessler stood. He motioned to the door. “After you, Agent Moretti.”

Marcus followed behind the two detectives and couldn’t help but notice the way Detective Davis’s titanium-colored suit hugged her in all the right spots. Not boxy, like so many of his counterparts, but sharp, professional and feminine. The Bureau office gossip hadn’t been wrong. The woman walking into the conference room was smoking hot.

Factoring in his time as a Navy SEAL—when his life, and the lives of his team, depended on reading people—and his stint with the Behavioral Science Unit at the Bureau before being tapped for the black-site task team, Marcus could read her body language like a well-used playbook.

The guarded glances his way and the tiny muscle in her jaw tweaking. Oh, yeah. She was more than slightly pissed at his presence. He got that. Most Feds and local law enforcement had a standing feud. Each thought the others were incompetent, and unable to work a case as efficiently as they could.

He, however, didn’t subscribe to that line of thinking. Did she?

Marcus pulled out a chair, settled back and addressed the officers. “You know, contrary to popular belief, Detective Davis, agents at the FBI aren’t idiots.”

Her eyebrows shot up. A smiled played on her lips, and her eyes sparkled with silent laughter. She sat. “I don’t think FBI agents are idiots, Special Agent Moretti.”

“No?”

“Nope. As a matter of fact, one of my closest friends is FBI.” She picked up a file and tapped its edges against the long conference table. “However, I do know that some federal agents don’t like to play nice with the local police. They tend to hold their cards close to their chest while citing the oh-so-familiar, yet still completely infuriating, need-to-know line. And if we want to catch this guy before he kills again, we can’t have that. We’re on the same team, in here and out in the field. End of story.”

Marcus smiled. “I couldn’t agree more.”

Tilting his chair back, he laced his fingers together and hooked them behind his head. He watched her for a moment, intrigued. Then he leaned forward again. A sharp thud bounced off the walls as the front two legs of his chair reconnected with the floor. “Your close friend is FBI? How’d you two meet?”

There was that guarded look again.

“It’s a long story, and a personal one at that.” She stared at him, expressionless. “My apologies if this comes off as rude, but I have no intention of sharing it with you.”

He chuckled. “Fair enough.”

She motioned to the case file in front of him, changing the subject. “So what do you have so far?”

This one’s all business. He normally liked that. It was his own mode of operation. But he was trying to build rapport with her. So much for that idea. He sighed, then picked up the files. “This is what my teams have pulled.”

He slid the matching files across the table. Evelyn and Ryan reached for theirs simultaneously. Marcus took note of how in sync the pair was. Was there something going on outside of the station? He made a mental note to check.

“We have info on the two families—the Garlands and the Middletons. They both lived on Mercer Island on waterfront properties. Both are families of four. Both have two daughters—”

“What are their names?” Evelyn interrupted.

“Pardon?”

“Their names? The children. What are their names?” Marcus could have sworn the piercing blue of her eyes deepened as she stared at him. “These are not just victims, Agent Moretti. Just a few days ago, they were full of life, hope, dreams.”

“I understand—”

“I don’t think you do. It’s easier to distance yourself. But it’s tragic when a person whose story just got cut short is objectified to nothing more than the title of ‘victim.’”

“Ev...” Ryan murmured in a soft warning.

She ignored him.

“Their names, Agent. You know, Cynthia Garland, age fourteen. Christina Garland, age twelve. Cynthia was caught up in the latest wave of team whoever.” Evelyn waved her hands in the air. “Christina loved all things Disney.”

She stared straight into Marcus’s face and locked eyes with him. Marcus knew she meant it as a challenge, but strangely, he didn’t feel it. He only felt drawn to her. His pulse quickened. Definitely not what he was expecting.

“Ashley Middleton, age six. Samantha Middleton, age four. Ashley loved horses and recently won her first blue ribbon at a show. Samantha wanted to be an astronaut and, according to the neighbors, liked to walk around with a flight helmet on.”

“Ev.” Ryan coughed into his fist.

She stopped short, blinked at Ryan, then glanced down, seeming flustered.

Marcus waited. Watched her closely to see how long it would take her to collect herself. She raised her head less than three seconds later. Impressive.

Marcus smiled, put down the file in his hand and calmly picked up where she’d left off. Maybe, just maybe, he’d found the last member of his special task-force team.

