“It’s okay. You’re safe now.”

Trent’s arms slipped around her and he pulled her against the hard plane of his body. Against muscle and strength. She leaned back against the length of his body, trying to get as close to his warmth as she could.

She closed her eyes and soaked in the sensation. She remembered this. The moments in Trent’s arms. The lingering shadows of sweet memory. But her memories paled in comparison to having him here now. Surrounding her. The scent of him. The feel of him. The solid reality of him.

She could fight memories. She couldn’t fight this. She didn’t even want to. She needed him too much. Needed his warmth. Needed his strength. Needed him to make her safe. Make her whole.

Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,

Welcome to a brand-new year of exciting romance and edge-of-your-seat suspense. We at Harlequin Intrigue are thrilled to renew our commitment to you, our loyal readers, to provide variety and outstanding romantic suspense—each and every month.

To get things started right, veteran Harlequin Intrigue author Cassie Miles kicks off a two-book miniseries with State of Emergency. The COLORADO SEARCH AND RESCUE group features tough emergency personnel reared in the shadows of the rugged Rocky Mountains. Who wouldn’t want to be stranded with a western-born hunk trained to protect and serve?

Speaking of hunks, Debra Webb serves up a giant of a man in Solitary Soldier, the next installment in her COLBY AGENCY series. And you know what they say about the bigger they come the harder they fall…. Well, it goes double for this wounded hero.

Ann Voss Peterson takes us to the darkest part of a serial killer’s world in Accessory to Marriage. The second time around could prove to be the last—permanently—for both the hero and heroine in this gripping thriller.

Finally, please welcome Delores Fossen to the line. She joins us with a moving story of forced artificial insemination, which unites two strangers who unwittingly become parents…and eventually a family. Do not miss His Child for an emotional read.

Be sure to let us know how we’re doing; we love to hear from our readers! And Happy New Year from all of us at Harlequin Intrigue.

Sincerely,

Denise O’Sullivan

Associate Senior Editor

Harlequin Intrigue

Accessory to Marriage

Ann Voss Peterson

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Ever since she was a little girl making her own books out of construction paper, Ann Voss Peterson wanted to write. So when it came time to choose a major at the University of Wisconsin, creative writing was her only choice. Of course, writing wasn’t a practical choice—one needs to earn a living. So Ann found jobs ranging from proofreading legal transcripts, to working with quarter horses, to washing windows. But no matter how she earned her paycheck, she continued to write the type of stories that captured her heart and imagination—romantic suspense. Ann lives near Madison, Wisconsin, with her husband, her toddler son, her border collie and her quarter horse mare.

Books by Ann Voss Peterson

HARLEQUIN INTRIGUE

579—INADMISSIBLE PASSION

618—HIS WITNESS, HER CHILD

647—ACCESSORY TO MARRIAGE

CAST OF CHARACTERS

Risa Madsen—When her sister falls into the hands of a serial killer, Risa must do everything in her power to save her—even rely on the man who broke her heart.

Trent Burnell—An FBI profiler, Trent left Risa to protect her from the evil of his world. But when that evil resurfaces in the form of Dryden Kane, Trent has no choice but to stay and fight. For himself. And for Risa.

Dryden Kane—A brutal serial killer bent on destroying those who have tried to destroy him.

Dixie Madsen Kane—A troubled young woman looking for love, Dixie believes she’s found her soul mate in Dryden Kane.

Pete Wiley—The bitter sergeant has it in for Risa and the FBI. How far will he go to prove his point?

Duane Levens—The bulky prison guard was on duty the night Dryden Kane escaped. Does he have something to hide?

John Rook—Is the police chief trying to be helpful, or does his interest have a more sinister purpose?

Farrentina Hamilton—The wealthy socialite loves the titillating danger of corresponding with a killer in prison. Would the thrill be even greater if she helped him get out?

Paul Hanson—The pompous prison warden wants his share of the Department of Corrections’ funding pie and prestige. Would he sabotage his own prison to get it?

To the accessories in my marriage: Carl and Gil Voss, always my biggest fans. And Ellie and Pete Peterson, thanks for raising my romantic hero.

Contents

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

Epilogue

Prologue

Do you take this woman to be your lawfully wedded wife…

Slamming on the brakes, Risa Madsen threw open her car door. She clambered out and raced through the parking lot toward the looming perimeter fence of the Grant Correctional Institution. Her heels pounded on the pavement in sync with the drumming of her pulse.

She had to stop this marriage from taking place. She couldn’t—wouldn’t—let Dixie throw her life away. She had to save her little sister.

And she was running out of time.

…to have and to hold…

The early afternoon sun glinted off strands of razor wire lining the top of the perimeter fence. Risa shivered as she ran. If it wasn’t for her, Dixie never would have sought out Dryden Kane. She never would have transferred her exhausting need for male approval from her father to Kane. She never would have become Kane’s willing victim.

…from this day forward…

Two guards stood at the gate. Stopping, Risa gulped air and struggled to subdue her panic. She focused on the bulky guard whose eyes held the look of a soul weary with confronting the evil of life. “Duane. Am I too late?”

“They already started, Professor.” He opened the gate and pulled her inside. “What took you so long?”

“Traffic. I got here as soon as I could.” If it hadn’t been for Duane’s call, she wouldn’t have made it at all. She wouldn’t have even known about the wedding.

He motioned for her to follow. “Hurry.”

Risa ran up the steps behind him. He threw open the door and led her through a metal detector and into the wide entrance hall of the prison’s main building.

…for richer or for poorer…

While a female guard patted her down and checked the inside of her shoes and the bottoms of her feet, Risa inhaled breath after breath of stale air into her hungry lungs. There never seemed to be enough air inside these walls. Nor enough light.

The perfect place for a man like Kane to live out the rest of his days.

Of course that was a thought she could never voice. In light of her profession, she was supposed to be supportive of Kane’s efforts toward rehabilitation. She was supposed to believe that through psychoanalysis he could overcome his horrible childhood and turn his life around. A part of her even wanted to believe it. But she couldn’t shake the cold feeling slithering over her skin every time she thought of his ice-blue eyes, his artful smirk.

The feeling of impending doom.

She knew where the feeling was coming from. Trent had planted this bias in her mind when he’d profiled Kane for the FBI. When he’d testified at Kane’s trial. When he’d helped put Kane in prison.

Everything always went back to Trent.

…for better or for worse…

She shook her head, trying to dislodge the litany of vows scrolling through her mind. She had to make it to the chapel in time. She had to prevent this travesty from taking place.

Security checks complete, she hurried after Duane. Barred doors slid open in front of them and clanged shut behind. Risa’s heart slammed against her ribs. She wanted to push past Duane and race for the chapel as fast as her feet would carry her. She wanted to grab Dixie and drag her out of this godforsaken place, kicking and screaming if need be.

She wished she could change the past. She wished Dixie wasn’t the needy, vulnerable girl she was. She wished she had never added Kane to her list of case studies. But wishing wouldn’t help Dixie. Only getting her out of this place, away from Kane would do that.

…in sickness and in health…

Finally Duane stopped in front of a plain steel door marked Chapel. “I hope to God you aren’t too late. For your sister’s sake.” He pushed the door open.

Risa squeezed past him and lunged inside.

Her sister stood in the corner of the chapel. Her bleached hair fell to her shoulders in platinum ringlets. At least fifty yards of lace and satin and frothy tulle flourished around her like French creme frosting. Her lipsticked mouth rounded. Her penciled brows arched in surprise. “Risa.”

