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Look-Alike
Rita Herron
Sheriff Miles Monahue had fallen hard for Caitlin Collier, meeting and marrying her in less than a month.So when she disappeared and Miles was accused of foul play, his world shattered. Then, just when he thought he'd never learn the truth, her body was discovered. Before Miles could grieve, Caitlin's look-alike stumbled back into his life, with no memory.True, his wedding had been uncharacteristically impulsive, but the feelings "Caitlin" stirred made him determined to protect her from the danger that had followed her home…till death did they part.



Look-Alike
Rita Herron


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my own look-alike—the sweet one, Reba.
May your true love find you and sweep you away!

CAST OF CHARACTERS
Sheriff Miles Monahue —He’s been accused of killing his wife, but when her look-alike surfaces with a bizarre story about being held in a psychiatric ward on Nighthawk Island, will he be able to uncover the truth about which twin is his wife, and find The Carver?
Caitlin Collier —She married Miles, then mysteriously disappeared. Did she betray him or was she the victim of something sinister?
Nora Collier —Caitlin’s identical twin—is she dead or alive?
The Carver —He believes that marriage means till death do us part, and he has been chosen to dole out the punishment for betraying those vows—with murder. But who is he really?
Federal Agent Reilly Brown —He is determined to get to the bottom of Caitlin Collier’s disappearance and find The Carver. Will he pin the crime on Miles?
Dr. Hubert Hollinsby —A psychiatrist who specializes in twin identity crisis. Did he conduct experiments on Nora and/or Caitlin? How far will he go to protect his secrets?
Dr. Omar White —He finally convinced CIRP to open another research hospital in Raven’s Peak…and he will do anything to keep it open.
Dr. Arthur Mullins —This medical examiner solves crimes through forensic evidence—is he hiding something?
Reverend Perry —His sermons focus on marriage and fidelity—how far will he go to make the people listen?
Buck Bennigan —This cowboy was the last man to see the Collier twin before she died—did he kill her?
Jimmy Joe Johnson —The bartender claims he slept with Caitlin—or was it Nora?

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
Chapter Nineteen

Prologue
Savannah, Georgia
“Father, forgive me, for I have sinned.”
“And how may I help you, my child?” the priest asked.
“I have taken a woman’s life.” He stretched his fingers in front of him, the bloodstains still darkening his blunt nails, the scent of the woman’s fear still pervading his body.
Behind the curtain, he heard the priest shift uncomfortably, knew he was probably struggling with the need to see his face, with his sacred vows to keep his silence.
But finally, true to his calling, or maybe because his curiosity was spiked, he said, “Go on.”
“She is one of many to come,” he said, a singsongy note entering his voice. “She was a sinner, a home wrecker. She did not honor her marital vows and she had to pay.”
“Only our God can pass judgment on another,” the Father said. “We are all sinners. It is not for us to dole out punishments.”
Anger, vile and hot, flashed through him. An image of the woman’s sultry face followed. Her gaudy makeup. Her whorish laugh. Her wedding ring glittering as she slid into another man’s bed. “But there is a secret society of them that has sprung up. They haunt the big cities, the small towns, they are taking over.”
“You must turn to God for guidance. Seek help from others who understand your sickness—”
“I am not sick!” He slammed his fist on the wooden surface. “I am a chosen one. I must continue to serve in my own way by ridding the world of evil women.”
He stared down at his pinky finger, to her wedding ring. She hadn’t deserved to wear it so he had kept it for himself.
And he would have more, so many more, before his work was finished.

Chapter One
Raven’s Peak, North Georgia
Nine months later
“I didn’t kill my wife.” Sheriff Miles Monahue leaned back in his desk chair in an effort to rein in his volatile emotions. “Like I told the police when I reported Caitlin missing three weeks ago, I have no idea where she is or what happened to her.”
FBI agent Reilly Brown’s accusing look spoke volumes. “Take off your sunglasses, Sheriff.” Brown folded his arms on Monahue’s desk and pierced him with a stare as icy as the North Georgia winter wind outside. “I like to look at a man’s eyes when I’m talking to him.”
Monahue whipped off his Ray-Bans, struggling to bank his temper as he met the agent’s gaze head-on. He’d always had dangerous impulses, but lately he’d barely been able to restrain himself from acting on them. He half attributed his springboard reactions to the stress of his wife’s disappearance.
But the emptiness had been in his soul a long damn time. And lately, he’d developed severe headaches and a sensitivity to light. The doctor said it was stress, that he needed to lighten up. Release his emotions in a healthy way.
Hell, the man didn’t know what he was talking about.
Besides, without the shades, he felt exposed, raw. As if someone might see inside his soul and glimpse the darkness. The bitter boy he’d turned into after he’d witnessed his parents’ murder at age ten. The fact that he’d been a suspect in their deaths.
Or the soft spot he’d had for Caitlin. His hand automatically strummed over his pocket where he still carried the charm bracelet he’d bought for her the night he’d proposed—two tiny silver hearts melded together, just as he’d thought theirs had.
What a damn fool he was for believing such nonsense.
“Do you have new evidence? A lead?” Miles asked. God knows he wanted some news. Some closure.
“I’m the interrogator here.” Agent Brown’s chair squeaked as he shifted his weight. “You’re the suspect. You answer the questions.”
Miles gritted his teeth. “Dammit, tell me. Have you found her body?”
Brown’s eyebrows rose. “Then she is dead?”
“You’re twisting my words.” Miles bit back a curse. He had no idea if Caitlin were dead or alive. After that last fight, she’d stormed out of their three-week marriage. A few short days after they’d been married, he’d realized his wife wasn’t the woman she presented before the I do’s. Or the passionate, love-struck woman she’d led him to believe.
She’d been mysterious. Had been hiding something. And when he’d questioned her about her past, her family, she’d clammed up.
For all he knew, she’d faked her death and would let him fry for murder. But where had she gone?
Brown didn’t want to hear his suppositions. He’d only think Monahue was making excuses. “You’re interrogating me again,” he finally replied, “so that makes me wonder if you’ve found something new.”
Brown twisted his mouth into a frown. “Nothing I can reveal.”
Miles stood abruptly, his chair hitting the floor. “Then get the hell out. I’m sick of your runaround. If you find her, call me. Or if she contacts me, I’ll let you know.”