“Both husbands worked in high-profile jobs. Scott Garland was the lead engineer of Boeing, and James Middleton was the founding and managing partner of Middleton and Houghes, the largest law firm in Seattle. Neither were home a lot, but they weren’t absent fathers by any stretch of the imagination. Both Meagan Garland and Kimberley Middleton were your typical stay-at-home mothers, but also socially engaged and involved in multiple charitable organizations, as well as being active in their children’s lives.” He leaned back in his chair. “All these individuals are victims of brutal acts of violence. I’m also painfully aware, Detective Davis, that they’re all someone’s family members, that people loved them and are grieving their untimely and unjust deaths.”

He watched her face fall. What the hell? Quickly, he mentally skimmed the information he knew about her and remembered reading that she’d lost her family. Shit. He should’ve known this type of case would hit a tender spot. He’d have questioned her humanity if it didn’t.

“We aren’t heartless animals,” he said in a softer tone. “My deepest apologies if it came across that way.”

Ryan’s eyes widened and a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. The captain’s face remained unreadable as he glanced between his star detective and Marcus.

Her next move would determine everything, including whether or not he’d continue to evaluate her for his task-force team. He needed strong team members, individual thinkers willing to toe the line when needed, but confident enough in their own ability to step off that line if justice required it. It wasn’t easy, and only a very special person could handle both.

He hoped Evelyn was such a person.

Color kissed the top of her cheeks, making her look all that much more appealing. He’d never met someone like the woman sitting across from him. In the ten minutes that he’d known her, she’d questioned him, put him in his place, treated him as her—

He went rigid. He’d never met a woman who was his equal and acted like it. Sure, there had been plenty with the potential, but none that had stepped up to him like she had.

And he had to admit, he liked that.

Tilting her head slightly, she smiled at him. His stomach tightened again. Apparently oblivious to his inner battle between intellect and libido, she took a deep breath. “My apologies for assuming the worst. You’re right. The only animal is the one who is still on the loose.”

Marcus breathed a sigh of relief. Impressive. He’d definitely found his last team member—if she’d only say yes. He caught her eye, nodded, then looked down at the case file in his hands. “Right, then. Shall we nail this asshole?”

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHE’D BEEN RIGHT. After digging through the lives and histories—and more importantly, the autopsy reports—of both families and coming up empty, they now, without any doubt, had ruled out the family annihilator label, though it didn’t make this case any simpler. If anything, it made it harder.

The whirling of the ceiling fan stirred the warm, calm air in the bull pen. Evelyn sipped her Starbucks latte and reached for the coroner’s reports. Ryan cradled his phone between his ear and shoulder and scowled at something said on the other end. His pen tapped the edge of his desk in rhythmic bursts. Evelyn tuned out her partner and riffled through the reports again, determined to find something—anything—that would give them a break in these cases.

Their killer had taken his time with the Garland family. She shuddered. There were no defensive wounds on the father, because he couldn’t defend himself. He’d been injected with a paralyzing agent. Evelyn’s stomach clenched. Even if he’d wanted to fight to protect his family, he’d been powerless to do so. Unable to move, he’d watched as the madman slashed his youngest daughter’s throat, then shot his oldest. Aside from the horrific, psychological last moments as her sister bled out in her arms, the oldest had died a quick death. But what he’d done to the mother, she couldn’t go over that again. Not without her rebellious mind flashing on colored photos of her own mother. Evelyn shook her head to clear the vivid images, scanned through the statement again until she landed on the detailed report of the father. He’d been tortured in ways that would make even the toughest SEAL’s skin crawl before having the back of his head off blown off.

She put the report down and rolled her shoulders in small circles. The mayor was breathing down their necks for any forward movement, and despite the detailed and graphic autopsy report, they had nothing to offer.

She sighed and closed her eyes. It had been a long day of canvassing the neighborhoods, researching, looking for connections between the two families and interviewing the next of kin, which had been beyond brutal. If Evelyn had to console one more grieving family member without being able to assure them of anything, she might scream.

Her eyes burned, the hours of reading taking their toll. She and Ryan both needed a reprieve, just a brief one, to recharge and regroup. But they wouldn’t get it. Not with the predator still at large and nothing to show for their hours and hours of tedious, eye-crossing work. She rubbed her eyes, then reached for her lukewarm coffee and took a sip. Silently whining wasn’t going to fix anything.

Her mind drifted toward the handsome Fed. He’d been called away to a closed-door meeting with the mayor down at city hall. Which was fine with her. Evelyn didn’t want to have to rub shoulders with any politician right now, nor did she want to be within five feet of the Fed. His absence was a much-needed relief—every time she was near him, her skin tingled and her heart kicked into overdrive.

