His eyes flickered, turned jet black. He wanted her.

He squared his shoulders, towering over her, furious at her assault. “I do my job fine. But I can’t and won’t change my opinion about yours.”

Her heart ached for him. “You deserve to be happy again, to move on with your life.”

“My life ended two years ago,” he said in a tortured voice. “I only live to catch psychos like you protect. And I don’t need or want you analyzing me.”

Emotions dried her throat. “What do you need?” she finally asked.

He stared at her so long she thought he wouldn’t answer. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver of heat rippling through her…. The hum of sensuality radiated off him in waves. He was undoubtedly the biggest, most masculine man she’d ever met, and he had needs, fierce needs that were driving him.

In the Flesh
Rita Herron

MILLS & BOON

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To my sister, who is the real therapist—

hope you find love again and your own hero.

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded her storytelling for kids for romance, and writes romantic comedies and romantic suspense. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero and three kids. She loves to hear from readers so please write her at P.O. Box 921225, Norcross, GA 30092-1225, or visit her Web site at www.ritaherron.com.

Contents

Cast of Characters

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

Epilogue

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Detective Raul Cortez —He’s less than happy to be working with a psychiatrist. But when a serial killer targets her, he must protect her with his life.

Dr. Jennifer Madden —Will her vow to protect her patients’ rights get her killed?

Marilyn Madden —Jenny’s mother has been catatonic in a mental facility for years. But is she really crazy?

Bailey Madden —Jenny’s brother fits the profile of the killer.

Dr. Rupert Zovall —The psychiatrist who has treated Jennifer’s mother for years is upset that she’s been moved to CIRP. Is he really worried about her or is he hiding something?

Clyde Anson —The court forced him to seek therapy through Jenny. But has he taken his sexually deviant behavior to a deeper level—murder?

Jamal Rakely —He murdered his wife but plead out on insanity charges. Is he killing women again?

Bobby Machete —A former patient of Jenny’s—has he resurfaced from the dead?

Felix Brainard —He grew up in an orphanage in Savannah. Has he returned for revenge?

Eddie Keegan —Raul’s partner at the force. This womanizer has always loved women. But when he gets rebuffed by one, does he turn into a killer?

Ralph Martin —The quiet, nondescript carpenter is renovating Jenny’s house. Is his job a ruse to get close enough to watch her every move?

Prologue

South Beach, Florida

Some men shouldn’t be allowed to have children.

He was one of them. Detective Raul Cortez, badass cop. Lousy husband. Son of a convicted felon.

Still, when his wife had phoned earlier to tell him she was pregnant, he’d nearly cried like a baby.

This was his chance at redemption. To make things right. To be a better man.

To have a future.

He climbed into his car and laid the red roses he’d just bought at the florist on the seat, heart pumping with adrenaline. Dark storm clouds obliterated the moon, indicating a storm on the rise, but he shrugged off the bad weather, started the car and headed toward his apartment. Nothing could ruin his day. Not a downpour or the fact that his latest collar, a psycho named Louie Mulstein, had been released on bail. He was under house arrest and had to wear that ankle bracelet, but the maniac should be behind bars. Damn shrink. It was her fault he’d been released.

Her words reverberated in his head. “He’s schizophrenic, Your Honor. He’s on medication now and not a threat to the community.”

Raul had argued, had laid out the gruesome photos of the two women the man had bludgeoned to death for her and the court to see, but she had won in the end.

Tamping down his fury over the judge’s and shrink’s lapse in judgment, he vowed to forget work tonight. Anita deserved it and so did his unborn child.

As if to mock him, his cell phone rang. He checked the number—the precinct. The urge to ignore it teased him, but with two ongoing cases, there was no way.

“Cortez.”

“Captain Black. Listen, Cortez. I hate to tell you this but Louie escaped.”

“What?”

“Somehow he managed to get out of his ankle bracelet. We’ve issued an APB and my men are looking for him now.”

Raul’s heart thundered in his chest. Louie out of jail. Louie who was dangerous. A psychotic.

Louie who hated him. Who knew where he lived.

“I gotta get home,” he muttered, then disconnected the call and sped up.

He swerved to pass a truck, turned on his siren and floored the gas, racing around the curve, his tires squealing as he spun into the complex. He honked at some teens on bikes to move, careened around the first building to the second, then threw the car into a parking spot and jumped out. Sweat trickled down his face as he ran up to his door. He started to reach in his pocket for his keys, but when he touched the knob, the door squeaked open.

Instincts honed by years on the force made him draw his gun. He held his breath as he tiptoed inside, silently telling himself he was wrong. Anita was safe. Louie hadn’t had time to get to her. He wouldn’t kill her, not the day he’d escaped.

But the metallic stench of blood assaulted him, and he spotted his wife’s body lying on the kitchen floor face-up, her eyes wide-open in death, blood pooling around her head.

Grief and anger slammed into him, immobilizing him for a second. Anita dead…his baby gone…

A wail jarred him back to the truth. Louie was still here.

The scrawny bastard was huddled in the corner, knees hugged to his chest as he stared at the bloody knife. A sick sneer pulled his thin lips back over his teeth like a rabid dog as he lunged at Raul.

Raul didn’t hesitate. He raised his pistol and pumped a round of bullets into the man, sending his body flying backward against the wall. Blood splattered everywhere, and Louie’s choked cry echoed in the silence as he sank to the floor and went limp.

Raul collapsed beside his wife and screamed his rage. Blood soaked his shirt and hands as he pulled her in his arms and rocked her back and forth.

He’d killed the sicko. But it didn’t matter. Anita was dead and so was his child.

And nothing could ever bring them back.

Chapter One

Two Years Later—Savannah, Georgia

Detective Raul Cortez stared at the pair of black silk panties tied around the woman’s throat and cursed.

The Savannah Strangler had struck again. The third time in three weeks.

Another young girl dead. A blonde this time.