Brown pushed up from the desk, his boots clacking on the wooden surface. He paused in the doorway, pinned him with a warning look. “Don’t go anywhere without informing me.”
Miles glared at the man’s back as he stalked out, then he slammed the desk so hard his stapler flew onto the floor with a clatter. Frustration clawed at him. Even though he and Caitlin had only been married three weeks, their wedding triggered by a drunken night of raw, passionate sex, he’d exhausted every imaginable lead hunting for her.
Of course, the police suspected him. He was the husband. And the last time he’d seen Caitlin, they had fought publicly. She’d shouted that she didn’t want to be married to him. That it had been a mistake.
He’d agreed. He knew nothing about love. Family. Commitment. But his pride had smarted and he’d spouted off in anger.
Where was she?
Off in Tahiti with a lover? Sipping margaritas and laughing at the mess she’d left behind? Or had she met with foul play?
Guilt assaulted him as the gruesome possibilities flitted into his mind. Caitlin, dead at the hands of a madman. Or maybe she’d been kidnapped and was being tortured and was still alive.
If so, every day that passed meant there was less chance of finding her.
He grabbed his keys and headed to his car. He had to get out of the office. Drive someplace and be alone.
Freezing rain and sleet pelted him as he jogged to his Pathfinder, cold air blasting him as he climbed inside and started the engine. He blew on his hands to warm them, hit the gas pedal and soared from the parking lot, gravel churning beneath his tires, sludge and mud spewing. Storm clouds darkened the sky, the sleet creating a steady staccato rhythm as it pinged off the hood and windshield. He flipped on the defroster, grateful for the noise that drowned out his turbulent thoughts as he drove through the small town of Raven’s Peak. He tried to focus on the road and his surroundings as he made his nightly rounds, but the nightmares hovered in his mind, tormenting him. After Caitlin had left, the evening blurred. He’d had a headache, then added liquor on top of it. He must have blacked out. Then the nightmares had started. Nightmares that went back to his childhood.
The rugged edges of the mountain peaks and towering hardwoods rose in front of him like ice statues standing guard to the secrets within their massive walls. The canyon below had once been green and lush, sprinkled with wildflowers and honeysuckle, a haven for the sun as it fought over the jagged gorges. Now, it looked like a brown crater resting at the underbelly of the mountains, like a dark cavern below ground where shadows walked at night, a home for the demons who rested in their evil lairs.
He couldn’t shake the interrogation with Brown from his mind, or the sense that something sinister had happened to his wife. Hell, he did have his dark side, but he hadn’t killed Caitlin.
And not a second had gone by that he wasn’t plagued with worry about her. The first few days, he’d beaten the streets searching for her, for any clue as to where she might have been, had used all his resources and questioned everyone in Raven’s Peak, where he’d first met her at a local honky-tonk, the Steel Toe. But he’d found nothing but questions.
His hands tightened around the steering wheel. The defroster worked overtime to clear the fog from the storm outside, the gears grinding as the tires clutched at black ice. Day by day, he’d assured himself that Caitlin had probably just run off and left him. She was tough. Formidable. She’d obviously decided she’d married him on a whim, that commitment wasn’t her style, and ditched him before the ink on their marriage certificate could set permanently.
Still, he’d blamed himself. It was his fault she had left. He hadn’t known how to be a husband. She’d needed something he didn’t know how to give.
Love.
He’d almost convinced himself he believed that she was coming back, that at least she was alive. Almost…
But the fact that neither he nor the feds had actually turned up any leads on her whereabouts kept his doubts and fears alive.
Streetlights illuminated the town square. Most of the storeowners had long gone for the evening and the citizens were tucked safely in their homes within the city limits, the wooded hills and valleys of the mountains. A safe, small Southern town.
Until he’d brought Caitlin here and she’d disappeared. Now, he wondered if there might be a murderer among them.
Squinting through the sleet, Monahue searched the shadows of the town park for vagrants or unwanteds, then drove past the high school to check for trouble-seeking teenagers, but the street and parking lot were quiet.
The storm grew in intensity as he headed up the mountainside to the house he’d rented, the wind bowing branches on the bare trees that comprised the sloping foothills. Winter had set in to stay, and the holidays were just around the corner, a time for friends and family.
He had neither. In fact, Raven’s Peak looked as desolate and empty as Miles felt inside.
He’d find out the truth about everything. If Caitlin had been hurt or killed because of him, he’d get revenge on the person responsible. And if she were alive, well, he’d at least exonerate himself, keep his job and move on with his life.
Either way, he’d never get seriously involved with another woman again.
Nighthawk Island
Savannah, Georgia
SHADOWS FLICKERED around the sterile hospital room, the scent of antiseptic and alcohol nauseating. Rain pounded the roof, the monotonous drone echoing the beat of her heart. Despair threatened to steal her energy, so she forced herself to channel her courage into the will to survive. But she was so confused, she didn’t remember her own name. Did she have family somewhere looking for her? A boyfriend, husband?
Caitlin…Nora…
The two names bled together in her mind as if they were one and the same person. Maybe they were. Sometimes the doctor called her Nora. Other times, the nurse had whispered “Good night, Caitlin,” to her in the darkness.
“Here you go, sugar, this should help you sleep.” Donna, a robust nurse who usually worked nights, handed her a small paper cup holding a pill, then poured her a glass of water from the plastic hospital pitcher.
She cradled the capsule beneath her tongue, took a sip of water and pretended to swallow it. The bitter taste assaulted her senses, her struggle not to let it dissolve warring with the craving for something to sweep her away from the nightmare she’d been living the past few days. Or had it been weeks?
She’d lost all sense of time.
Donna patted her hand in approval, then ambled her bulk to the window and adjusted the shades, drowning out the dwindling light that had tried to cut its way through the fog. “Let me know if you need anything else, dear.”
She nodded, a show of obedience earning her another sympathetic smile. Then the nurse bustled by, humming Patsy Cline’s “Crazy” beneath her breath as she exited.
She spit the pill into her hand, her socked feet slipping on the cold linoleum as she ran to the potted plant by the window. Hands trembling, she dug a hole in the potting soil and stuffed the capsule below the surface, then packed the dirt tightly over it. The screech of the lock turning on the door, shutting her in, brought a fresh wave of panic.
She didn’t belong here.