She set the mug down, glancing at the report and waiting for the black letters to refocus in front of her.

Ryan slammed down the phone. “This is total bullshit.”

Evelyn looked over at her partner. He ran his hand over his chin stubble and pawed through the papers on his desk.

“We’ve got nothing. No one heard anything. No one saw anything. We’ve got no fingerprints, no fibers. Nothing.” He picked up his cup and threw it across the room. It shattered into a hundred tiny pieces and dark liquid stained the floor where it pooled. “It’s like this guy’s a ghost.”

“He isn’t a ghost. We’ll get him.”

“Yeah? When? When he takes out another family?”

“Ry...” The words caught in her throat. Kessler made his way toward them, fatigue and frustration pulling at the edge of his eyes.

“Captain, everything is under control,” she said.

“Actually, Davis, it’s not. Both of you, go home.” He held up his hand to stop their protests.

Their mouths snapped shut.

“It’s not a punishment. It will all be here tomorrow. I need you fresh. Well, as fresh as can be. You’ve been running hard without so much as a break. The chief and I have noticed. Now, go home.” He put his hand on Ryan’s shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. “Ryan, tuck your kids into bed and enjoy a night with your wife.”

Evelyn stared, dumbfounded at the rare show of emotion from the captain.

“Davis...” He looked at her for a moment, then shrugged. “Do whatever you do and be back in the morning.”

Ryan stifled a laugh at the awkward exchange. Evelyn threw him a quick glare, but bit her lip to keep her own laugh from escaping.

“I want you out of here in five minutes. Don’t make me tell you again. Get some sleep. I need you here before the sun gets up.” Kessler turned and headed back to his office.

Ryan sighed. “He’s right—”

“Of course I’m right,” Kessler called over his shoulder. “That’s why I have this office and you don’t, O’Neil.”

* * *

EVELYN ENTERED THROUGH the front door and went straight to the kitchen. She’d stripped the house to its studs and remodeled it entirely after moving in. Her home was her sanctuary, the kitchen one of her favorite spots.

She pulled out a large glass goblet, reached for the Malbec and glanced at her answering machine. No blinking lights. She sighed. No surprise there. Aside from Kate, Ryan and the kids, her circle of friends was quite small.

The job was her life. Her life, the job...and not many men understood that. She’d tried, had gone on a few dates, but finally gave up after the last man told her that being with a cop wasn’t such a turn-on after all.

After she poured the wine, she leaned against the cool granite counter and looked out the window over her kitchen sink. She had a clear view of sweet old Craig Meyer puttering in his kitchen next door. She smiled and took a sip of wine. Maybe he was baking tonight. Occasionally, he’d bring her some pumpkin muffins, which she adored. It was the only time she ever saw him. He mostly kept to himself, but hopefully he’d bring some baked goods over soon.

Glass in hand, she reached for the bag of lavender she’d bought before the murders and headed toward the stairs, desperate to relax. She couldn’t wait to slip into the hot water and let the strain of the past week seep from her cells. She hadn’t realized just how much this case had leached from her until now. Every muscle screamed at her. Her legs felt like lead as she slowly climbed the steps. Lavender heaven, here I come.

But she didn’t make it to her watery bliss. Instead, the small office directly across from her master suite called to her. She stepped into the room, moved to the desk and sank into the black leather office chair.

Grisly case photos, case files, newspaper clippings and handwritten notes—some colored with age—peppered the wall. Large eight-by-ten, colored photos of her family adorned it as well, a constant reminder of her loss. Sadness rolled over her, its familiar chill lingering as she settled into the chair. She took a sip of wine and swallowed back tears. Stepping into this room always tore at the scabs around her heart, opening the wound deep within her soul. She knew it, yet couldn’t break the hold it had over her.

The same drive to bring closure to the families she encountered on an almost daily basis also drove her to this room time and time again to bring closure to her own loss.

Tremors had torn through her the night she’d brought Kate and Ryan up here for the first time. The thought of losing the people closest to her had made her stomach roll. She’d half expected them to drag her straight to the closest psych ward. Who obsessed about their family’s murder but a crazy person? Instead, Kate walked up to her, wrapped Evelyn in her arms and whispered, I get it. Ryan had solemnly paced in front of the wall and started reading. When he’d turned to look at Evelyn, his face was soft. She’d sagged against the table and nodded, a small quiver of a smile on her lips.

And that was that. They were family.