Risa looked past Dixie and focused on the groom. The man was charming, almost boyish, with an endearing shyness and a down-home smile. Looking at him, one would imagine him to be a kind and gentle man, the perfect husband for a troubled girl like Dixie. But Risa knew differently.

Dryden Kane was a brutal serial killer.

She strode up the aisle toward her sister, toward Kane. Her hands hardened into fists by her sides.

Kane’s ice-blue eyes met hers. A smirk slithered over his thin lips. “Hey, sis. You here to welcome me into the family?”

A cold finger traveled up her spine.

“No?” His smirk grew wider. “Why not? Don’t tell me you’re jealous of your little sister. Do you hear that, Dix? She’s jealous of you.”

Dixie gazed up at him, beaming as if he’d just given her the prize of a lifetime.

Nausea swirled in Risa’s stomach. She wanted to think all men were redeemable. Curable. But looking into Kane’s emotionless blue eyes, she just couldn’t buy it. No, Trent was right. A man like Kane never changed. He manipulated. He terrorized. He killed. But he never changed.

And he’d found just the right ploy to manipulate her sister.

Kane leered down at Dixie as if she were a roasted leg of lamb seasoned just the way he liked. “Face it, sis. Dixie has triumphed where years of psychotherapy failed. Her love has made me a better person. A good person. She’s my soul mate. And you’re too late to change it now. We already said ‘I do.’”

The breath left Risa’s lungs in a whoosh.

Kane raised his eyes to meet hers and lowered one eyelid in a profane wink. “Dixie is my wife—until death do us part.”

Chapter One

Risa stared at the images flashing on the ten-o’clock news. Razor wire glinting in the sun. A fenced compound. An empty cell. The newscaster’s voice thundered in her ears like a death sentence. Her worst fear had become reality. Dryden Kane had escaped from prison.

Dixie.

Her throat constricted. The way Kane had leered at Dixie on their wedding day a month ago pounded at the back of her eyes. His taunting voice echoed through her mind. Until death do us part.

Kane would go straight to Dixie. And once he had his hands on her, he would kill her. Of this Risa had no doubt.

She scrambled to her feet and raced for the kitchen, her robe billowing out behind her. She’d been ready for bed when the terrifying story had come on the news. Now sleep was out of the question. Not until Kane was behind bars. Not until Dixie was safe. She grabbed the phone from the kitchen counter. Fingers shaking, she punched in Dixie’s number.

One ring…two rings…

She clenched the phone so tightly the plastic creaked. “Please, Dixie. Please be there.”

Three rings…four…

She threw down the phone and ran for the foyer, for the staircase leading to her bedroom. She had to get dressed. She had to find her purse, her car keys. She had to reach her sister before Kane did.

Her bare feet slapped the wood floor. She took the narrow steps two at a time, knocking the teddy bears decorating the stairs out of her way as she ran.

The doorbell’s chime echoed through her little bungalow.

She stopped dead at the sound. Her breath caught in her throat. Was it Dixie? The police?

She raced back down the stairs to the front door. She peered through the peephole. Her heart stuttered then seized. Clutching her robe closed with one hand, she unlocked the dead bolt and yanked the door open.

Trent scrutinized her from the darkness, his face all sharp angles and hard planes in the yellow glare of the porch light.

Risa’s heart started again, pumping hard enough to break a rib. She hadn’t seen him in two years, two long years, and she’d never dreamed she would be glad to see him again.

But she was.

His steel-gray gaze skimmed her face. His glower deepened. “You know, don’t you?”

A fresh surge of panic swelled up inside her. There was no time to lose. “I heard it on the news. We have to reach Dixie.”

“Damn. I didn’t want you to find out that way.”

She shook her head with frustration. The way she’d found out wasn’t important. “We have to reach Dixie before Kane does. He’ll kill her. I know he will. We have to hurry. She didn’t answer her phone.”

Trent paused. His gaze drilled into her.

Cold dread penetrated her bones. He knew something. Something she hadn’t seen on the news. Something horrible. She opened her mouth, but her voice wouldn’t work.

Trent reached out and grasped her arm as if preparing her for the blow. “Dixie’s with him,” he said. “We think she helped him escape.”

Risa’s head whirled. Oh God, Kane already had Dixie. He’d duped her into helping him escape, and now he had her. Until death do us part. Risa’s knees wobbled and she felt herself sinking.

Trent pushed his way into her house. Leading her to the antique bench in the foyer, he shoved teddy bears aside and deposited her on it.

Her mind stuttered. She shook her head and struggled against the pressure of his hand, the certainty of his pronouncement. No. It couldn’t be true. If Kane had Dixie, she was as good as dead. “Dixie can’t be dead. She can’t be. She just—”

“Rees.” His sharp baritone cut through her denials. He leaned over her, his face close to hers. “We don’t know that she’s dead. I don’t think she is.”

Her heart leaped at the hope in his words. Trent knew Kane better than anyone. That was why the FBI had sent him here. To find Kane. To save Dixie. “Then we have to find her. Now.” She struggled to stand.

Trent’s grip tightened, keeping her planted on the bench. “We will find her. But first I need you to get dressed. A police officer from Grantsville is on his way to pick you up. You need to go with him to the police station and answer some questions.”

“Grantsville?” Risa recognized the name of the small town a stone’s throw from the prison, but for the life of her, she didn’t see how going to the tiny Grantsville police station was going to do any good. “I don’t have time. We have to find Dixie. We’re running out of—”

“Rees. Look at me.”

She forced her eyes to focus on his face. A face full of strength and confidence and purpose. A face that, until a few minutes ago, she had never wanted to set eyes on again.

His gaze pierced her confusion like a well-honed blade. “I will find Kane, Rees. I did it before, and I’ll do it now. I’ll do everything in my power to bring Dixie out of this alive. I promise you that.”

Trent’s promises. She closed her eyes, blocking the sight of him. His riveting eyes. His hard, determined chin. God knows, he had broken promises to her in the past. But those were personal promises. Promises of marriage. Promises of a family. This one had to do with his work. This one was life and death. He would keep this one. He always kept his professional promises.

She opened her eyes and drew in a deep breath. “What will you do?”

“After the officer gets here, I’ll head to the prison. I want to go through Kane’s personal things, anything he left behind. Anything that will give me an idea of where he’s going and what he’s planning. Afterward I’ll meet you at the police station. The task force will be assembling there.”

“I’m going with you to the prison.”

Familiar shadows crept into the gray of his eyes. He straightened and turned away, as if to prevent her from seeing too much.

“I can help, Trent. I have insights into Kane that might be useful.”

He shook his head. The prismatic light from the fixture overhead played on silver threads sprinkled through his hair, making them sparkle like stars in a black night. “Go with the officer. Answer his questions. That’s how you can help. There’s no reason for you to go to the prison.”

She tightened her mouth into a determined line. “The police will be at the prison too, right? I can answer questions there. I need to go.”

He paced the length of the tiny foyer before he spun back to face her. His expression was guarded, his jaw clamped shut like an oyster with an entire pearl necklace to protect.

Old anger kindled inside her. She’d seen this look countless times before. Back when they were engaged to be married. Back when he’d withdrawn. Back when he’d shut her out of his life.

She shoved her resentment aside and concentrated on keeping her voice calm, her argument reasonable. “I’ve been heading up a study on criminal psychology. I’ve been to the prison dozens of times in the last year interviewing Kane and others. I have insights into—”

“I can’t invite you into the middle of a manhunt for a serial killer. Even if your sister is with him. It’s out of the question.”

Frustration pulsed at the back of her eyes, rapidly turning into a throbbing headache. They didn’t have time to argue about this. Dixie’s time was running out. Risa lurched to her feet. Her robe flared open, revealing her boxy flannel nightshirt, but she didn’t care. “Damn it, Trent. You’ve used victims’ family members to help in other cases. I know you have.”