Not in this mental ward or research hospital, whatever it was. Worse, she couldn’t remember how she’d ended up hospitalized. But she’d heard the nurses talking, whispering about the Coastal Island Research Park on Catcall Island, and the more restricted facility on Nighthawk Island. The place was dark, had secrets. The doctors were conducting strange experiments, ones nobody wanted to talk about.
So why was she locked inside?
She wasn’t crazy. She hadn’t willingly committed herself for experiments or treatment. She hadn’t experienced delusions or heard voices until they’d pumped her full of narcotics. Then the voices had started, the strange terrifying dreams, the cries in the night from down the hall.
Cries from other patients…her own…
She had to escape. Get help.
Caitlin? Nora…
She had a sister somewhere. She felt it, a connection of some kind. But where was she? And why hadn’t she come looking for her?
Snack and medicine carts rumbled outside her room, nurses’ laughter and voices echoing in the night. Somewhere down the hall a chilling scream pierced the air.
She rushed to the window and inched back the edge of the shade. The murky sky and woods surrounding the hospital cast the island in an ominous gray. Shadows of drooping palm trees flickered through the haze, heavy with rain. How far was she from civilization? If she ran tonight, would she be able to escape the island and find her way to a town somewhere?
Her reflection caught in the window. A ragged, frail woman stared back. Dark purple smudges marred her skin beneath bloodshot eyes. Perspiration beaded her forehead and upper lip. Her stomach cramped into a knot, and she staggered back to bed to rest. Slowly she’d weaned herself from the narcotics, but going cold turkey triggered nasty side effects that had been nearly impossible to battle alone. Sometimes the sweet need for another shot, a pill, anything to alleviate the pain, to help her rest and obliterate reality was so strong she could barely fight it. But if she succumbed to that desperate need, the dreams, the voices, the cries…would start over again. And this time she might not be able to save herself.
Footsteps sounded outside, and she held her breath, grateful when the person bypassed her room and went on to another poor soul. If the nurse discovered Caitlin was dressed, she might guess her plan and warn the doctors and guards.
Then it would be back to solitary confinement, to that room and the chair.
She nestled under the covers, trying to warm herself as she huddled in the darkness. Seconds ticked by, her eyes glued to the wall clock, the only decoration in the near-empty, gray room. Ticktock. Ticktock. A minute passed. Five more. Ten. Thirty.
Finally, the nurses’ voices quieted. The halls grew silent. She had to go now while it was dark. Before they returned to make their midnight rounds.
Removing the butter knife she’d stolen from the cafeteria, she slipped from bed and began to undo the screws that bolted the windows into place. One. Two. Slowly she worked, the task painstaking, the rust adding to her problems. Her hands shook and she dropped the utensil, the clatter on the linoleum floor echoing through the stillness of the night.
Her breath caught. She paused, listened. Prayed no one heard. Seconds later, she began her task again. Perspiration trickled down her cheek as she removed the last screw. A sigh escaped her, then she opened the window.
Fresh air.
Inhaling sharply, she hoisted herself onto the window ledge and threw herself through the opening. Her ankle twisted as she hit the hard ground. Ignoring the stabbing pain and the bite of the wind and rain, she ran through the grass and bushes, into the thick, shadowy woods that encased the property like a fortress.
An alarm screeched as she climbed the gate. Guards suddenly burst outside, weapons drawn. Lights flickered on, and shouts rang out. “The gate! There she is!”
Caitlin dropped to the other side, and dashed through the sea oats. The trees were so dense, they shaded any light. She searched the darkness, disoriented. Which way should she run?
“Stop!”
The shouts propelled her forward. Her heart pounding, she dashed through the foliage. Insects buzzed around her face. Her shoes sank into the mushy ground. A hawk swooped up ahead, and the stench of a dead animal and peat added a sickening odor.
She spotted a clearing ahead, and she raced toward it. The sound of water broke through the quiet. The ground suddenly disappeared in front of her. She’d reached a small cliff. She glanced to the left, then the right, but heard voices from both directions. There was no place to run!
Voices echoed behind her again, carrying in the wind, and flashlights scanned the woods. A beam of light caught her in its glare.
“There she is!”
“Stop her!”
She was cornered. The ocean raged below, a good thirty feet. Her legs threatened to buckle. Someone broke into the clearing. Shouted for her to freeze or he’d shoot.
Terror seized her. She wouldn’t go back. She would die inside.
“Please, God, help me.” Her heart thundering, she inhaled, then flung herself over the ledge into the roaring waves.
Devil’s Ravine
North Georgia
HE SAVORED THE SWEET SMELL of Eve’s fear in the shadows that bathed her as she huddled within her tomb. She was a stubborn one, too far gone to save. Too deeply embedded into her harlot ways to admit that the devil had invaded her soul.
God help him, but he wanted her anyway.
Her chin wobbled, and her eyes turned glassy, but she refused to release the tears.
He felt the fine tremors of her body as he trailed his finger over her naked chest, raked the knife blade in the curve of an A, the letter he would use to brand her before he took her life.
A smile curved his lips. Yes, she was so alluring, angelic really, exactly like the first Eve who’d tempted Adam. Yet she was worse. She was married. Promised to another.
Only she had forgotten those vows when she’d taken another man to her bed.
“Please don’t do this,” she whispered.
He cradled her pale hand in his, then slid the simple gold wedding band from her fourth finger. She didn’t deserve to wear it.
The marriage decree stated that the union would last forever—till death do us part.
Breaking that vow meant she had to be punished.
Miles Monahue would thank him in the end.

Chapter Two
Nighthawk Island
Fear seized Caitlin as she fought the undercurrent, but she forced herself to take a breath and continue swimming. Another stroke. Another. Her clothes felt heavy, weighing her down. How far would it be to the next island? Could she make it?
Then she spotted the small fishing boat. Deserted, tied to the shore by a long rope.
Her pulse raced as she battled the waves and swam toward it. Her arms ached. Her lungs throbbed for air. Her legs felt like numb weights as she kicked and pedaled forward. Finally, she reached the boat and hurled herself inside. She was shivering, but she grabbed the paddle and worked it against the current with all her might.
It seemed like hours as she struggled to reach shore. The night grew darker, colder, her muscles screamed with strain. The strange nighthawk circled above as if hunting for its prey, waiting for her to succumb to exhaustion so he could attack.
Finally, she approached land. Another island. Here, she’d find help. Get a ride back to civilization and find out why she’d been locked away.