And they had no clues as to the killer’s identity.

The sicko. He’d stripped her naked, strangled her with a pair of silk underwear, then left her posed in the woods in a sexual position with hands folded at her breasts and legs spread wide as if to make a statement.

Raul’s partner Eddie Keegan lumbered up beside him, swatting at a fly buzzing around his face. “How long do you think she’s been here?”

Raul shrugged and stepped aside as the medical examiner stomped through the woods toward them. “At least a day, but the M.E. will have to pinpoint time of death. Have you found anything on the other girls’ computers?”

Keegan shook his head. “Not yet. I gave them to the tech guys to look at.”

“We need to find out where he’s buying the underwear.”

Keegan kicked at a loose root. “The press is going to be all over us on this. Make us look bad.”

Raul glared at him as he mentally assessed the crime scene for details. “Make us look bad? What about these poor women?”

“Hey, I love women,” Keegan growled. “That’s why I’m here in the damn woods at 5:00 a.m.”

“Then do your job,” Raul muttered. No wonder Keegan had had sexual harassment charges filed against him on his other job. “We have to find a connection between the vics.”

“I told you the tech team is on it. But the guy probably just hooked up with them in a bar. Happens every night of the week. Something you’d know, Cortez, if you ever got out and had a social life.”

“Some of us put work first,” Raul snapped.

“Yeah, and some of us want a life, too.”

A life to Keegan meant getting laid every night. He was competent enough, but Raul was tired of his sexist comments and disparaging attitude toward women. Keegan thought females had been put on earth for his pleasure, and that they all loved him. One day someone would put Keegan in his place. He hoped to hell he was around to see it.

Buckner, the new assistant M.E., shuffled up and knelt to examine the body. Raul muttered a silent prayer for the girl’s soul to rest in peace, promising her in that same prayer that he would find her killer. Then he focused on the details—the way her body had been positioned, how the grass and brush looked around the scene, the type of tree that was nearby. Details that might not be important but ones that might prove helpful at some point, maybe in finding a pattern.

So far, all three girls had been left in wooded, deserted areas. No real significance except that it meant the victims hadn’t been located immediately. Hiking vacationers or locals had discovered all three.

The killer hadn’t sent photos or notes to anyone that they knew of. For his trophy, he took the girl’s underwear.

The crime-scene unit was taking photographs, although Raul had snapped a few of his own when he’d arrived. He had been first on the scene, had secured the area and had searched for footprints but found nothing but some crushed dead plants and a few broken twigs. It had recently rained, which made finding evidence more difficult, but he still held out hope that the CSI team might find something. A piece of clothing, hair, a shoe print…anything they could trace.

Captain Black approached, wearing a grim expression. “Damn. It looks like we may have to call in the feds.”

Words Raul didn’t want to hear. “Give us another week.”

Black shrugged. “I already talked to a friend of mine at the bureau. It’ll take that long to get someone out here. I asked for a profiler, but he suggested a local counselor that he thought could help us. A sex therapist named Jenny Madden.”

“Not a shrink,” Raul mumbled.

Black arched a brow. “I know your history, Cortez, but we have to use every available resource. If it means bringing in a counselor or psychiatrist, then we’ll do it.”

Raul grimaced. Black could do what he wanted. But no way in hell was he ever going to trust a shrink again or take her word on anything.

He’d solve the damn case without her.

D R . J ENNY M ADDEN took a deep breath before entering her mother’s hospital room at CIRP, the Coastal Island Research Park mental facility. She reserved Sunday mornings to visit—not that her mother displayed signs of being aware of her presence—but Jenny’s conscience and her heart wouldn’t allow her to be anywhere else.

After all, Sundays had been about family when they were growing up: a big breakfast of pancakes or homemade cinnamon rolls; hurriedly dressing for church, putting on the Sunday dress her mother had made, her lacy Sunday socks and patent leather shoes; Bailey, her little brother, grumbling and complaining but her mother dragging him along anyway, saying his protests meant that he needed it.

Emotions crowded her chest. Her parents had been such a handsome couple. At least for the first six years of her life. Then one day everything had fallen apart.

Pain sucked the air from her lungs as she remembered hearing her mother’s screams the night he’d walked out. The terrible fight, her mother chasing after him. Her father’s car spewing dust as he drove away and never came back.

She brushed at a tear, wishing for once that she could think of that day or visit her mother without her heart breaking, but twenty years later the memory was fresh and raw like an open wound that wouldn’t heal.

Forcing herself to regain control, she inhaled the scent of the daffodils she held in one hand along with the fresh cinnamon rolls from the bakery, hoping they would evoke fond memories for her mother and miraculously open the doors of communication. Although hope was fledgling these days. After all, years of silence would probably not be broken by cinnamon rolls or flowers.

Determined to present a cheery picture, she pasted on a smile, pushed open the door and waved as she entered the room. “Hi, Mom. I brought flowers and those cinnamon rolls you like so much.”

Her mother lay propped against the bed pillows, her now-graying brown hair tangled, her mouth drooping slightly to the left as she stared into space.

“I’ll just put these in fresh water,” Jenny said. “Then we’ll get you a bath and I’ll brush your hair before we have breakfast.”

Her mother said nothing, but Jenny tacked a smile on her face, put the flowers in water, then placed them on the small table across from her mother so she could see them.

“Which gown would you like to wear today?” She plucked a lavender one from the drawer, along with its matching bed jacket. “How about this one? Lavender looks so pretty on you, Mom. Remember that lavender dress you wore to church on Easter when I was ten?” She filled the basin with water, poured in scented bath gel and gave her mother a sponge bath. Her mother made a soft whispery sound as if she enjoyed the process. “What is it, Mom? You want to talk to me. I know you do.”