“Not this time. Let the authorities take care of it. Let us do our jobs.” His voice was hard, final. But something soft hovered in his eyes. Something familiar. Protectiveness.

She balled her hands into fists. She wanted to pound them against his chest. She wanted to grab the lapels of his suit and shake him. She wanted to scream until she had no breath left in her body. Instead, she gritted her teeth, remembering his words the night he’d broken their engagement. The night he’d shredded her dreams.

Insight stabbed into her, sharp as a well-honed blade. She shook her head. “Unbelievable. You still think you’re protecting me from the ugliness of the world, don’t you?”

His back stiffened. Regret flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t argue with her. He never had. From the night he’d told her he couldn’t go ahead with their vows, he’d taken all the anger she’d thrown at him as if it were his penance for the pain he’d caused her. A punishment he knew he deserved.

But accepting punishment was beside the point. She didn’t want to punish him. She wanted him to understand. “I don’t need your protection. I’ve already met Kane. I’ve talked to him, interviewed him. And Dixie found my work so fascinating, she married the man, for crying out loud. I’m neck deep in the ugliness. I’m probably as tainted as you believe you are.”

A muscle worked along his jaw. “You might think you are, but you’re not. Not yet. And I won’t be responsible for your getting in any deeper. I’m not taking you with me.”

She bit back the caustic reply she wanted to hurl at him. Obviously words wouldn’t do any good. She would have to take matters into her own hands. Dixie needed her. And she wasn’t going to let anyone—especially not Trent Burnell—stand in her way. “Fine. I’ll drive myself to the prison. If the officer wants to ask me questions, he can meet me there. Or he can arrest me.” Clutching her robe closed, she ran up the stairs.

DAMN.

Listening to the soft thump of Rees’s footsteps climbing the stairs, Trent ran his gaze over the warm wood and creamy white walls of her foyer. Her collection of teddy bears scattered the staircase and bench and stared down at him from an ornate shelf. Their glossy black eyes twinkled knowingly in the overhead lights. He pulled his gaze from the bears, his skin prickling as if dozens of real eyes watched him, studied him, judged him.

Double damn.

He didn’t know how he’d hoped the meeting would go, but this wasn’t even close. That Rees wanted to help save Dixie from Kane—that she needed to help—didn’t surprise him in the least. But he’d hoped she would be satisfied with going to the police station and answering questions. He should have known better.

Simply answering questions wouldn’t be enough for her. Not Rees. Of course she would try to talk him into including her, and when he refused, she’d go barreling in on her own. He should have seen it coming. He should have done something, anything to head her off before she’d latched on to the idea of going to the prison. Before she’d dug in her heels.

He opened the door and stepped out onto the stoop. The gentle glow of the moon caressed an oak tree’s emerging leaves and sparkled off drops of dew in the well-tended lawn. Sweet scents of lilac and honeysuckle mixed with the tang of nearby spruce. Familiar smells of Wisconsin spring that would be embedded in his memory forever.

But in his memory, those sweet scents were impossible to separate from the hot odor of blood, the stench of decay and the evil of Dryden Kane.

That was the reality of his life. Death and decay and a killer on the loose. Not manicured lawns. Not teddy bears.

And certainly not someone as wholesome as Rees.

He closed his eyes, trying to shut out the soft, lavender scent of her, the rich, husky quality in her voice, the petite curves even that flour sack of a nightshirt couldn’t hide.

Damn. He had brought Dryden Kane into her life. He had infected her wholesome existence with evil. If it wasn’t for him, she wouldn’t have pursued the job at the University of Wisconsin, she wouldn’t have gone out of her way to include Kane in her study, and her sister wouldn’t have married the monster and helped him escape.

He had contaminated her life. And now her sister would probably die at Kane’s hands. And Rees’s world would crumble.

Guilt wrenched his shoulders and pounded at his skull. If only he had never taken the job in the FBI’s criminal profiling unit. If only he had never made that first trip to Wisconsin to search for the unknown subject who was kidnapping and killing coeds. If only he had never crawled into Kane’s twisted mind, become obsessed with the labyrinth he’d found and become as tainted as Kane himself. He and Risa would be married now. And her sister would be safe.

But “if only” didn’t do him a damn bit of good. He couldn’t change the past. And even if it were possible to travel back in time and relive those early days, he couldn’t change the decisions he’d made. To change the path his career had taken would mean killers he had helped put in prison or on death row would be free. Free to take more innocent lives. And he couldn’t live with that. Not for the sake of his own personal happiness. Not even for Rees.

He stepped off the porch and strode across the wet grass toward his rental car. He couldn’t go back in time, and he couldn’t change things. All he could do was his job. All he could do was find Kane before he killed Dixie, before he killed someone else.

And he would do his damnedest to protect Rees in the process. Whether she liked it or not.

FINALLY DRESSED in slacks and a cotton sweater, Risa stepped into the garage and hit the glowing button on the wall. Motor whirring, the automatic garage door slowly lifted. A car’s headlights glared from outside, the light growing as the door lifted, banishing the darkness in the garage. She held up a hand to shield her eyes from the light.

“Get in the car, Rees.” Trent’s voice barked over the drone of the garage door. “I’ll drive you to the prison.”

She gripped her car keys in one fist, the pointed edges digging into her palm. So Trent had changed his mind. Wonders never ceased. But knowing Trent, his decision to take her to the prison had less to do with a change of heart than a change of strategy. No doubt he’d decided he could censor the ugly truth more easily if he was with her.

Well, the first step was getting him to take her to the prison. Now she had the forty-minute drive there to convince him that she didn’t need his protection, and that she could help.

She stepped out onto the driveway and punched the code into the garage door’s outside keypad. The door humming shut behind her, she pulled open the passenger door of Trent’s sedan and lowered herself into the bucket seat.

His scent closed over her like warm water. A shiver shimmied up her back. A shiver with a chaser of memory. Memory of a time when she’d found comfort in his scent, in the warmth of his body next to hers. But that time was gone. Gone like the love they’d once shared. The future they’d once planned.

She ground her teeth, anger winding into a tight ball in her belly. Good. She preferred anger to the simpering wistfulness and sadness of dwelling on what she’d lost. And how Trent had betrayed her. Anger kept her sharp. Focused. Determined. All of which she needed if she was to help Dixie.

Trent threw the car into reverse, backed out of the driveway and piloted the vehicle in the direction of the highway. His face was hard in the glow of the dashboard light, his eyes shuttered, as if he was bracing himself for the arguments bouncing around in her mind and had already resolved not to pay them heed.

Of course, he probably did know what she was thinking. After all, they’d first met when she was still a grad student and he was a raw FBI recruit. And God knows, eight years of courtship was plenty long enough for him to learn how her mind worked.

And how determined she could be.

She set her chin. “I need to know what is going on, Trent.”

“Rees…” The muscle along his jaw clenched. His eyebrows turned down in warning. “I don’t know anything beyond what I’ve already told you.”

“And you wouldn’t share it with me if you did.”

“No, I wouldn’t.”

She blew a frustrated breath between pursed lips.

“What do you expect? Do you expect me to give you all the gory details?”

“The gory details are my life this time. Dixie’s—” She cut off her sentence. She might as well save her breath. It was just as she’d figured. He was willing to take her to the prison, but only so he could keep her from gathering information on her own. She knotted her hands into fists in her lap. “Do you think it’s better if I find out about the case when some true-crime author writes a book about it? Is that when I should discover I had the critical piece of information that could have found Kane? That could have saved Dixie’s life?”