She dragged herself from the boat and slogged through the sand and shells in the darkness. Dizzy with exhaustion, she wove through the long stretches of wooded land until she neared a road. Cold air sliced through her wet clothes, salt water stinging her eyes. A dog howled behind her, and she forced her rubbery legs to take another step. Up ahead, she thought she heard a noise. The whistle of the wind? A rabid dog? Thunder?
Traffic. A car zooming over the slushy pavement.
Panting, she tore through the bramble, jumped over a patch of overgrown weeds and ran onto the highway, waving her arms. She yelled for the driver to stop, but the ancient pickup rattled by, ignoring her, spewing muddy slush. Fighting panic and dizziness, she began to walk along the edge of the road, hopes dwindling as she realized the late hour and weather would prevent travelers from tackling the narrow deserted roads.
Exhaustion intensified her despair, but she reminded herself not to give up hope. Another car would come by. It had to.
One more step. Another.
It seemed as if hours had passed, but finally a noise broke the silence. Tires squealed, brakes churned. An eighteen-wheeler spun around the curve, crossing the center line. She yelled and waved her arms frantically, praying his headlights caught her, that he didn’t run her down.
He hit the brakes and gears screeched as he slowed and pulled over to the embankment. The door swung open, and a man’s face appeared, shadowed by the smoke-filled cab interior. The strong odor of French fries and sweat wafted from the truck. “Miss, are you all right?”
“Yes, I—” her teeth chattered “—need a ride.”
“Your car break down?” He scratched his beard as his eyes scanned the dark deserted stretch of highway.
Had she not been so terrified of getting caught and restrained in that mental ward, she would have been afraid of him. His beefy arms swelled over a thin wife-beater T-shirt, and a plaid flannel shirt hung loose around his beer belly.
Desperate though, she climbed in, grateful for the warmth of the cabin. She only prayed she hadn’t escaped one nightmare to be thrust into another.
Raven’s Peak
North Georgia
THE PHONE RANG at 5:00 a.m. Before he even answered it, Miles sensed it was bad news.
“Your wife has been saved now, she’s repenting for her sins.”
His throat closed. “What? Who the hell is this?”
“She was reborn at Devil’s Ravine.”
A coarse, sinister laugh reverberated over the line, then the phone clicked into silence.
Frantic, Miles hit the call-back feature. Nothing. Dammit. Panic rolled through him in waves as he yanked on his jeans and grabbed a shirt, but his cop instincts kicked in.
He had to go. He headed toward the door. Agent Brown already thought he was guilty of hurting his wife. He’d better cover himself and give him a call.
His fingers shook as he punched in his deputy’s number. He’d let him handle things at his office today while he dealt with this. Then he phoned the FBI agent.
Seconds later, Agent Brown’s voice echoed over the line. “What is it?”
“I just received an anonymous call,” Miles said. “A man. He said I’d find my wife at Devil’s Ravine.”
Brown cleared his throat. “Where are you now?”
“At my place. But I’m on my way out the door.” He grabbed his gun and shoved it into his jeans. “It’ll take me about ten minutes to reach the ravine.”
“I’ll meet you there.”
Miles’s head spun as he fumbled for his sunglasses and raced to his car. Images of Caitlin surfaced. Caitlin with her silky long hair. Caitlin teasing him in bed.
Caitlin lying naked and cold and alone.
Dead.
His pulse pounded as he started his SUV and tore down the graveled drive. Thankfully the sleet had let up. As much as he’d told himself he didn’t care anymore, that he never had, emotions clogged his throat. He had loved her. And maybe she hadn’t left him. Maybe someone had kidnapped her and held her all these weeks and she had prayed he would save her.
But he’d failed.
Guilt suffused him, making his chest tight. The towering pines and hardwoods rushed by in a blur. His tires squealed, grappling with the slick asphalt as he wound around the mountain. The steep incline forced him to downshift and brake, the miles of dense forest and deserted country roads endless. If a hiker got lost or was in trouble, they might never be found.
Unless someone alerted the police. Meaning the killer wanted them to find his victim.
Because he felt remorse, or because he liked the game?
A ray of sunshine fought through the gray clouds as he accelerated and maneuvered the narrow dirt road. Bush and trees marred the rest of the way. He’d have to park, and hike to the ravine.
He yanked on his jacket, checked his weapon, climbed from his SUV and scanned the wooded area. Was the caller still around? Was he watching?
Senses on overdrive, he listened for footsteps and began to weave through the dense brush and trees. Barring the wildlife creatures, the squirrels and birds foraging for food, the forest remained asleep. Gravel crunched beneath his boots as he descended the rocky terrain leading into the ravine, rocks skittering down and pinging into the creek below. When he reached the lower bank, he turned in a wide arc and scanned the horizon, the edge of the woods, the cliff above. Vultures soared overhead, a hunter’s gunshot reverberating in the distance. Wind blew damp leaves into a cluster.
Where was she?
His gut tight, he forced himself to turn around again, scan the woods, then the water.
Heaven help him. It was her. Caitlin.
She was lying naked in the icy creek, wedged between some rocks, her arms outstretched, her dark hair tangling around her pale face. White lilies floated around her head like a halo. He stepped closer, his gaze drifting over her bruised body.
A stab wound marred her bare chest, the letter A carved across her breasts in blood. He choked out a breath. Two murders in Savannah the year before and three in Atlanta had the same MO. The police had dubbed the killer The Carver. Dear God, now he was here in Raven’s Peak.
And he had killed Caitlin.
Savannah, Georgia
THE SUN SLITHERED through the dark morning sky as the driver pulled in to a station to get gas. Caitlin saw the sign for Savannah, and vague memories surfaced—she had a sister, she knew she did. They had been close—she felt her presence as if she were here somewhere. Surely her sister had been looking for her. Or did she know Caitlin had been locked in that mental hospital?
The driver climbed from the eighteen-wheeler with a tired grunt and lumbered toward the men’s room, and she slid from the seat and ran toward downtown Savannah. Traffic clogged the narrow streets. Signs for River Street goodies, bars and restaurants, and the market floated by while sightseers roamed the squares. A ghost tour through a cemetery caught her eyes, and she glanced at the tombstones, a shiver racing up her spine.
She spotted a local diner and she decided to slip inside and warm up. Maybe get some coffee. Unfortunately, she had no money or ID. Maybe she could offer to wash dishes in exchange. At least she could get a glass of water, sit down and think.