Then the second passed, and that empty gray look returned to her eyes. Jenny willed the lump in her throat to dissipate, and turned away to gather her composure. She emptied the bathwater, then returned with the brush, sat down beside her mother and began to slowly work the tangles from her hair. Her mother sighed contentedly. Twice during this ritual she’d reached out and touched Jenny’s hand and squeezed it.

At that moment she’d known her mother was still inside the shell of her body. That she wanted to talk but something was holding her back.

Jenny had become a doctor to find the answer.

Unfortunately, her education and experience had yet to yield results. The very reason she’d moved her mother to CIRP. Hopefully, the psychiatrists at the center would find a treatment for her that would prove successful.

Dr. Zovall hadn’t been happy about the move. He’d been treating her mother for years, and had been a friend to her parents before the breakdown. A bigger friend since. He mourned her mother’s loss almost as much as Jenny and her brother, Bailey, did.

Yet he hadn’t been able to help her….

She counted the strokes as she glided the brush through her mother’s hair, a hundred strokes just as her mother used to do for her when she was little, sweeping her hair down over her shoulders until it lay in soft folds. “There, you look lovely now, Mom.”

She helped her mother settle back, inserted a jazz CD in the portable player, then set out their breakfast. Coffee for her, juice for her mother. Her mother nibbled at the food with no reaction, but ate the cinnamon roll and even licked her fingers when she finished. Jenny chatted about her week, telling her about the small house she’d bought in downtown Savannah, about the renovations, all mundane details, but if her mother could hear, she wanted to include her in her life.

Her cell phone vibrated against her belt, and she frowned and checked the number. The hospital. Darn it, there must be an emergency.

“Mom, I have to take this,” Jenny said, then she kissed her cheek and stepped into the hallway.

“Dr. Madden, this is the emergency service. Captain Black with the Savannah Police Department needs to speak with you as soon as possible.”

Jenny clenched the phone with sweaty fingers. Was one of her patients in trouble? Had one of them been hurt or committed a crime? “Did he say what it was about?”

“No, he just said he needed to talk to you, today if possible.”

“I’ll give him a call right now.”

She hung up, then phoned the police precinct. Seconds later, they patched her through to his cell phone. “This is Dr. Madden. How can I help you, Captain Black?”

“We found a murdered girl this morning, same MO as the two other strangled victims.”

“You think it’s a serial killer?” Jenny asked.

“Yes. And you come highly recommended.”

“I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Can you meet me at the crime scene?”

“Sure. Let me have the address.” He gave it to her, and she ducked in and said goodbye to her mother. “I’ll try to stop back this week, Mom. I love you.” She squeezed her hands and hoped for a response, but her mother closed her eyes as if exhausted and drifted to sleep. Jenny left, her heart in her throat.

She had attended a few crime scenes for consultant work, but it was not her favorite part of the job. Shadows from the live oaks flickered along the road as she drove to the wooded area and parked along the side of the road by the police vehicles. She took one look at her clothes and wished she’d gone home to change. The loose skirt and sandals weren’t exactly conducive to hiking. Yet she hadn’t wanted to make the police wait, not when the captain seemed eager for her assistance, when he was obviously frustrated over losing another girl.

Had the captain called her because he wanted her help in putting together a profile, or did he have a suspect?

And why her specifically? Did he have reason to believe that one of her patients might be the killer?

R AUL SAW the baby-blue Beetle convertible swing in beside the squad car and grimaced from his post at the edge of the woods. Had to be Jenny Madden— Dr. Jenny Madden.

He’d half expected her to be driving a Porsche or Beamer, but the tiny convertible suited his image of her, as well. A girly-girl car.

She was probably rich, prissy, earned ten times his yearly salary and thought she knew it all.

He hoped to hell she didn’t puke when she saw the body. Already the flies and bugs had feasted, and the stench had gotten bad. At least CSI was almost finished, so if she lost it, she wouldn’t contaminate evidence.

Before she cut the engine, she dragged a brush through her hair. Concerned about her looks at a crime scene—not a good sign.

He tried not to notice the long silky-looking blond strands but couldn’t help himself as she pulled them back into a ponytail at the base of her neck. Then she climbed out and his gut clenched at the sight of that body. High full breasts tapered to a slender waist. She wore a dark-blue tank top that clung to her figure in the cloying summer heat, and a loose white skirt that swirled around her slender ankles, leading his eyes down to her sandaled feet and toenails painted a hot red.

Damn. He liked red toenails.

He dragged his gaze back up to her face, searching for the flaw. Unfortunately, he didn’t see one on the surface. Soft features shaped a dainty nose and high sculpted cheekbones, and her lips were pouty and pink, natural, no lipstick.

She would have to be a knockout. Long blond hair and longer legs that could grip a man and make him crazy. Yep, the devil always came disguised in pretty packages.

Not that he would let her model looks distract him from the job or make him forget what she was. A shrink.

An interference in the case.

He didn’t know why Black had insisted on calling her out here. A short but sweet meeting at the precinct would have sufficed. And worse, the captain had ordered him to babysit her to the scene.

She started toward the woods, and he cleared his throat. “You can’t go that way. This is a crime scene.”

She startled and almost lost her footing, and he cursed the fact that she didn’t have enough sense to dress appropriately for the woods.

“I didn’t see you skulking in the shadows,” she said, jutting up her chin.

He almost laughed. He’d expected a sweet voice to go with that body. Instead, it was husky, and her glare so sharp that it cut to the bone. “Are you Dr. Madden?”

She nodded. “Captain Black requested I come.”

He gave a clipped nod, biting back the fact that he disagreed with his superior. The last thing he wanted was to get pulled from the investigation because of his personal dislike for her. “I’m supposed to escort you to the crime scene.”

She wet her lip, a sign of nervousness, but he refused to cut her any slack. If she couldn’t do the job, then Black should see it now, so they’d be done with this crap and he wouldn’t have to deal with her.

“And you are?” she asked.

“Detective Raul Cortez.” He gestured toward the path to his left. “Follow me. The body is this way.”