His shoulders tensed, and the ever-present shadows settled deeper in his steel eyes.

“Is it, Trent?”

For the first time since she’d climbed into the car, he turned to look at her. A furrow dug between his brows, and his face looked thinner than she remembered. Drawn. Troubled. His mouth tensed, but he said nothing.

He knew her, yes, but she also knew him. And she knew where that troubled look came from. She knew about the sense of responsibility that shrouded his heart. “I would never forgive myself if something that I know could save Dixie’s life. Or other lives. Would you, Trent? Would you be able to forgive yourself?”

He flinched as if she’d slapped him. Eyes hard, he turned back to the road, his lips flattening into a noncommittal line.

She leaned toward him and laid her hand on his arm. “Let me look at Kane’s things. Let me find out if anything sparks a memory of something he told me, something Dixie may have told me. Let me help. Before it’s too late.”

He heaved a weighted sigh, the shadows in his eyes deepening. “We’ll see.”

Exhaling, she leaned back in her seat and stared out the window at the rolling hills whipping by in the night.

We’ll see.

It wasn’t exactly a promise. But it was far more than she’d realistically hoped to squeeze out of him. And she’d take what she could get. For Dixie’s sake. And for her own.

Chapter Two

Trent put pen to paper and scrawled his name on the document in front of him without glancing twice at the fine print. He knew what the document said. He’d had to sign it many times in his years with the FBI. Sign it and surrender his gun. Every time he’d ventured into the cell blocks of a maximum security prison. The bowels of a prison. The pit he and Rees were heading to now.

He glanced at Rees standing next to him in front of the glassed-in reception and screening desk. She clutched the pen in shaking fingers. She’d conducted interviews at the prison, but he doubted she’d been deeper than the visiting rooms. She would have had no reason to visit the cell blocks themselves.

Eyes squinted, she studied the words in front of her. Damn ominous words. Words she should never have to contemplate. In a nutshell, the document stated that should some inmate with a point to prove take either of them hostage, the prison authorities wouldn’t lift a finger to save their lives. No negotiation. No discussion. No kiss goodbye.

Of course Trent had seen countless instances where prison officials went to all lengths to save a hostage. The document was simply intended to cover the prison from lawsuits should a visitor get hurt. But even so, the implication was there. This was a bad place filled with bad men.

A place he didn’t want Rees anywhere near.

He pulled his gaze from her, from the fear and vulnerability evident in her trembling fingers and her ramrod-straight posture. He wished to hell he didn’t have to put her in this situation. That he could shutter her away and keep her safe. But she’d been right. He needed to use every resource at his disposal to stop Kane, even if that resource was Rees. He couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t.

He turned to the hulking corrections officer waiting to escort them to Kane’s cell. The sooner they sorted through the cell, the sooner he could get Rees out of this godforsaken place. And the sooner he could track down the serial killer. “Let’s get on with it.”

The guard nodded and turned to Risa. “Ready to go, Professor?”

Risa looked into the guard’s weary eyes and forced a brave smile to her lips, a smile that trembled slightly at the corners. “Lead the way, Duane,” she said, her voice a little too chipper, a little too eager.

The guard returned her shaky smile with a reassuring one of his own and started down the well-worn main hallway. Trent strode behind, Rees falling into step beside him.

“Before we reach the cell, I want to warn you.” Trent projected his voice above the bars clanging behind them and the steady tap of their footsteps on scuffed tile.

“Warn me about what?”

“I don’t know what we’re going to find in Kane’s cell. Probably what he wants us to find. And Kane is one twisted bastard. You may have to face some very ugly things.”

She set her chin and strode forcefully forward. “I’ll manage.”

“I hope so.” He didn’t even bother to censure the doubt in his tone. “Because I’m bringing you along against my better judgment.”

“You have to use every tool at your disposal, Trent. To save Dixie’s life. To save other lives.”

“That’s the only reason you’re here, Rees. Believe me. If I could, I’d toss you over my shoulder, haul you back to the car and hog-tie you so fast it would make your head spin.”

She shot him a hard look. “If you did, there would be hell to pay.”

He tore his gaze from her and strode down the corridor behind the guard’s hulking shoulders. “There’s always hell to pay. Believe me.”

After walking for what seemed like an eternity, Duane stopped to turn his key in the control panel and opened the last set of barred doors at the entrance of the first cell block. They stepped through, and the doors clanged shut behind them. The sound echoed through the vast two-story structure like the slamming of the doors of Hades.

Trent had never visited this particular prison before, but it was much the same as the countless others he had. A long hallway stretched on either side of them, barred windows black with night on one side and two stories of cells on the other. The scarred bars and dingy beige walls and floors looked like something out of a nightmare. A smattering of murmurs, shouts and catcalls erupted as they stepped forward into the cell block. Thankfully, it was the middle of the night. Otherwise the jeers and obscenities would be worse. Much worse.

Rees tensed beside him. He longed to slip a comforting arm around her, to press her body against his side, to protect her from the scum leering at her from behind barred doors. But this was not the time or the place. That time and place didn’t exist. Not anymore.

Between the open shower rooms in the center of the structure, a steel staircase rose to the second floor. They followed Duane up the stairs, their footfalls making the metal hum like a tuning fork.

When they reached the second tier, Duane led them past two uniformed police officers and down the walkway overlooking the floor below. The cells in this section stood unoccupied, evacuated, their doors yawning wide and cavernous. Trent exhaled with relief. At least Rees wouldn’t have to face the prisoners’ jeers up close and personal.

Two men in suits stood outside Kane’s cell. The taller of the two wore a double-breasted Armani suit and French cuffs with the pomposity of a man eager for people to think more of him than he thought of himself. If Trent had to hazard a guess, he’d peg the man as the prison’s warden. Though where he’d come up with the cash to dress in designer suits on a prison warden’s salary, Trent couldn’t answer.

The other man he knew, though not well. Pete Wiley had been one of the senior detectives on the case the last time they’d met—back when Kane was still an unknown subject, or “unsub” as they were usually called. Unfortunately, the detective had been one of many local law enforcement officers that Trent ran into in his work who were resentful of the FBI. To put it mildly, Wiley hadn’t been the model of cooperation between agencies.

Now the blond mop-topped detective shifted from scuffed loafer to scuffed loafer like a little kid itching to go out and play. Or, if Trent remembered the squirrely cop correctly, an adult suffering from nervous tension and too much strong coffee.

The warden shook his balding head dramatically. Though he was talking to Wiley, his voice carried down the row of empty cells. “…and maybe this is for the best. Maybe now the Department of Corrections will give us money for improvements and extra guards instead of funneling all the state’s resources into the new Supermax and into shipping prisoners to Tennessee and Oklahoma prisons.”

For the best? He hoped the warden was referring to something trivial like the boiler failing or the maintenance crew running out of wax for the dingy floors. He surely couldn’t be talking about the escape of a serial killer as being for the best, could he? Trent eyed Rees. The last thing she needed to hear was that some jackass in a fancy suit thought the danger Dixie faced was for the best.

Hands balled into fists by her sides, she glowered at the warden’s back. A muscle worked in the smooth column of her throat, as if she was doing her best to swallow the damn fool’s words.

Anger churned in Trent’s gut. She shouldn’t have to swallow this garbage. Any of it. And he sure as hell wasn’t going to just stand by and watch it happen. “What the hell is for the best?”

The men spun around as if to pinpoint the question’s source. A wary smile broke across Wiley’s face. “Special Agent Burnell.” He nodded in Trent’s direction then turned his baby blues on Rees. His brows lifted in surprise and then lowered, as if he recognized her and disapproved of her presence.