The three of them didn’t talk about it often. They didn’t need to. It was Evelyn’s battle, which they’d respected. She’d been forever grateful for their silent strength. Kate would occasionally ask her how it was going. The two women didn’t need to clarify what it was—they knew.

As Evelyn sipped her Malbec and studied all the information that hadn’t changed in fifteen years, her cell chirped. Setting the glass down on the desk, she grabbed her phone. A message from Kate illuminated the small screen.

I know what you’re doing, E. Go to bed. You can’t cover my hot husband’s back if you’re falling asleep. Love you. K

Evelyn laughed. Her friend knew her too well. She hugged herself as she turned back to the wall. The vise around her heart tightened. Would she ever crack this case? Ever bring closure to the always-present questions surrounding her family’s death? Would she ever be able to move on to the next season of life, and all the promise it held: A husband, a family? Or would she be like her adorable, but completely isolated neighbor—alone, tethered to this wall for the rest of eternity?

She pushed herself up from the desk and looked again at the wall as a wave of fatigue washed over her. Sighing, she put down the now-empty goblet. Kate was right. Evelyn needed sleep—desperately. She pulled her shirt over her head, crossed the hardwood floor to her room and wrestled out of her jeans. With zero regard for her nightly routine, she crawled under the extra-heavy down cover and closed her eyes.

Within two heartbeats, Evelyn was asleep.

It seemed like only minutes later that shrill sounds jostled her from a dreamless sleep. For a moment, she lay there in the dark, fully awake, staring at the ceiling fan swirling on its axis. Another scream from her phone jerked her upright. Reaching for the obnoxious device, she cast a peek at the red digits of the alarm clock sitting on her nightstand: 4:00 a.m. Shit. This couldn’t be good.

“Davis,” she said, already rolling out of bed and reaching for her jeans.

“We have another one,” Kessler’s voice barked through the phone. “I need you down here. Now.”

CHAPTER EIGHT

EVELYN’S STOMACH CHURNED. This marked the third case mimicking a family annihilator in as many weeks. One was uncommon, two completely unheard of. Now a third one. Crap. If the chief wasn’t thinking serial killer before, he certainly was now.

She drove through the black wrought-iron gates of their latest victims’ home. Her MINI Cooper’s tires crunched. She pulled up next to Ryan’s FJ Cruiser, threw her car into Park and took a deep breath. She got out of her vehicle and faced the house. Even darkness couldn’t hide its beauty. It wasn’t quite grandiose, but it was close. She sighed, then hunched her shoulders against the cold wind and marched toward the curving marble steps that lead to the ornate glass doors. Ryan met her on the top stair.

“You look like hell,” she said.

“Right back at’cha, babe.”

He handed her a steaming cup of coffee. “Compliments of Kate.”

“I love your wife.” She inhaled the strong aroma, grateful for her friend.

“Not more than I do.” He smirked and jerked his thumb toward the door. “Our babysitter is inside.”

“Oh, yeah?” Evelyn raised her eyebrows and looked toward the house. Her heart raced a little at the thought of seeing Agent Moretti. Where did that come from? “When did he arrive?”

“About ten minutes ago.”

“Great. Who’s heading up the CSI team?” She didn’t want to think about the handsome Fed any more than she had to.

“Jake Campbell.”

Perfect. He knew his stuff. She raised her cup, sipped the molten liquid and stepped into the house.

They found Jake and Marcus in the oversize living room to the left of the grand foyer. A white marble mantel framed the walk-in fireplace that took up half the far wall. Two purple wingback chairs flanked it. A matching set mirrored them. Above the mantel sat a large portrait. The family’s faces smiled at them. Twin frames sat to the right, showcasing the children.

“Jake?”

As Ryan and Evelyn approached, the CSI officer rose from his place in front of one of the chairs. He barely looked old enough to drive, and still had the acne to prove it, but he was one hell of an investigator. If Evelyn had her choice, she’d handpick him to be her CSI lead every time.

“Hey, guys,” Jake said.

“Agent,” Evelyn said and nodded in Marcus’s direction. How was it possible for him to look so good even just after 4:00 a.m.?

“Evelyn.” Marcus smiled, pulling heat from every cell within her.

“What have we got?” she asked, turning her attention to Jake.

Jake shook his head. “Whoever did this is certifiably nuts.”

“You won’t get any argument there,” Ryan agreed.