He didn’t wait on her response, but strode into the woods. He heard the brush parting, twigs snapping beneath her feet, her breathing labored as she hurried behind him, but he didn’t slow down until he heard her yelp.

He inhaled sharply and pivoted, frowning as she gripped a tree trunk and massaged her foot.

A second of remorse filled him for being curt, but this job was not for sissies. “You should have dressed for work instead of the country club.”

She fisted her hands by her side. “I was already out when I received the call.”

“A champagne brunch, no doubt.”

“Frankly that’s none of your business.” She flicked her hand forward. “Just lead the way. I’ll keep up.”

The challenge in her tone egged him on, and he stalked the rest of the way, not breaking stride until he reached the crime scene tape. The CSI team had scattered, searching the surrounding area, and Black was waiting beside the body. He wanted Dr. Madden to see the way she’d been posed to get the full effect of this perp’s MO.

Black frowned at Raul as the doctor trotted behind him. He made no excuse, but turned and gestured in introduction. “Dr. Madden, Captain Black.”

Black extended his hand. “Thank you for coming, Dr. Madden. My friend Agent Steele and his wife, Claire, recommended you.”

The woman smiled. “Yes, I worked with Claire before. I can’t believe she’s married now and has two kids.”

“We’re not interested in chitchating about your friends’ families,” Raul cut in.

She whirled on him. “Yes, I can see that you wouldn’t, you’re probably not a family man.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “As you can see, we have a dead woman on our hands,” he snapped.

“Detective,” Black said in a warning tone.

Jenny threw up a hand. “It’s all right. I’m sorry to hear another girl has been murdered.”

Black clenched his jaw. “Yeah. We have to find this guy before he strikes again.”

She slanted her gaze toward the body, and her expression softened. “You’re right. Let’s get to work.”

Raul grunted, and she gave him a glacier look but refrained from comment as she addressed Black. “Do you want to tell me the details first or want me to assess the situation for myself?”

“Why don’t you look first, then give us your thoughts,” Black said. “We want your gut reaction, your unbiased, professional opinion.”

Raul frowned at the word we but knew better than to argue, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead he braced himself to steer the woman to the side if she got sick, or to catch her if she passed out.

Hell, he halfway hoped she did. Then Black could see she didn’t belong here, and they’d be rid of her.

Chapter Two

Jenny tried to tamp down her anger at Detective Raul Cortez. Even though he was easy on the eyes, he was rude, insolent, and the perfect example of why some people called policemen pigs.

She was accustomed to some adversity, but no one had ever taken such an instant dislike to her before. If she didn’t have a job to do here, her feelings might be hurt.

Or she might spit in his face and walk away.

But Jenny had never backed down from a fight or let anyone bully her, and plenty of male patients had tried. She sure as heck didn’t intend to play scaredy-cat now.

Irritation at the detective morphed into horror and anger at the person who’d killed this girl as she picked her way through the weeds and spotted the body. The detective and Captain Black eased up beside her. Cortez was probably waiting for her to fall apart so he could laugh in her face.

She refused to give him the pleasure.

Forcing a calm to her expression that belied the trembling inside her, she knelt by the woman and mentally made notes of the scene. She was young, mid-twenties probably, blond, and she’d been strangled to death with a pair of silk panties just as the paper had reported that the first two victims had. However, they had omitted details. The way her body was posed, the bruises on her torso and neck, the bugs nibbling at her flesh.

“What is her name?” she asked softly.

“Judy Benson,” Detective Cortez said. “We found her purse over there behind those oaks. She’s twenty-two, lives in an apartment in town.”

A commotion sounded behind her, and Captain Black cleared his throat. “It’s the press. I’ll take care of it. Stay here, Cortez.”

The air stirred with humidity, made hotter by the tension humming between her and Cortez. A fly buzzed around her face, and she swallowed back bile at the acrid smell of the decomposing corpse.

Determined to hold herself together until she was alone, she honed in on the visual details of the crime scene. His MO, his choice of the underwear as a killing tool, the way he’d left the body exposed, all were signs that would help her get inside the killer’s mind and create a profile.

The perpetrator had spread the girl’s legs as if to suggest a sexual crime, but he’d folded her hands together as if she was saying a prayer and laid them across her bare breasts. Maybe he was conflicted?

A prayer or was she supposed to be asking for forgiveness? Maybe she was supposed to be worshipping him? “Was she raped?”

“We won’t know for sure until the ME gets her on the table. With the other two, there were indications of sexual intercourse, but not clear signs of rape. Sex could have been consensual but something snapped with the guy and he killed her.”

“Or he may have killed her during sex—some men can only achieve sexual satisfaction through violence,” Jenny said. “Were the other two girls posed like this? Legs spread, hands folded?”

“Identically.”

She tucked a strand of hair behind one ear. “How long was she missing before you found her?”

“Her roommate said she disappeared Thursday night after happy hour from a bar on River Street.”

“And the other girls?”

“The first victim, Dodie Tinsley, a waitress, disappeared after work one night. She was found two days later. The second girl, Penny Ann Wayling, was last seen at the Java Monkey where she was supposed to meet a date. A coed discovered her body the next day while jogging.”

Jenny angled her head. “Any leads so far?”

He shook his head, his jaw tight. “We’ve interviewed old boyfriends, roommates, neighbors, friends. And we’re checking their computers for e-mails, chat rooms, to see if the girls might have tried one of the online dating services. But so far we don’t have any viable suspects.”

“How about the underwear? Did it belong to the victims or did he bring it?”

“He brought it. We think he took the victims’ as a trophy.”

“I see. Did he always use black?”

Raul nodded. “We’re trying to trace where he purchased them.”

Jenny pushed to her feet, needing to escape. The girl’s sightless eyes screamed for help and were tormenting her. The cops would have pictures of all the crime scenes. She’d review them, compare them, see if she noticed anything else.