Steam from the griddle sizzled above the den of people as she entered the cafe. She knew she looked ragged so she rushed to the restroom and cleaned up. The scent of coffee, sausages and shrimp grits filled the cramped space. Heat enveloped her as she claimed a corner booth and grabbed a menu.
A waitress wearing a name tag that read Verna and a white apron splotched with grease stabbed a pencil behind her ear and glided toward her with coffee, but halted suddenly, her eyes glued to the TV set in the corner. “Oh, my word!” Verna flicked up the volume. “There’s been a woman murdered in North Georgia.”
Caitlin angled her head to see the set.
“This late-breaking story in now, folks. We’re here with Federal Agent Reilly Brown and Sheriff Miles Monahue of Raven’s Peak. A young woman’s body was discovered this morning in the mountains in an area locals call Devil’s Ravine.”
He shoved the microphone toward a tall, dark-haired man with black eyes. Behind him several cops combed the woods, others were huddled near the edge of a stream, and a team of paramedics hovered around a gurney. “Sheriff Monahue, did you find the woman’s body?”
The man’s face looked haunted. “Yes.”
“And is it true that the victim is your wife, Caitlin Collier Monahue?”
A shadow fell across the man’s face as he bowed his head and nodded. “Yes, we’ve been searching for her for weeks.”
Caitlin gasped. What was he talking about? She was alive. And she didn’t know that man at all.
“Was she a victim of The Carver?” the reporter asked.
Sheriff Monahue scrubbed his hand over his beard stubble. “It appears that way, but we’ll know more after we investigate.”
Caitlin’s heart stuttered as the photo of the sheriff’s wife appeared on the screen. No…dear heavens, it couldn’t be.
Her palms sweated as more memories churned through her foggy brain. The photo—yes, it was her. Caitlin. But she wasn’t dead.
So who was the woman in the water?
A fleeting image of standing in front of a mirror hit her, and she frowned, then realized that the mirror had not been a mirror at all, but another woman. It had been her sister—her look-alike…they were identical twins.
Dear God, her sister…Caitlin…Nora—Nora was dead….
Nora, the only family she had left. The only person who cared about her.
She doubled over as grief and fear swelled inside her. She was all alone now. And while she’d been locked away, someone had killed her twin.
Raven’s Peak, Georgia
Five hours later
THE LAST FEW HOURS had been pure hell.
Miles stood outside his rental house, his stomach knotted, his hands thrust inside his denim jacket to ward off the cold as the crime-scene investigators and Brown searched his house. He’d already succumbed to a DNA swab, had his bootprints taken and turned over the clothes he’d been wearing. Thank God he hadn’t given in to the need to touch Caitlin before Brown had arrived, so his hands would be clean.
One of the detectives confiscated his kitchen knives upon arrival and had already bagged them. Miles had noticed the serrated edges on the steak knives and prayed they didn’t match the lacerations in her chest. If they did, then someone had been inside his house and had set him up.
But if this were the work of The Carver, it was a ritualistic serial-killer case, not someone with a vendetta against him. The killer probably wouldn’t take the time to frame him. He’d want to bask in the glory and attention of his crime.
He slid his Ray-Bans on, then removed a notepad from his pocket and began a list of his possible enemies to question.
Brown cleared his throat as he approached. “We’re finished.”
Wind whistled through the trees, a gust sending dead leaves raining to the ground. “Will you let me know what the M.E. discovers? I’d like a report.”
Brown gave a clipped nod. “Don’t leave town. In fact, you should step down as sheriff until this investigation is over.”
Miles cut his gaze toward Brown, grateful for the shades protecting his eyes. “I want to find this lunatic as much as you do.” He indicated the notepad. “I’m already making a list of all my enemies.”
“You think this is about you?”
Miles shrugged. “I don’t know, but we can’t discount any angle.”
“Fax it to me when you complete it. You also know there were other similar cases across the states?”
“Yes, The Carver.”
“Then again, you’re a cop, you know his MO,” Agent Brown snapped. “You could easily have patterned this crime to look like The Carver’s work.”
Miles cursed. “Or maybe we have a serial killer here in Raven’s Peak, and you’re wasting everyone’s time hassling me.”
“Get your deputy to take over your office, Monahue. Do it now.”
Brown ran a gloved hand over his tie, then shrugged and walked to his car. His tires chewed gravel as he sped away. Miles strode to his Pathfinder and drove to the sheriff’s office to check his computer and talk to his deputy. His deputy agreed to take over, then left to make rounds. Coffee in hand, he logged onto the central database, plugging in the information about the crime scene to cross check across the states for references to the other Carver cases.
While he waited on the computer to process the information, he sipped his coffee, trying to warm his hands, but a deadly cold had seeped all the way to his bones. Seconds later, the data spewed on the screen. So far, the police had no real suspects. They had questioned all the boyfriends, family, husbands of the five victims. The only connection or similarity they’d discovered among the women was that they had all cheated on their husbands. Hmm. The reason The Carver carved the letter A on their chests—Adulterer?
In case they did have a copycat here, he entered the names of the men he’d arrested who had possible grievances against him, prioritizing them according to severity of their crimes and sentences. The first two men were lifers, one serving time for murdering his family, the other for brutally raping and killing a teenager. The third one, Armond Rodriguez, who’d been convicted of assault and battery on his wife, had been paroled two days ago. But Caitlin had been missing three weeks. Still, he’d check him out in case he had a friend on the outside who might have helped him. And he didn’t yet know if Caitlin had been abducted the day she’d left him or later.
The next prisoner, Ted Ruthers, had been released due to an illness and was supposedly in a hospice program. Hmm. Not him. Unless he’d hired someone to get revenge on Monahue.
The last one, Willie Pinkerton, had escaped jailtime on a technicality, but he was a ruthless bastard who’d been guilty as sin. He’d stabbed an old lady in his apartment complex just because he didn’t like old people. The last address he could find on him was in Georgia.
He heard the doorknob jiggle and the door swung open. Miles grimaced, wondering if Brown had followed him here to harass him or if someone in town had heard of the murder and had come to do…what? Sympathize with him? Tell him he was no longer wanted in Raven’s Peak?
The floor squeaked as a woman walked into the office. Shadows hovered around her, and she was shivering, wide-eyed, so pale her skin looked like buttermilk. Faded dirty jeans and a damp long sleeved T-shirt hung on her frame, and her long dark hair lay in tangles around her cheeks.