Jake motioned for them to circle the chair. Evelyn looked at the man’s head, or what was left of it, and her stomach heaved. Should’ve grabbed a scone before chugging that coffee. She swallowed hard. Just like the last male victim, his head had been blown off. And just like the last scene, the wife lay at her husband’s feet.

Jake knelt, and they followed suit. With the tip of his pen, he pointed to a crimson stain seeping through the woman’s green silk pajama top. “See here. She was shot in the heart, then stabbed repeatedly. Twenty-seven times.”

“Holy shit,” Ryan said. “You sure?”

“See the lack of blood spray?” Jake pivoted on his toes and pointed to the wall. “If her heart was still beating while the unsub inflicted these wounds, there’d be more blood splatter.”

Ryan turned away from the woman’s mutilated body. “That’s truly disgusting.”

Evelyn whistled. “That’s a whole lot of rage.”

“He’s escalating his pace.” Marcus looked up, concern in his face.

She rose. “And we’ve still got nothing.”

Evelyn scanned the room. Something was missing. Rather, not something, but someone.

“Where are the children?”

Jake shook his head, eyes downcast. “They’re upstairs. Both smothered in their beds.”

Evelyn glanced at Ryan, who’d lifted his eyes to meet hers. Their guy was accelerating his pace and switching modes of killing with each new crime scene. That didn’t fit the typical serial, unless he was taunting them with the switch-up. Was something pushing him? Was he ramping up to something? Or was he just enjoying the power and needed more to get off? If so, he was more sadistic than she’d originally thought—and that was saying a lot.

* * *

EVELYN HAD PUT a rush on the autopsy, but hadn’t expected the results so soon. It wasn’t the best scenario in the world to be called to after lunch, but death didn’t care about convenience. The doc had called. So here they were, headed to the icebox. She hoped Marcus could keep his lunch down. The man hadn’t left their side since this morning.

The autopsy room’s two glass doors vanished into the recesses of the wall. The cool air slammed into Evelyn as the morgue’s distinct smell rode on its chilly gust. Despite years of visiting this place, it still made her insides crawl. Every time she stepped over the threshold, her own loss pounded against the back of her throat. She couldn’t prevent her mind from rushing back to the first time she’d been in a morgue. The smell of the chemicals. The bone-chilling cold. The sound of the slab being pulled open, and her father’s lifeless body being displayed for her to identify. She shuddered. The sooner they could get this over with, the better.

With his back to them, Dr. Chapman placed a heart onto the scale and stepped away. Green numbers jumped around until landing on a final weight. He scribbled something onto a legal pad sitting on the metal table.

“Hey, Doc,” Ryan said.

Chapman turned and smiled grimly at them. He used the back of his hand to push his goggles up his wide nose. Wisps of unruly white hair stuck out from beneath his cap. He reminded Evelyn of Santa Claus—only creepy.

Marcus stepped forward and extended his hand toward Chapman. “Special Agent Marcus Moretti.”

Chapman looked at him and scowled, raising hands encased in bloodied gloves. Marcus dropped his hand and quickly stepped back.

“Yes, I’m well aware of who you are, Agent.”

Evelyn resisted the urge to laugh. There wasn’t enough money in the world to convince her to shake hands with Chapman when he was elbow-deep in an autopsy. Ryan pressed his lips together, no doubt swallowing his own laughter.

“Anything useful?” Evelyn walked along the line of covered bodies, scanned the toe tags and stopped in front of a foot marked “Jason Howard.”

Chapman sighed. “I wish I could help you bag this guy, Detective Davis. Truly, I do, but he was very thorough.”

“I don’t think thorough is quite how I’d put it. Psychotic, yes—thorough, no.”

“Easy, tiger,” Ryan whispered into her ear.

Marcus chuckled, a deep dimple appearing in his cheek. Evelyn flushed.

Apparently she’d pulled the feisty card this morning, yet Ryan was as calm as a Seattle summer day.

Chapman let out a long breath. “I agree with your assessment, Detective. The guy is a psychopath. Anyone who would do such atrocious things to innocent children is a monster in my book. But that doesn’t change my findings. He was meticulous. This guy left nothing—no traces, no hair follicles, no blood, no fingerprints—at the scenes, or on any of the victims, for that matter. My guess is this isn’t his first rodeo. But, as you always say, Detective Davis, the dead don’t lie.”

She nodded. Marcus tilted his head, a question flashing across his face. She ignored it and focused on the doctor’s report.

Chapman turned his attention back to the organ on the scale. “I’m confident you’ll find this guy—just let them tell you their story.”

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