The detective cleared his throat. “Now what can you tell us, Dr. Madden?”

Again he said the word doctor as if it was a four-letter word.

“Listen, Detective Cortez,” she said, facing him. “I don’t know if you’re always this rude, or if you’ve just decided to grace me with your bad attitude, but I didn’t ask to be here today. So if you don’t want my help, that’s fine. I can leave now.”

She started up the path, trembling as she tried to escape the awful smell and the image of that poor girl lying so hopelessly dead. Because no matter what she or he did, they couldn’t bring her back.

And she didn’t intend to show her grief for the victim to this cold-hearted bastard.

R AUL WANTED to let her go. But Black was approaching with a scowl on his face, and he knew he’d better shape up.

“Captain Black requested you come, so he’ll want to hear what you have to say.”

Her eyes blazed, and she hesitated. “And you, Detective?”

He couldn’t lie. “You like sexual deviants. I have trouble with that.”

“Like?” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “If that’s how your thought processes work, then you like criminals.”

His eyes glittered with disdain. “I hunt them down and put them behind bars to get justice.”

“And I treat sexual deviants to alter their negative behavior.”

“They don’t deserve to be coddled or to be released on some stupid insanity plea.”

“Maybe, maybe not. But they’re human, and if I can help one of them, keep one from committing a crime, from killing an innocent person or themselves, then I’ve saved a life, and that makes my job worthwhile.”

Captain Black strode toward them, his jaw set in granite. “Dr. Madden, is there a problem here?”

She turned her gaze toward him, and Raul scowled. Let her run to his boss, whining that he’d insulted her pride.

“No,” she said instead. “I was just coming to relay my initial assessment.”

Black shot Raul a dark look. “Good. We need all the help we can get on this case.”

She nodded, a sheen of perspiration glistening on her face. “All right. Given the way the body has been posed, it suggests a sexual predator.”

“Even though the girls weren’t obviously raped?” Black asked.

She nodded. “Yes, perhaps he sees them as sexual beings, but he thinks they’re dirty girls and wants to expose them for what he perceives they are. He also may be conflicted. He likes them, is tempted by them but blames them for his fall from grace so he shames them. Ultimately, he has to kill them so they won’t entice him or any more men.”

“That makes sense,” Black said. “Go on.”

“Your killer is probably in his early twenties. He may have suffered a psychotic break meaning his reality is altered. Skewed. He’s attractive, appeals to young girls, or else he wouldn’t be able to approach them and convince them to go with him. He looks trustworthy, like a nice guy.” She exhaled shakily and Raul realized she wasn’t as cool as she’d acted. The girl’s death had disturbed her.

“Although he appears confident,” she continued, “he’s an underachiever. He might have been abused or neglected when he was young or picked on by other kids. Maybe he’s been overlooked at work, passed up for promotions or works at a job that’s below his intelligence, a menial job he feels is beneath him. He craves power and control.”

Raul studied her earnest expression, knew she believed the hogwash she was saying. “What good does all this do us? It doesn’t tell us who our killer is.”

Her gaze was steady, unfaltering. “If you understand how the perpetrator thinks, get into his head and understand his motivation, you can use it to weed out suspects.”

“I am in his head,” Raul shot back. “He’s a sick sadistic monster who takes young women’s lives. Now I need evidence, clues that will show me where to find him or where he’ll strike next.”

Jenny sighed. “If you learn more or want to share details with me, let me know. The more information I have about the victims and the crimes, the more I can fine-tune the profile.”

“Right,” Raul said, although he didn’t hide his contempt.

Black cleared his throat and sent Raul a sharp look, but she actually offered him a smile. A condescending smile that knifed through him as sharply as her comment about family had.

“You have my number,” she said, then headed up the path to her car.

Raul tried not to admire her body or the fact that she’d stood her ground when he’d cut her down.

“You’re a piece of work, you know that, Cortez,” Black growled.

He shrugged. “I tell it like I see it.”

“I asked Dr. Madden here on a consult,” he continued, pissed, “and I don’t expect you to undermine my authority by implying that she’s incompetent.”

“You know how I feel about shrinks,” he said between clenched teeth. “We don’t need her.”

“Maybe you do need her,” Black said. “You’re letting your past and your emotions cloud your judgment.”

“That’s bull.”

“Is it?” Black arched his dark brows. “You’re too wrapped up in your bitterness, and blaming every shrink in the world for your wife’s death, that it blinds you to the fact that Jenny Madden might be of value to our case.” He paused, but barged on before Raul could argue, “You haven’t dealt with your wife’s death yet, Cortez. You need help.”

“The only thing I need is to be left alone so I can do my job.”

Black pinched his fingers together, then parted them a fraction of an inch. “You’re this far from being suspended pending a psychiatric evaluation, Cortez. Either straighten up your attitude yourself or you’re off the case.”

Anger heated Raul’s blood. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Try me.” Black narrowed his eyes. “Maybe Jenny Madden is just the person you should see. And on a professional basis. I could make that happen.”

“Over my dead body.”

“Then prove you don’t need counseling by working with her.” Black folded his arms. “Show her the respect she deserves. She might teach you a thing or two. She knows the mind of the sexual predator better than anyone around.”

He bit back a caustic remark, and fisted his hands by his side.

“After you finish here, and interview the family, then take copies of the files on the other vics to Dr. Madden. Let her study them and see what she says.”

Raul silently cursed but nodded. He couldn’t disobey a direct order.

Not when it meant his job.

Besides, he could handle one little Jenny Madden. He could always pretend he was accepting her help. But he didn’t have to like it. And he sure as hell wouldn’t let her get inside his head or pour out his heart to her.

After all, that heart had died the day he’d lost his wife and child. And it was dead forever.

J ENNY ROLLED her shoulders to alleviate the tension knotting the muscles as she climbed into her car and started the engine. It was only midafternoon, and she’d already had a hell of a day. The visits with her mother always drained her, but she normally took a long run afterward to relieve the stress.