“This is Risa. Risa Madsen,” Trent informed him.

“I know who she is.”

Trent raised his brows at the detective’s hostile tone. Strange. As far as he knew, the two had never met, and yet Wiley behaved as though he held something against her.

After more introductions, the warden shook Trent’s hand and then grasped Rees’s. “I’m sorry your sister was involved in this, Ms. Madsen.”

“Thank you, Warden Hanson. I appreciate it. Now I’m wondering the same thing as Trent. What were you talking about when we arrived? What is for the best?” She nailed him with a challenging stare.

Trent almost smiled at her pluck.

The warden’s face flushed pink. “Not for the best, exactly. That was an unfortunate choice of words. But something big had to happen to get the DOC to acknowledge our funding problem. Heaven knows, they haven’t been listening to me.”

He gestured widely with his bony hands, his face animated. “I hold the lack of funding responsible for Kane’s escape. I warned our state representative just last week we were short money for overtime and to update security.”

He frowned and shook his head sadly, but no amount of acting could hide the I-told-you-so gleam in his eye. “The state legislature can’t ignore the problem any longer.”

Anger rumbled in Trent’s chest. What a pompous fool. How could he be so insensitive as to even hint he was celebrating the extra funding Kane’s escape would bring? He glowered at the warden. “With Kane on the loose, more innocent people will die. In comparison, I can’t dredge up much sympathy for your prison’s funding problems, Warden.”

At least the pompous money grubber had the decency to appear ashamed. “Yes, of course. I was just looking for the silver lining.”

“There is no silver lining that I can see.” Trent glanced down at his watch. They had already wasted enough time on the warden. Time they didn’t have. “Let’s get on with this, Wiley.”

The warden shot Trent an annoyed look and smoothed a hand over the front of his suit coat. “Yes. You’ll have to excuse me. I have some administrative details to attend to. Good luck, Special Agent Burnell. Professor Madsen.”

“Thank you,” Trent said pointedly. He turned from the retreating warden and toward the cell.

Wiley stood in the cell’s open doorway, glaring at Rees. “Why is she here, Burnell?”

He leveled Wiley with a no-nonsense stare. “Do you have a problem with Ms. Madsen, Wiley? As a professor of psychology—someone who has studied Kane intensely—and the sister of Kane’s accomplice, she will provide insights that will be valuable. Now let’s get on with this.”

Trent couldn’t help catch the grateful look Rees shot him. A grateful look he hardly deserved. Some nice guy he was, letting her in to see whatever gruesome surprise Kane had left for them. He could only hope she did have some valuable insights. He could only hope he wasn’t exposing her to this whole damn nightmare for nothing.

Wiley’s frown deepened, but he led the way into the cell. Rees and Trent followed him inside. The guard who had escorted them remained by the door.

Kane’s cell was small and nearly barren, with a built-in cot on one wall, a storage unit on the other and a toilet with a sink above on the third. The hall had smelled a little like sweaty gym socks, but Kane’s cell reeked of something harsh and slightly minty. “Disinfectant. Kane has been up to his usual compulsive cleaning, I see.”

Rees piped up from beside him. “He talked about it often. He cleaned his cell several times a day. He also said he found nothing as clean and pure as fresh, flowing blood.” Her voice quavered with the memory.

Trent clenched his teeth at the tone of fear in her voice. Damn. Cleanliness was only part of Kane’s compulsion. Only part of the fantasy of control he lived each time he killed. The main part of Kane’s fantasy—the vital part—was the fear he caused in his victims. Their panic as he chased them through the woods. Their screams as he plunged in the knife.

The bastard would have relished the fear in Risa’s eyes when he’d talked about clean, flowing blood. He would have devoured it. And hungered for more.

What the hell had Rees thought she was doing interviewing Kane? Why had she left herself open?

He knew the answer before he’d finished asking himself the question. She’d wanted to understand why Trent had withdrawn from her while working on Kane’s case. Why he’d broken their engagement a short time later. And she’d gone to Kane to find the answers.

He’d delivered her right into Kane’s waiting arms.

And now he was about to bring her deeper into the sordid labyrinth. Deeper into Kane’s twisted mind. Deeper into the world of pain and fear and human evil.

And unless he was willing to risk lives, he couldn’t do a damned thing to stop it.

He turned to the gray wooden storage structure on one wall of the cell. Comprised of shelves, cubbyholes and a writing surface, the unit was filled with stacks of letters, neatly folded magazine pages and a few trinkets. Trent glanced at Wiley. “Has anyone gone through this?”

Wiley shook his head. “When I heard you were on your way, I thought I’d better wait to get your interpretation. I certainly wouldn’t want to step on delicate toes.”

Trent ignored the jab and turned back to the cubbyholes. He reached in, drew out the magazine pages and unfolded them.

Rees peered around his shoulder to get a good look.

The most vile, sadomasochistic pornography Trent had seen in a long time stared back at them. A small gasp escaped Rees’s lips.

Trent zeroed in on her, searching her face with a pointed gaze.

She drew herself up. Deliberately wiping all traces of abhorrence from her face, she met his eyes. “It just surprised me, that’s all.”

Surprised her, hell. She knew the kind of reading material Kane favored. She hadn’t been surprised, she’d been horrified. As well she should be. This kind of filth would horrify any normal person, whether she expected to see it or not. Unfortunately he’d seen more depraved things than this. And not just in pictures. The real scenes were worse. Much worse.

Rees swallowed hard and turned to the detective. “How did Kane get this…stuff?”

Wiley glanced at the pages. His mouth quirked with distaste. “It had to have been smuggled in. Probably by your sister.” The venom in his voice was clear.

Trent tensed. Wiley definitely had some sort of problem with Rees. And whatever it was, he wasn’t about to listen to any more.

But before he could come to Rees’s defense, she nailed Wiley with a challenging stare of her own. “You obviously don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, Detective. Dixie would never have anything to do with filth like this.”

Wiley shrugged. “She married Kane, didn’t she?”

“Yes. She married him after he convinced her that her love made him into a better person. I doubt he could continue that charade if she saw this garbage.”

So much for defending Rees, Trent thought. She could do it just fine herself where Wiley’s barbs were concerned. He made a mental note to find out exactly what Wiley’s problem with Rees was and directed his mind back to the real threat—Kane.

Setting the pornography aside, Trent plucked a stack of letters from one of the cubbyholes and began paging through them. He scanned each page individually, handing it to Rees when he’d finished reading.

Most were from Dixie, long opuses declaring her undying love for the serial killer, her unflagging belief in him and her bitter resentment of her older sister.

“She always has to be right, always has to be better than me…Miss Ph.D. thinks she’s so smart, but she has no idea…”

Trent almost flinched at the hurtful words in the letters. Dixie was envious of Rees, that much was clear. Envy was probably normal for a troubled younger sister like Dixie. But he knew Rees wouldn’t write these cruel words off as mere sibling jealousy. Not Rees. She would accept them like tender flesh accepts a sharp blade. She would internalize them. She would bleed over them.

Gritting his teeth, he kept handing her the pages.

She bit the inside of her bottom lip as she read, her expression carefully neutral, her breathing carefully even, but her eyes shone overbright.

Trent dragged his attention to the next pile of letters. To his relief, this stack wasn’t from Dixie, but from a woman named Farrentina Hamilton. Where Dixie’s handwriting was loopy and childish, the hand that composed these letters was pointed and bold. But save the jabs at Rees, the content of the letters was similar. Declarations of love. Promises of care packages. Plans for Kane’s future outside prison—a future his multiple life sentences were supposed to prevent.