Shock bolted through him as he focused on her face. He had to be seeing things. A ghost, maybe?
She looked exactly like his dead wife.

CAITLIN WAS STILL NUMB with shock and disbelief as she faced the sheriff. The ride she’d hitched to North Georgia had given her plenty of time to think. An overwhelming sense of grief and despair had filled her, along with a hundred questions. She was alone now, and had been in a mental hospital and didn’t know why. She’d lost all sense of time, and now her sister was gone, murdered.
She had to find out who had stolen her memories, and who had killed her sister.
Although her brain was still fuzzy about her past, and she couldn’t recall the last time she’d seen Nora, she instinctively knew they had been close. And if this sheriff thought Nora was her, maybe he had married Nora instead of her. Maybe Nora had played a twin switch and for some reason used her name. Even more confusing, she had fleeting memories of the doctors calling her Nora, of thinking she was Nora…
But she was Caitlin…wasn’t she?
The sheriff’s rugged face visibly blanched. “What the hell…who are you?”
She gripped her hands beside her as he removed his dark glasses. His black eyes raked over her, assessing, searching. “I’m Caitlin.”
He fisted his hands. “That’s impossible. I just saw my wife.” His harsh voice blazed with accusations. “She was dead.”
“I know…I saw the news,” Caitlin whispered. “That woman….my look-alike…” Her voice broke with emotions. “That was my sister, Nora.”
He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re twins?” His nails scraped the wooden desk as he stood, sending a chill down her spine. “If you are Caitlin, where have you been?”
She wet her lips, her legs threatening to buckle. “In the hospital….”
Tension rattled in the air between them. His breath rasped out. Or maybe it was hers. She wasn’t sure.
His pained expression mirrored her own anguish, bringing reality crashing back. She was so confused. Why in God’s name was this happening?
A dizzy spell swept over her, along with exhaustion and the remnants of her harrowing escape. The room spun as she fumbled for something to hold on to.
If she were Caitlin and had been married to this man, why didn’t she remember him?

REELING WITH SHOCK, Miles captured the woman in his arms to keep her from slithering to the floor. She shivered against him, and he cradled her closer, uncertain whether to kiss her or shake the hell out of her until she admitted the truth about her identity and where she’d been. Was she really Caitlin? And if so, if she had a twin, why hadn’t she told him? What hospital had she been in? He’d searched across the Southern states and no one had listed her as a patient.
She whimpered, and he skimmed her face. Whoever she was, something had happened to her. She was suffering from fatigue and malnourishment.
Her hipbones pressed into his thighs as if she’d lost weight, her long dark hair was matted, and her damp clothes clung to her as if she’d been walking through the sleet for days. And those long black lashes that fluttered over her creamy skin glistened with tears.
Although confused as hell, he whispered nonsensical words to comfort her. All lies. He had no idea how things would be okay. A woman he’d thought to be his wife lay dead in the morgue, while he held a carbon copy of her in his arms.
Almost subconsciously, he stroked her back, memorizing her body, searching for some clue that this woman was his wife. That his prayers had been answered and that she’d come back to him alive. That the woman he’d found lying murdered in the creek with lilies floating around her naked body had been someone else. Her look-alike.
Too many unanswered questions clamored in his head, waiting for answers. He’d fallen for Caitlin’s act the first go-around. This time, he wouldn’t accept anything at face value. Not even her name.
Her slender body convulsed against his. “You’re freezing and in shock,” he said. “Let me take you to the hospital.”
“No!” She jerked away and huddled against the wall. “Please. Don’t make me go back there.”
He froze, studying her irrational response. Those pale green eyes that had once glowed with passion for him now looked glazed, terrified. “But you need medical care, you—”
“I won’t go back.” Her teeth chattered and her expression flared into the wild-eyed look of a mad woman. The panic in her tone suggested she would run if he didn’t stop her.
Then he’d never get the answers he needed.
She swayed and bumped into the wall, then her head lolled back and her legs buckled. He caught her just before she hit the floor.
His heart pounding, he swung her into his arms, then cradled her to him and hurried to his truck. He cranked up the heat to warm her as he drove up the mountain to his cabin.
Inside, he lay her on his bed and stripped her soggy clothes, the tremors in her body alerting him to the fact that she might be suffering from exposure. On the ride to his cabin, she had stirred, but was disoriented. She’d mumbled something about being locked up, held against her will, drugged out of her mind. But had she taken the drugs first, then slipped into an alternate reality, or were her ramblings evidence of a real-life nightmare?
The sight of her skin so pale, the small bruises on her wrists, ankles and around her waist, shook him to the core. There were needle marks on her arms, too, that resembled track marks.
Caitlin had not been a drug addict. She’d barely even drunk alcohol. At least not until the last week of their short marriage when she’d clung to that bottle of scotch like a lifeline.
What was going on? Had she decided to experiment and wound up in trouble? Had she become addicted and fallen in with some shady characters? Had she been kidnapped and drugged against her will? Was she Caitlin, and the dead woman her sister?
He wrapped a blanket around her, easing it over her arms, and forced her to sip some water. She barely opened her eyes, took a small sip, then collapsed again. His protective instincts kicked in, the guilt he’d harbored the last few weeks returning full force. Had their argument that last night started the wheels in motion that had caused her to end up like this?
He paused, gripping the bed. Did he really believe she was Caitlin? He’d seen the dead woman with his very own eyes. She looked like his wife. But so did this woman.
Whoever she was, she was in trouble. Whether she was his missing wife or his wife’s sister or an impostor, he owed it to her to find out what had happened. That trail might lead him to the truth about his wife.
Hating himself for reacting physically to her, he dragged his gaze from her face. But he had been so starved to see her the last few weeks, he pulled a chair close to the bed and studied her, memorizing her features. Her quivering lip needed to be calmed, stroked, kissed. The tremors rippling through her needed soothing. The bruises on her delicate skin needed tending.
Dammit. The lust he’d felt for her still thrived deep inside him. His sex throbbed for the heaven her body offered, the primal urges that overcame him the first time he’d lain eyes on her, trapping him in its clutches. But other emotions followed—hurt, denial, betrayal.
She had left him high and dry. Had run off without a word, scared him senseless, and left him under suspicion.
He had to have answers.