Not today. No, she’d had to endure Raul Cortez, a man with a mountain of an attitude and dark eyes that were sinfully sexy, but haunted by some demons that only he knew. Because he obviously wasn’t a sharing kind of guy.

But dealing with the detective was nothing compared to the anguish she’d felt at the sight of Judy Benson’s dead body. An innocent girl who’d died before her time.

Nothing she or Raul Cortez could do would bring her back.

Tears burned her eyelids, but she waited until she was driving away before she let them fall. She’d cry now, and then she’d focus on work.

Finding the girl’s killer and giving her justice would ease the pain of the family. She’d dealt with enough victims to know that. So she would help, regardless of how much it hurt her to see the family and friends suffering.

She’d even tolerate the surly detective for Judy Benson’s sake.

The wind tossed her ponytail around her face, and she pushed it back. Her stomach growled, reminding her she hadn’t eaten since breakfast, but the scent of the girl’s corpse lingered on her skin, and her appetite vanished.

With a sigh, she made the turn to her place, knowing she had to shower before she could stomach food. When her cell phone rang, she checked the number, half expecting it to be the hospital. Sometimes her mother became agitated after she left and she had to return, or the nurses had to give her extra medication. Instead it was Captain Black.

“Dr. Madden speaking.”

“Dr. Madden, this is Adam Black.”

“Yes?”

“I want to apologize for my detective today. He can come across as being rude, but he’s a good cop. One of the best I have and totally dedicated to the job.”

“No problem.”

“Good. Because I—we at the department—value your expertise and I’d hate for his behavior to dissuade you from assisting us.”

“Trust me, Captain, my skin is thicker than that. Working with him won’t be a problem.”

His sigh reverberated with relief. “I’m glad to hear that.”

“So it’s my job, not me personally?”

A long hesitation. “I really can’t say any more. If Raul wants to tell you, well, he should explain himself.”

Curiosity nibbled at her, but she refrained from asking more. She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the reason for the man’s brusqueness. It was probably best that they agreed to dislike each other and leave it at that.

“He’s going to drop by later with the victims’ files. Maybe you can pick up something we missed.”

Great. She’d get to see the man twice in one day. She couldn’t wait. “That’s fine. I’ll be home all afternoon. Tell him to stop by anytime.”

He thanked her and hung up, and Jenny spun down the road to her new home, an old Victorian she was in the process of renovating. She loved the unique architecture, but it needed a face-lift, and paint. A work in progress, it would be something she could see visible progress more quickly than her patients.

Pushing aside her frustration, she parked and dragged her weary body inside. A shower, a salad and glass of wine later, she felt more relaxed.

But knowing Detective Cortez would stop by kept her on edge. Curiosity nagged at her. If she was forced to work with Raul Cortez, she needed to know all she could about the man.

Fortified by that thought, she decided to research him online. A quick search revealed his father was Cuban, his mother American; they’d met after his father had escaped into the country, married and had five children. They lived in Miami where Raul had resided until two years ago. He had served with the Miami Dade Police Department until his wife had been murdered.

His wife and unborn child.

A lump lodged in her throat, but she forced herself to read on: Louie Mulstein had been arrested for butchering his family in cold blood. The therapist who’d evaluated the perpetrator stated that he was schizophrenic and off his medication, but that she had stabilized him and that he was no longer a threat. House arrest and an ankle bracelet would suffice until the trial in which the defense attorney would be pleading an insanity charge. Raul Cortez had argued, insisting the man was dangerous and shouldn’t receive bail.

But the judge had rendered his decision and released the man according to the guidelines recommended by the court-appointed therapist.

That night Mulstein had escaped and butchered Raul’s wife, who was pregnant with his child.

Raul had found the man still in his house, bloody knife in his hand, and the man had attacked him. Raul had shot him, killing him instantly.

But it had been too late for his family.

Her throat closed as she studied the photo of the detective at the graveyard. It was a cold, windy, rainy day, and his massive shoulders were hunched in grief. His expression appeared tortured as he lay a bouquet of roses on the freshly turned grave.

Her comment today, her dig that he wasn’t a family man, echoed in her mind, and she dropped her face into her hands with a pained moan. No wonder he had reacted to her with such fervor.

She’d made a beginner’s mistake. Had allowed the man’s insulting attitude to push her buttons on a personal level, and she’d struck back.

Why? Because she’d just come from her mother’s and felt like a failure because she helped others but couldn’t help the one person in her life who mattered most.

Her reasons, excuses, didn’t matter. She was a professional and she would act like one. Raul Cortez deserved her sympathy and understanding, not her disdain.

Maybe he did blame the therapist, even her, but his grief was eating him alive. And Jenny understood grief. Although technically her mother was still alive, she’d mourned her loss for years.

Unbidden came the image of Judy Benson’s pale, stiff body and those haunting eyes. The detective would have to relay the news to the parents. Then the nightmare of their sorrow would begin.

And the questions. Who would have done such a horrible thing to their daughter?

Maybe she should look at her files to see if any of her prior or current patients fit the profile.

Immediately two names sprang to mind—could one of them be the strangler?

D AMN J ENNY .

Dr. Rupert Zovall closed his eyes, envisioning Marilyn Madden’s pale face as she lay propped against the hospital pillows when he’d last seen her in Charleston. He’d treated Jenny’s mother for years, had been her psychiatrist since her breakdown.

Why the hell had Jenny moved her mother to that Coastal Island Research Park in Georgia? Hours away from him in Charleston?

Because she thought Marilyn needed another doctor? Thought the psychiatrists at CIRP could do something for her that Rupert hadn’t been able to do? Thought he was incompetent?

Hell, he’d been her lifeline back to reality in the few lucid moments she’d experienced.

Another image rolled through his head; this one from years ago before…before he’d lost her that day. She had been so young and beautiful, a vision of loveliness that had robbed his breath at times. He’d known it was taboo to fall for a patient, but he had fallen hard.