Trent held up the letter he was reading and focused on Wiley. “What do you know about a woman named Farrentina Hamilton?”

“Widowed. Inherited a pile of dough from hubby. Visited Kane regularly. Several detectives are on the way to her house now.”

Trent nodded. Handing the last pile to Rees, he homed in on the trinkets still left in the storage unit. He fingered a lock of platinum hair, Dixie’s probably, and a small pile of cigarettes. Then his hand moved to a stack of photographs lying facedown in one of the cubbies. He picked up the pile by the edges and turned the photos into the light. The first photo was a wedding shot of Kane and Dixie. The bride was dressed head-to-toe in frothy white, the groom in his prison jumpsuit.

Rees leaned in close to see the pictures. Close enough for him to catch a wisp of her gentle lavender scent over the sharp stench of disinfectant. Close enough to feel the warmth of her skin.

Her body tensed when she saw the reminder of her sister’s union with Kane. A reminder she surely didn’t need.

Trent hurriedly moved on to the next photo. The next three were snapshots of a brunette posing seductively in red lace lingerie, complete with garter belt and stockings. Uneasy tension descended over his neck and shoulders. Something was not right about the pictures. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

Flipping the photograph over, he read the inscription on the back. Enjoy! Love, Farrentina. No surprise. The seductive photos and red lace went with the bold script and contents of her letters, all right. But there was still something that bothered him.

He shuffled past head shots of several blondes, women obviously attracted to the danger and notoriety of Kane. Women he would never understand. Finally his fingers grasped the last photo.

It was a snapshot of Dixie and Rees in the foyer of Rees’s home. The two of them were posed on the antique bench, surrounded with teddy bears, silly smiles on their faces.

But the photo was marred. A precise slit was cut from the locket around Dixie’s neck to her thighs. Drops of something thick and dried and brown obscured her sweet smile.

Drops of blood.

Rees gasped for air and swayed into him.

Trent dropped the stack of photos on the storage unit and grasped her upper arms. Damn. Damn. Damn. This was just what he’d feared would happen. Kane would never pass up the chance to leave a blatant threat for whoever searched his cell.

And Trent had allowed that person to be Rees.

She trembled violently under his hands and drew in breath after breath as if she was in danger of drowning.

He grasped her tighter, pulling her close, talking into her ear. “Rees. Remember, this is Kane’s game. Manipulate, control, dominate. He guessed you’d come to the prison with me. That you’d search through his things. He put that photo there for you to find. To hurt you. To scare you. Don’t let him win. Hold on to me. Breathe.” He drew in deep breaths and slowly exhaled.

She followed his lead, her gasps becoming slower, more controlled until she was breathing almost normally.

He pulled back to look at her, to make sure she was all right.

Her heart-shaped face was pale as death, her dark eyes wide and glistening, but at least she wasn’t going to pass out on the floor of the cell.

No thanks to him.

Anger rumbled through him. Anger with Kane. Anger with Dixie. And, most of all, anger with himself.

Rees was strong, but she wasn’t strong enough to stand up to Kane’s twisted manipulations. How could she be? How could any normal person face such an overt threat to the life of someone she loved? How could a normal person face such evil? “I’m getting you out of here.”

She shook her head emphatically, her long dark hair lashing her cheeks. “No. I’ll be all right. I—”

“Like hell you will. I shouldn’t have let you come. I’m taking you back to the entrance. Now.”

Ushering Rees out to the walkway, he cursed himself again for good measure. They had been through nearly everything in the cell, and she hadn’t remembered one thing that would lead to Kane’s whereabouts. She hadn’t magically come up with the answers he was looking for. He’d risked her peace of mind for nothing.

Chapter Three

Risa leaned against one of the government-beige walls in the entrance of the prison—walls that closed in around her, crowding her, smothering her. Like all the other times she’d ventured inside the razor wire, the lack of light and air and freedom made her lungs constrict and her heart pound. But it was what she’d seen in Kane’s cell that made her head throb with fear.

The sight of that photo of Dixie cut and bloody had left her shaking. She’d known Kane intended to kill Dixie since the day of their wedding, but seeing such a graphic reenactment of his earlier crimes with Dixie as his subject was almost more than she could take.

And the worst part was that he’d gotten to her. His booby trap had worked. She’d blown it. She’d insisted she didn’t need protection, that she could handle whatever Kane had planned, and the truth was, she couldn’t.

Trent was right. All the research she’d done into the criminal mind, all the horror stories she’d heard while compiling that research, none of it had prepared her to face the blood on that photograph. The slit down the middle of Dixie’s body. The clear threat to her sister’s life.

Trent hadn’t thrown her over his shoulder, thankfully. But he had whisked her out of the cell block, deposited her here and instructed Duane to baby-sit until he and Wiley could gather up Kane’s belongings and make sure they hadn’t missed anything.

She gritted her teeth and cursed her own weakness. Thank God, she hadn’t fainted. If she had, Trent probably would have shipped her off in an ambulance and ordered the doctors to sequester her in the hospital until Dixie was rescued. Or until it was too late. At least here, she could talk to the guards and do some general fact gathering on her own. She might still be able to help in some way.

She sighed and looked up at Duane. Even before he’d phoned to inform her of Dixie’s secret wedding, the guard had taken her under his wing. And judging by the way he hovered over her, he was nearly as protective as Trent.

Noticing her gaze on him, Duane laid his hand on her arm, his big mitt making it look as fragile as a toothpick. “I’m real sorry about what happened, Professor.”

She looked into his weary eyes. “Thanks, Duane. That means a lot to me.”

The guard’s coarse features clouded with obvious anger. “Damn Kane. Why did he have to drag your sister into this?”

“I don’t know.” She resisted the urge to pace the floor. She didn’t want to be reduced to bemoaning her sister’s status as a fugitive. She wanted to find Dixie. She wanted to do something to get her little sister away from Kane.

She glanced around the entrance to the prison, at the barred doors leading to inner corridors guarded by more barred doors. Despite the warden’s moans about funding for extra guards and security measures, the prison seemed awfully secure to her. Impenetrable. She couldn’t imagine how a prisoner could break out. Not without inside help. “How well did you know Kane, Duane?”

Duane’s mouth curled in distaste. “Know him?”

“Did you ever talk to him? Have any personal contact with him?”

Duane shook his big head. “I don’t talk to the scum that lives here.”

“Never?”

“Not if I can help it.”

“Are any of the guards friendly with prisoners? Or more specifically, were any friendly with Kane?”

Rolling his eyes to the ceiling, he thought for a moment. “No one comes to mind.”

“Can you think of anyone who would have reason to help Kane?”

Surprise registered on Duane’s face. “Help him?”

“Yes. Help him escape. Someone who might have helped him get through security and over the fence, so Dixie could pick him up.”

Duane’s bushy brows turned down, and he shook his head. “I think you got it wrong. He must have gotten out on his own.”

“How? It seems like it would be impossible for any prisoner to get out of this place on his own.”

Duane’s big shoulders rose and fell in a shrug. “I can’t imagine anyone lifting a finger to help a monster like that. But then I’m probably wrong. I can’t imagine anyone marr—” His cheeks and neck colored with embarrassment.

“You can’t imagine anyone marrying him, either,” she finished for him, heaviness settling on her shoulders. “It’s okay, Duane. Neither can I.”

“The best thing that could happen would be if someone took Kane out while he’s on the loose.” His voice dropped and shadows darkened his eyes. “He didn’t give those girls he killed a chance—hunting them down and gutting them like deer. Scum like that doesn’t deserve to live. Not one more day. Not even if it’s in a hellhole like this.”