Jerking himself out of his stupor, he heated more blankets by the fire and wrapped them around her. She moaned and rolled to her side, curling into a fetal position and burying her head beneath the covers. He flexed and unflexed his hands, aching to reach out and hold her again, to confirm that she was alive.
The self-preservation part of him warned him not to. To phone Agent Brown and fill him in on the latest. To call the M.E. and pressure him for an ID. To take this woman’s DNA tonight and send it to the lab.
He walked over to the aquarium by the window and stared into the tank, wishing his head was half as clear as that damn water. The tank belonged to Caitlin. He’d never cared for pets, but she had loved the two little tropical fish. Had said they kept her company.
Hell, how had fish been company?
Still, when she’d gone missing he hadn’t been able to get rid of them. No, like an idiot, he’d fed them and even found himself talking to them, somehow thinking that if he kept them alive, she’d return to him.
A whimper broke the deafening silence. She rolled to her other side, her face a mask of pain and terror as she stared at him. Tears pooled in those pale green orbs and trickled down her cheeks, dripping onto the covers. She looked small and so damn helpless, it tore at his gut.
He gritted his teeth, stood and faced the fire, reminding himself not to be suckered in by her again. But her anguish was real, and the primal instincts that had drawn him to her in the first place were so strong they overrode the mental warnings screaming in his head. Grimacing, he strode back to her, crawled onto the bed beside her and pulled her in his arms. She tensed, but he whispered for her to rest. Finally she closed her eyes and burrowed against his chest. He rocked her back and forth, savoring the soft weight of her in his embrace and the sultry scent of her femininity as he held her tight.
Tomorrow he’d call the M.E. Tomorrow he’d find the answers. Tonight…tonight he’d hold her and pretend she was his wife.
Devil’s Ravine
Midnight
HE COMBED THE DESERTED STREETS of the small town, his heart heavy in his chest. One sinner had met with glory today. But his work wasn’t done. There were so many more. Standing on the street corners trussed up in their high heels and short skirts, skin and cleavage flashing boldly for all the world to see. And then there were the others.
Disguised as faithful lovers and wives but cheating like whores.
They filled the bars from Savannah to Atlanta, all the way to the mountains of North Georgia. Even in this small town where Southern hospitality was supposed to breed friendship with your neighbors, sin had taken over. The town had secrets. The friendships had gotten out of control…not friendships at all, but sordid, twisted relationships.
Nausea rifled through him at the realization that he wanted them anyway. But he must fight his own lustful cravings.
He raised the woman’s wedding ring and stared at the simple gold band, the circle that represented the unbroken ties that bound woman to man in marriage.
Her marriage had been broken. She had betrayed her vows, flitted from one bed to another.
And she had had to pay.
Just as the others would for their indiscretions.
He entered the church, his head bowed, his face hidden by his hood. He had been raised in the church. He believed in the Bible. Had testified so many times to others and preached sermons on goodness and mercy. On fidelity.
Time to confess his own sins. Receive forgiveness.
Then he’d take another.

Chapter Three
Black Mountain Research Hospital
Near Raven’s Peak
“The Collier woman is missing?”
“Yes.” Dr. Hubert Hollinsby glared at his coworker, Omar White, as he paced the confines of his office, one hand pressed to his chest where a sharp pain seized him. Their associates had long gone home, but he and White were chained to their lies and had to discuss the matter. You should have killed her when you had the chance. “I’d like to know how she escaped.”
“It doesn’t matter how,” Dr. White said in a low, derisive tone. “What matters is the damage she can do to us.”
“You mean to me?” Hollinsby’s chest tightened again as if a vise gripped it from the inside and was twisting the blood vessels into knots. If she figured out the truth about what had happened to her, about his work, and that he’d sent her to Nighthawk Island, it would be the end of his career. Hell, he’d go to jail, and everything he’d struggled to obtain would blow up in smoke. Not to mention the ruin of his personal life…
“My reputation is at stake here, too. The whole damn hospital’s is,” White snapped. “I warned you against becoming involved with a patient. You let yourself get personal with a woman and she ruins you.”
Hollinsby shot him another murderous look, the visual image of his statement cutting too close. But Nora’s lovely face materialized in his mind, and instantaneous lust surged to his groin.
It had been impossible not to get involved with her. She was a sex siren. When she played her sultry song, men traipsed after her as if she’d cast a spell on them just like the children who’d followed the Pied Piper. Good, sane, rational men lost all sense around her. They had to have her—even happily married professionals like himself forgot about their wives. She had even convinced him to join that swingers group, the one that met online.
Hell, maybe he should have conducted a study on Nora’s pheromones; maybe there was something in her body chemistry that made a man’s sex harden and his brain turn to mush the minute she wiggled that tight little butt of hers.
Sweat trickled down his jaw, his body craving her again. He’d already made several phone calls. “I’ll find her and fix everything.” He glanced around his cluttered office, to the tops of the stacks of notes, to the computer, to the various research studies and files on his desk. After ten years of study, he’d finally created an amazing, original, unprecedented project that had rocked White’s stuffy opinion of him. But now the entire project might be scratched. And all because he’d screwed that damn woman.
White removed his glasses and tucked them into the top of his lab coat. “You’d better fix it fast. If anyone starts nosing around here, you’re on your own. This facility is just getting off the ground. In fact, it took me two years to convince the folks at the Coastal Island Research Park to fund a branch here, and I don’t intend for it to be shut down because you couldn’t keep your pants zipped.”
“It was more than that,” Hollinsby argued. “And you know it. I had the perfect opportunity to test my theory—”
“Yeah, and you’d better pray your experiment worked. Because if this woman starts remembering things, then you’re history around here.”
Hollinsby gripped his chest again. If she started remembering things, if she talked, he’d take care of her, then go overseas. Someone there would be interested in his work. And maybe they wouldn’t care if he’d ignored ethics in order to achieve the results.
A knock punctuated the tension in the room, and his secretary, Jayne, poked her head inside, a newspaper in her hand. “There’s…uh, something you should see, Dr. Hollinsby.”
He strode toward her, yanked the paper from her hand and stared at the front page.
“Dead woman found at Devil’s Ravine near Raven’s Peak. Authorities have identified her as Caitlin Collier….”
The paper fluttered to the floor, the pain splintering his chest like a knife ripping into him. No, it couldn’t be….
Caitlin dead?
Or was the woman Nora?