Then her husband had interfered.

But at least when she was in Charleston, he could monitor her daily.

Bolstered by the fear creeping through his veins, he carefully packed his toiletry bag, then placed it by the door beside his computer bag and suitcase. His palms were clammy as he wrote a check and left it for the maid service, then he flung his computer bag over one shoulder, stacked the toiletry bag on top of his rolling suitcase, and headed outside to his Mercedes.

He had to get to Savannah. Had to see Marilyn Madden before she started ranting crazy things and aroused curiosity. Before the doctors messed with her medication.

Before anyone discovered their secret and started asking questions.

Chapter Three

“Mrs. Benson, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Raul patted the woman’s knotted hands and waited for the dam to break. It did a second later, and she burst into tears.

Her quiet demeanor reminded him of his mother, and a pang of guilt hit him that he hadn’t talked to his family in weeks, hardly at all since his wife had died.

He folded the fragile woman into his arms and let her cry her anguish and shock. Though Judy had been missing for days, her mother had held out hope until the end. Most families did.

Until they received the final word that their loved one was dead.

Finally Judy’s mother’s sobs settled into a low sniffle, and she wiped at her face. He handed her a handkerchief and allowed her a moment to dry her eyes.

“Do you know who killed her?” she asked in a tortured whisper.

“I’m afraid not, not yet.” He inhaled and forged on. “I promise you I will find the guy, Mrs. Benson.”

She nodded, although grief strained her features. “I…I don’t know what to do now.” She gave him a helpless look, and he squeezed her hands.

“You have some time. Is there any other family you want to call?”

“My sister, I suppose. Judy’s dad…he died a few years ago. And there’s no other children.

“Did you talk to her roommate?” Mrs. Benson asked.

“Did she know who Judy went out with that night?”

“We did talk to her,” he said quietly. “But she said she left the bar before Judy. She had a test the next morning, but Judy wanted to stay.”

“She shouldn’t have left her alone,” Mrs. Benson murmured.

“No, and she’s beating herself up over that,” he said. She’d been practically incoherent with guilt when he’d first interrogated her.

Her expression turned contrite. “I…I guess that was a mean thing to say.”

He smiled. “You’re grieving, Mrs. Benson. It’s allowed.”

A small smile broke through her grief, then, as if she remembered the circumstances, immediately wiped it off.

“It will be a couple of days before the medical examiner releases Judy’s body,” he said. “During that time, you can talk to your sister, start making arrangements.”

She nodded, and more tears trickled down her cheek. “There’s so much to do….” Her gaze lifted to his. “You’ll let me know when you find the monster who did this?”

“Absolutely. Now I’ll have an officer take you wherever you want to go.” He guided her to the door, watching as she slowly wove her way through the precinct beside the officer.

His promise to find the killer echoed in his head, and he strode out the door and headed back to the bar where Judy had last been seen. He’d questioned everyone there before, but he’d do so again. Then he’d beat the streets for a witness as to who she’d hooked up with that night.

Maybe he’d find a clue, and he wouldn’t have to drop those files off at Dr. Madden’s.

J ENNY BREWED a pot of coffee, then accessed her work files and skimmed through them.

She had several seriously disturbed patients, and two weekly group therapy sessions—the first, a group of obsessive-compulsives; the second, a group of sex addicts. She combed through the members of the sex addicts group, but nothing stuck out as suspicious. One man was addicted to porn, and had sought therapy because his boss had threatened to fire him for viewing it at work. One female was a nymphomaniac, one man was obsessed with having sex in public, and two others had various fetishes.

Moving on, she looked through the other patient files, studying the notes she’d taken during their private sessions. Two names tickled her conscience.

Clyde Anson and Jamal Rakely.

Clyde was a masochist and had been forced into therapy by the courts for assaulting a woman. His preference toward asphyxiation sex made her uneasy—the killer had strangled his victims. He fit the profile in other ways, as well—he was in his mid-twenties, had been raised in an overly religious home by an overbearing mother and had been abused.

Jamal Rakely also raised her suspicion. During a domestic incident he’d turned violent, had lost control and strangled his wife, but his attorney had pled him out on an insanity charge. His history: Jamal had witnessed his father murder his mother when he was five.

Her cell phone rang, and she startled, sloshing coffee on her skirt. She yelped, grabbed a napkin and dabbed at it, then jumped up and retrieved the phone. A check of the caller ID box showed Dr. Solaris, her mother’s doctor at CIRP. A knot tightened in her stomach.

“Dr. Solaris, this is Jenny Madden.”

“Hi, Jenny. You visited your mother this morning?”

“Yes, I always do on Sunday. Is she all right?”

“Yes, she’s resting now.”

Jenny frowned. “Are you sure? Sometimes after I visit she becomes agitated.”

“Actually she’s been sleeping all afternoon. But the reason I called is that I’ve phoned Dr. Zovall several times requesting he fax me your mother’s files, and he hasn’t sent them yet. Have you spoken with him recently?”

That was odd. “No, but I can give him a call. Have you tried his cell number?”

“Yes. I’ve left messages. Anyway, he’s probably tied up with another patient, but I wanted you to know that I’m going to proceed and conduct a full and extensive evaluation this week. It’ll include a gambit of tests, complete blood work, tests for physiological conditions, chemical imbalances, MRI, cat scans and neurological tests.”

“Good. I expected you would want to conduct your own tests. And frankly, after all these years and her lack of progress, I think it’s time.”

“You voiced your concerns to Dr. Zovall?”

“Yes.”

“I don’t imagine he was happy about you pulling her from his treatment.”

“No, not at first. But he cares for my mother and wants what’s best for her, so he finally agreed that she should see someone else. I think he feels guilty for her lack of progress.”