Risa barely kept herself from nodding in agreement. She wasn’t a proponent of the death penalty. At least not in theory. But in this case, with a man like Dryden Kane, she could almost justify strapping him to a table and sticking a needle in his arm.

She pulled her mind from those morbid thoughts. Wisconsin wasn’t a death-penalty state. And wishing for Kane’s death wasn’t going to find him. And it wasn’t going to save Dixie. “Well, deciding whether Kane lives or dies isn’t up to us. All we can do is help find him. Can you think of anyone at all that seemed friendly with Kane?”

Duane’s forehead furrowed and he heaved a sigh as if settling deeply into thought.

Footsteps echoed through the corridor, growing louder, nearer. The barred door slid open and Trent strode through, carrying a cardboard box. Detective Wiley and the two uniformed officers who’d been outside Kane’s cell followed.

She took one look at the determined line of Trent’s lips and pushed herself away from the wall, standing solidly on her feet. “Did you find anything more?”

“Not much.” Trent paused only to sign out at the entrance desk. When he was finished, he turned a probing gaze on her. “How are you holding up?”

The question and his tone showed nothing but concern for her, but she couldn’t help feeling the heavy thump of frustration hit her in the chest once again. Frustration with herself. “I’m fine.”

Trent retrieved his gun and headed for the exit. “Good. Because we’re on our way to the police station.”

She followed him to the door, giving Duane a parting glance.

Forehead still furrowed, the guard shot her a shy grin. “I’ll think on your question, Professor. And if I come up with anybody who might have helped Kane, I’ll let you know.”

“Thanks, Duane.” It was a long shot, but maybe Duane could tell her something useful. She hoped her trip to the prison hadn’t been a total waste. Giving the guard a parting nod, she followed Trent’s broad shoulders out into the night.

TRENT RAKED a hand through his hair and glanced at Rees. She sat slumped in a chair in the area adjacent to the tiny Grantsville police station’s conference room, her eyes riveted on the polished tile floor in front of her. Her complexion was still ghostly, but at least she’d regained a little color since she’d seen the mutilated photo of her sister.

Or maybe it was just the lighting.

Another needle of guilt pricked his conscience. He’d had to let Rees examine the evidence in Kane’s cell, but that didn’t make him feel better about the horror she’d had to endure.

He glanced over his shoulder and into the conference room. Several file boxes sat on the long table. File boxes filled with the crime-scene photos and case reports that had put Kane behind bars the first time. At least Trent didn’t have to wrestle with letting Rees see these testaments of Kane’s evil. There was nothing she could tell him about these case files that he didn’t already carry deep in the shadows of his soul.

He drew himself up. He had to get his mind off Rees. He had work to do and only two hours before he was scheduled to meet with the emergency task force assembled to find Kane. Two hours to come up with ideas on where Kane had gone and proactive strategies for luring him into the open.

He stepped into the conference room and pulled the door shut with a thunk. Turning, he faced Wiley.

The detective glanced at the closed door and arched a blond brow but refrained from comment. Good choice. If he had let one negative comment about Rees cross his lips, Trent probably would have had to throttle him.

The door opened behind him and a slightly built, dark-haired man slipped inside. He nodded to Trent, his eyes lighting up like a puppy who’d been reunited with his owner after a long absence. He thrust an eager hand forward. “Rook, sir. I’m Grantsville’s Chief of Police. It’s an honor to finally meet you.”

Trent shook Rook’s hand. The varied responses he received from local law enforcement personnel never ceased to surprise him. Most of the time his presence was met with skepticism or even downright contempt. But then there were some who saw federal agents in a much more glamorous light. Obviously Rook was among the latter group. “It’s nice to meet you, too, Chief.”

He ducked his head to the side, as if the title embarrassed him. “Please, call me Rook. Or John. My department has only three full-time officers, including me.”

“It’s about time you got here, Rook,” Wiley growled. “Quit pumping Burnell’s hand like some damn bootlicker and sit down. We have work to do.”

Rook meekly did as Wiley ordered. Apparently the young, small-town chief was intimidated by county law enforcement.

Once they were all seated, Wiley zeroed in on Trent, waving a hand at the boxes of old files. “I looked for your profile of Kane, but I couldn’t find it.”

Trent stepped to the table. “There is no written profile.”

“Why not?”

“We don’t want a comprehensive written report leaked to the press. There are too many factors that could be misconstrued, sensationalized. Besides, we want to be able to release only select details. Details that will make the serial offender nervous. Make him take unnecessary risks. Or force him into the open. If reporters get their hands on a written report that contains the entire profile, we lose that ability.”

“Reporters. We set up a media office in Platteville. Hopefully we can keep the bloodsuckers off our backs.” Wiley shuffled through one of the boxes. “So do you need to make up a whole new profile? Won’t that take too long?”

He didn’t have to do too much to reconstruct his original profile. He saw the faces of Kane’s victims in his nightmares every night. And a day didn’t go by that he didn’t think of them and the families they’d left behind. Think of them and curse the fear, the pain, the crippling grief Kane had caused.

Trent picked up the stack of photographs he’d glanced through in Kane’s cell. “I’ll sort through the things we found in his cell and take a look at the files. I’ll be ready by the time the task force gets here.”

He focused on the photographs in his hands. The wedding shot of Kane and Dixie. The seductive snapshots of Farrentina Hamilton. The uneasy tension he’d experienced in the cell descended on his shoulders again. Something was definitely wrong with these pictures.

He set the photos back on the table and reached for the closest box of old case files. He plucked a file from the box, flipped open the manila folder and leafed through the contents. His fingers closed over a stack of crime-scene photos. One of the coeds Kane murdered stared back at him with unseeing blue eyes. Ashley Dalton. A twenty-year-old with two younger sisters and an interest in biochemistry. Her mutilated, naked body glowed white in the photographer’s flash. Her long, blond hair tangled around her face.

He snapped the folder shut and reached for another, the haunting details of Kane’s crimes rushing back to him. Rushing back to him, hell. They had never left. They were as much a part of him as his pounding heart, his straining lungs, his racing mind.

The woman in the second file was Dawn Bertram, a grad student studying psychology. A beautiful girl, Dawn had green eyes, not blue. But long, blond hair framed her lifeless face.

That was it.

That was what bothered him about the photos of Farrentina Hamilton. Her hair. Her brunette hair.

Kane preferred blondes.

Wiley leaned toward him from across the table. “What do you see, Burnell?”

Trent pushed the crime-scene photos toward him. “All of Kane’s victims were blond. It was a big part of his signature. He killed blondes. Only blondes.”

Rook raised his black eyebrows. “A hair-color fetish? What, was his mother blond or something?”

“Not his mother, though she probably inspired a good deal of his hatred. His rage has been building since he was a child. Rage and violent fantasies. We do know that he acted out many of those fantasies on small animals he hunted and captured in his neighborhood.”

“Then where does the blond hair come in?” Rook asked.

“A few months after his mother died of cancer, he married a blonde. She was in college when they met. When she started having affairs with other men, Kane began acting out his violent fantasies on women who looked like her. Fantasies that culminated in murder. It made him feel powerful, in control. Power and control he didn’t have in his normal life. Every time he killed a blond college student, he could fantasize that he was asserting power over the wife who’d humiliated him.”

“Until he got around to finally killing her.”

Trent nodded. He could almost smell the hot tang of blood mixing with the scent of spruce trees and lilac bushes. Fresh blood.

Damn. If he had been a little faster he could have saved Kane’s first wife. Faster identifying Kane. Faster locating him. Faster…

But he hadn’t been. Kane had beaten him by mere hours.