A noise outside jarred her, and she peeked out the window but saw nothing suspicious. Antsy, she walked through the den to the kitchen and checked the back door. A stray cat slithered through the yard, jumped on the trash can and the lid rattled.

Sighing, she silently chided herself.

“I’ll call you when we learn the results.”

“Good. And if you need me at any time, you have my number.” She hesitated. “I understand this change may be unsettling for Mom.”

“Don’t worry,” Dr. Solaris said. “I’ll take good care of her. We have some new treatments that are working well with other patients. Hopefully your mother will respond positively, as well.”

“I hope so, Doctor.”

She hung up the phone, but another noise out back startled her, and when she glanced through the window her heart raced. A man was skulking across the backyard, his face hidden in the shadows.

F RUSTRATION TIGHTENED every nerve in Raul’s body as he parked in front of Dr. Madden’s house. He’d spent hours requestioning everyone in the bars along River Street and turned up nothing. No one remembered Judy Benson. No one had seen her abduction.

Scrubbing a hand over his bleary eyes, he studied the doctor’s house. Evening shades of gray cloaked her blue Victorian. The traditional lines, and the fact that it needed painting and new shutters shook his preconceived image—he’d expected her to own one of the new modern lofts or a mansion on Skidaway Island, not this fixer-upper.

Not that he gave a damn. The less he knew about the woman the better. He’d just drop off these files and leave her to them. Then he’d grab a beer and a pizza and develop a plan to trap this strangler before he struck again.

He climbed from his car and eased up the sidewalk, scanning the periphery of the house and yard. A shadow slithered between the tall oaks in back, moving toward a side entrance.

The strangler case on his mind, his instincts soared to life. He removed his gun from his shoulder holster, and eased around the side, crouching down to hide behind the bushes as he approached. A scraggly haired young man stood on tiptoe and peered in the window.

A Peeping Tom or could this be the killer? Maybe he’d been watching the crime scene and followed Dr. Madden home.

Anxiety made his hands sweat, but he closed the distance, careful to tread lightly.

A twig snapped, and the lurker spun around.

“Police, put your hands in the air where I can see them.”

“Wait! Don’t shoot,” the guy cried.

“Hands up now, buddy.” Raul inched closer, senses alert as the young man’s hands shot into the air.

He was about twenty-five. Light-brown hair that needed a cut, eyes that looked glassy as if he might be high. Around five-eleven, medium build, scruffy.

“It’s not what you think,” the young man screeched.

“My name is Bailey.”

“It’s exactly what I think,” Raul snapped. “You’re skulking around this house looking for a way to break in, and I’m going to arrest you.”

“No, I swear. This is my sister’s house.” His expression turned panicked. “Jenny Madden, she lives here. I’m her brother.”

Raul narrowed his eyes. He didn’t see any resemblance. “If you were her brother, why are you sneaking around? Why not knock on the door like a civilized human?”

Bailey glanced around nervously. “I wanted to make sure she was alone, that I didn’t barge in on company.”

Raul reached for his cuffs. “Right. Turn around and spread them.”

Bailey puffed up his scrawny chest. “Ask her, you jerk! Jenny will tell you.”

He wasn’t about to open the door until this guy was subdued. “Big mistake calling a cop names.” Raul spun him around, then snapped the cuffs on his wrists.

Bailey jerked against the restraints and yelled an obscenity. “Jenny!”

The back door suddenly eased open, and Jenny Madden poked her head out.

Bailey stamped his foot. “Jenny, tell this SOB who I am.”

Her expression registered concern but also irritation as she stepped outside. “You can release him, Detective Cortez. That’s my brother, Bailey.”

Raul growled. “You’re kidding?”

She shook her head, her lips pressing together in a thin line. “No, it’s true. He’s harmless, really.”

Raul hesitated. He wanted to run the guy in for being an a-hole, but he was already skating on thin ice with the doctor and his captain, so he uncuffed him. “Don’t let me catch you sneaking around anyone’s house again, even if it is your sister’s.”

Bailey gave him a murderous look, but he was obviously shaken. He started to say something, but Dr. Madden held up a warning hand. “That’s enough, Bailey. Go inside. Now. ”

Her tone brooked no argument and her brother showed his first sign of intelligence by ducking inside.

“Sorry about that,” Raul said. “With a killer on the loose, and him sneaking around—”

“Understandable,” she said quietly.

He nodded, and they stared at each for a long moment, his pulse pounding at the way the moonlight glowed off her silky hair. She looked tired and vulnerable and for a moment as if she needed comfort. And those lips…kissable pink lips if he’d ever seen any.

Damn it. He did not like this woman, and he sure as hell didn’t want to be attracted to her.

Yanking himself back in control, he cleared his throat. “I stopped by to drop off those files. I’ll get them.” Without another word, he rushed to his car and retrieved the files. She was still waiting on the stoop when he returned, a slight breeze tossing the strands of her hair in disarray.

“Thanks.” She ran a hand over her forehead as if she had a headache. Probably due to that smart-assed little brother.

Not that he gave a damn about Jenny Madden’s private life or problems. “Well, I’ll let you go visit with your brother.” Still, he didn’t move to leave. Wondered suddenly why her eyes looked red as if she’d been crying.

“I’ll study the files tonight,” she said, “and try to get back with you tomorrow.”

He nodded, waiting to see if she offered anything more, but tension hung in the air between them.

Finally she arched a brow. “Is there something else, Detective Cortez?”

He had no idea why he hadn’t left yet, but that smarmy little brother of hers disturbed him.

A second later disgust filled him. She was a shrink, for God’s sake. And her brother was none of his business,

Schooling his thoughts, he handed her his business card. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

An odd look flickered across her face, then she gave him a clipped nod and shut the door in his face.

But as he strode back to the car, an uneasy feeling gripped his stomach. Bailey Madden was young, a smart-mouth, but surely he wasn’t dangerous, was he?

Yet Jenny Madden had looked tense, worried, shaken.

Was she afraid of her brother?

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