The memory of the worried tremor in Rees’s voice echoed in his ears. He looked down at the mutilated photo of her and Dixie. He couldn’t let Kane beat him this time.

Wiley studied the crime-scene photos and the snapshots of Farrentina Hamilton side by side. “So he wouldn’t be turned on by a brunette.”

Trent snatched his thoughts from past regrets and focused on the case at hand. “No.”

Wiley screwed up his forehead in concentration. “Didn’t I read something in one of the Hamilton woman’s letters about coloring her hair? Maybe she dyed it blond for him.”

Trent skimmed through the letters until he found the one Wiley was referring to. He read aloud. “As you can see, I colored my hair for you, Dryden. The red lingerie looks nice on a brunette, don’t you think?”

Wiley tapped a ballpoint pen on the tabletop. “But that sounds like she dyed her hair brunette for him. Not blond.”

Yes, it did. But that didn’t make sense. A serial killer didn’t change his signature. The emotional need his crime fulfilled was always the same, crime after crime. He might change his modus operandi as he learned more efficient ways of committing his crimes, ways he could avoid getting caught. But he didn’t change the emotional satisfaction, the sexual charge he got out of the act. And Kane fed on his victim’s fear as he exacted revenge. Revenge against the ex-wife who’d humiliated him. The ex-wife with long, blond hair. “The sequence of this hair color change is important. Are there any other photos? Any of Hamilton as a blonde?”

Wiley flicked through the stack of photos they’d found in Kane’s cell. “Yes. This head shot.” He handed a photo to Trent.

Rook leaned over the table to get a glimpse.

In the picture, Farrentina Hamilton’s platinum blond hair flowed over her shoulders. She wore a trendy suit, the style outdated by today’s standards, and she looked appreciably younger than she did in the lingerie shot.

Damn. He didn’t know what to make of this. Kane couldn’t have changed his signature. But if he hadn’t, why had he asked Farrentina Hamilton to dye her hair brunette?

“Dixie.” Dixie was a natural brunette, like Rees, but she had bleached her hair blond for as long as Trent had known her. He picked up the wedding picture and the mutilated picture from the table. In both photos Dixie’s hair was platinum and arranged in ringlets falling to her shoulders. If Kane’s preference had changed to brunettes, why had he married a blonde only a month ago?

Unless Dixie, like Ms. Hamilton, was no longer blond.

Trent’s gaze skimmed the mutilated photograph, landing on Rees. Her happy, wholesome smile, her arms circling her sister, her teddy bears cuddled around them on the bench. His gut tightened. “Professor Madsen might have some answers for us after all.” He stood and walked to the door.

Behind him, Wiley snorted and drummed his pen on a file folder. Trent ignored his obvious disapproval.

Risa was half out of her chair before the door swung open. “Did you find anything?” Desperation tinged her voice and tightened her every muscle. She looked small, delicate among the square, government-issue furniture lining the wall. Feet rooted to the floor, she leaned toward him, straining to find answers in his eyes.

Answers he didn’t have. “Will you come in here?”

Head snapping up and down in a quick nod, she scurried across the reception area and through the door he held open. As she moved into the room, his fingers stroked the small of her back as if of their own accord. The way they always had when he’d ushered her through a door. Back when the two of them were together. Back when he had a right to touch her.

The silky texture of her sweater grazed his fingertips. The warmth of her skin beckoned to him from under the thin silk.

Her body stiffened under his fingers, but she didn’t look at him. Instead, she bolted into the room and took a seat at the table.

What the hell was he doing? He had no right to touch her. No right to let himself fall back into familiar patterns, familiar gestures. He’d given up those rights two years ago. Given them up to keep her safe from just the kind of evil threatening her now.

He closed the door and circled the table. Pushing away memories of holding her, touching her, he folded himself into the chair next to her.

She kept her eyes riveted to the tabletop. Following her gaze, he spotted the stack of file folders hastily shuffled together. The corner of a crime-scene photo peeked from one of the folders. The face of one of Kane’s victims stared up at her. Knotted blond hair, pale skin, sightless eyes.

Trent grabbed the picture, shoved it back inside its folder and slid the stack toward Rook. As far away from Rees as he could get them. “I have some questions for you.”

She looked up at him, lips drawn into a flat, tense line. She clasped her hands together in her lap, her fingers clamped tight as a vise. “Shoot.”

“Has Dixie changed her hair color recently?”

Rees raised her eyebrows, clearly surprised by the question. “Yes. She changed back to her natural color.”

“When?”

“After her wedding. About three weeks ago.”

Wiley ceased tapping his pen for the first time since Rees had entered the room. “So she’s a brunette now?”

“Her hair is about the same shade as mine.”

Trent nodded. Also the same shade as Farrentina Hamilton’s. “Did she say why she dyed it?”

“Oh yes. It was a big deal to her. A big compliment. She said Kane wanted her to be her natural self. He loved her just the way she was.”

His stomach turned at the thought of Kane whispering those words to Dixie, his voice thick with false charm. And judging from the revulsion on Rees’s face, she was fighting the same touch of nausea.

Wiley leaned forward across the scarred tabletop. “So he asked her to dye her hair brunette?”

“That’s what Dixie told me.” She glanced from Wiley to Rook to Trent.

Trent stared down at the tabletop. An icy point of foreboding pricked between his shoulder blades.

“Why do you want to know about Dixie’s hair color?”

Trent raised his gaze to meet hers. “It seems Kane has changed his hair color preference from blond to brunette in the past few weeks.”

She gave him a confused look.

“He asked Farrentina Hamilton to dye her hair brunette too.”

“The woman in the red lingerie,” she said, putting two and two together.

“Yes.”

“And the women he killed before were all blond, right? That was part of his signature.”

“Yes.”

“So what does this mean?”

Trent blew a frustrated breath through tight lips. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. A killer doesn’t just up and change his signature. It doesn’t make sense. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless hair color was never really part of Kane’s signature.”

“What do you mean?”

He looked at Rees’s long brunette hair, shining under the fluorescent lights. Hair that smelled of lavender. Hair that had once flowed through his fingers and puddled on his pillow like warm silk.

The knife of dread broke skin and delved into muscle. “Have you ever done anything to Kane that he could have misconstrued? Anything that made him angry?”

The jolt that ran through Rees’s body was unmistakable.

He grasped her arm and willed her to face him. “What happened, Rees?”

She drew in a slow, deep breath. “About four months ago I published an article in an academic journal. An article about Kane, though I didn’t use his name. I don’t know how he got a hold of an academic publication in prison, but he did. And he figured the article was about him. He was very angry with me. He didn’t like some of the things I wrote.”

“What did he do?”

“I had one more meeting with him for the book I’m working on. He agreed to see me, but whenever I asked a question, he wouldn’t say a word. He’d just stare.” She closed her eyes and covered her mouth with trembling fingers. Her face grew more pale than death.

“What else, Rees?” he prompted.

She swallowed hard and opened her eyes, latching on to his gaze as if grasping for a lifeline. “That was when he started returning Dixie’s letters. He started courting her.”

A picture formed in his mind. A horrifying picture. Dread plunged to the hilt.

Kane acted out his violent fantasies on women to serve his twisted sense of revenge. He chose victims with the same hair color as the woman he believed had wronged him. Then he played out his game—letting his victim loose in an isolated forest, hunting her down, slitting her from neck to pelvic bone. With each woman he killed, he fantasized he was asserting his power and dominance over the woman who’d humiliated him—the true target of his hatred.

And this time, he feared Kane’s true target was Rees.

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