CAITLIN TOSSED AND TURNED in a fitful sleep, trying to escape her nightmares, but she was thrust back into the horror of the past few weeks.
She was running for her life. Someone was following, chasing her, he was so close…. No, he’d chained her down inside a white room, the walls were closing around her.
Then she was imprisoned on that island again. Gigantic trees blocked her way, the ocean raged below. Then she saw herself lying in that creek. Shadows framed her naked body. Blood dotted her skin and painted the water red. Her eyes were glazed, open in death.
She jerked awake, trembling and disoriented. Where was she? That hospital?
No, the room was dark, the walls made of logs, the embers of a fire glowing from the corner.
Every limb and muscle in her body ached. She hugged the covers tighter, burrowing into the warmth, but fear overwhelmed her as memories of the day before bombarded her.
A low groan rumbled, and she rolled over, her eyes widening, her pulse pounding. A man lay beside her, a scruffy, dark-haired man with beard stubble grazing his cheek, thick brown hair and the blackest eyes she’d ever seen. Eyes that pierced straight through her.
She sank back, then realized in shock that she was naked beneath the quilts. Her hands fisted into the thick covers, a sob welling in her throat.
This man was Sheriff Miles Monahue of Raven’s Peak. He had found that other woman’s body, had identified it as her. But it was her sister…Nora. Or was she Nora?
A dull pain throbbed inside her chest, then rippled through her. She had walked from one bizarre nightmare into another.
Miles’s dark eyebrows lifted, the flare of anger and distrust in his eyes sending a bolt of terror through her. Could he have had something to do with her confinement in that mental hospital?
Had he taken her there to rot, to be locked up and forgotten? Could he have possibly killed her sister?

EARLY MORNING SHADOWS bathed the cabin as Miles watched the emotions play on the woman’s—Caitlin’s—face. He had to call her Caitlin just to give her a name, although he realized she might be lying, that she might be the other twin, Nora.
Confusion, fear and wariness riddled her features, triggering his own questions and distrust. One glance downward and she’d realized she was naked. Another second and she knew he had undressed her. And she didn’t like it.
“You were going into shock,” he said. “I had to warm you up.”
“And that’s all that happened?”
He grunted. “You think I’d take advantage of a woman who passed out?”
“You…said we were married?”
His gaze met hers, the undeniable flare of uncertainty in her tone hitting him. She didn’t believe him.
“I married Caitlin,” he said coldly. “Whether you are her or a look-alike, I’m not convinced yet.”
His hands balled into fists as he remembered her tone the day she’d walked out on him. He shouldn’t want to protect her now, but he did. And that wasn’t all he wanted.
“We need to talk.” Ignoring her glassy stare and the tension humming between them, he rose and poked at the fire in the adjoining room, well aware her gaze was glued to his back. Sometime during the night, he’d shed his clothes, the heat from the cabin and his own desires making him break into a sweat. He wasn’t a man who cared about his body or what anyone thought—except for the fear he put into their eyes when he unleashed his temper.
Willing his morning erection at bay, he dragged on a pair of boxers, strode to the kitchen, made coffee, then carried two mugs back to the bedroom. Caitlin still lay curled on her side, but she’d grabbed his shirt and had shrugged into it. The sight resurrected memories of long sexy nights with her naked beneath him, her long legs wrapped around him. Nights filled with passion…in the beginning.
But their relationship had obviously been built on sex. An illusion of love.
He wouldn’t allow his libido to sway him under her spell again. But if their argument had put her in danger, he’d never forgive himself.
He handed her the cup but kept his distance as she propped herself against the pillows. He’d seen the fear on her face when she noticed his naked body in the predawn light. A ripple of alarm had lit her eyes at his jutting sex.
Caitlin had not been daunted by his size.
“Tell me what happened the night we had that argument.”
She practically inhaled the coffee, as if she’d been starved for days, and guilt splintered through him. He should feed her first, let her bathe, get dressed, cover that silky skin and naked body from his hungry eyes.
A feeling of self-loathing assaulted him. He was obsessed with wanting her, while she looked as if she’d been through hell and back.
She licked her lips, her voice not quite steady when she spoke. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Listen, Caitlin—” he hesitated for emphasis “—if you are Caitlin. We were married for three weeks, we had great sex, we had an argument. You walked out. I want to know why.”
She tensed at the mention of great sex. At least he had her attention.
But she sipped the coffee again, stalling. He knew it. So did she. Then her gaze landed on the aquarium and her face twisted in thought. “Tigger. Pooh.” Her haunted eyes rose to meet his.
“You remember your fish, but not me?” Anger sharpened his words, and she flinched. Great. He was frightening his own wife. And remembering the fish but not him proved just how important he’d been to her.
She stuttered an apology, but she had no explanation. “I’m sorry. I don’t understand, either, but I don’t remember you or that night,” she whispered. “I…just know I woke up a few days…a couple of weeks ago in a psychiatric ward, and I was being drugged.” She raked her hair over her shoulder, making his fingers itch to comb through the mass. “I didn’t sign myself in to that hellhole, so you must have.”
“What?” Her accusation stung. “I told you, you walked out on me. I’ve been searching for you for weeks.”
She chewed her lower lip, scrutinizing him, yet he didn’t think she was lying. Not completely, anyway. Something traumatic had obviously happened to her and he had to get to the bottom of it. “How did you get the track marks?”
She yanked the shirt sleeves over her arms self-consciously. “I…I told you—they drugged me.”
“You expect me to believe that?” He scrubbed his hand over the back of his neck. “Listen, Caitlin. This is what I know. You married me, then walked out on me. Two days after you left, I found out you’d hooked up with some guy in a honky-tonk. Maybe he got you strung out, and now you’re scared, running back to me for help.”
She shook her head, her eyes blurring with tears. “No, that’s not true. I wouldn’t do drugs, I swear. And I wish I did remember you.” Her lips quivered. “Besides, how do I know you’re not lying? That you didn’t marry Nora and then kill her? That you won’t send me back to that awful place?”
He crossed the room to her, studied her with a frown. But the bruises on her skin softened his resolve, and he ended up stroking her palm with his thumb. “I’m not sending you anywhere, not until I learn the truth.”
She clutched the edges of his shirt together, looking so vulnerable he wanted to soothe her. “What about my sister? Who killed her?”
His gut clenched as her look-alike’s face flashed into his mind. Dammit, he didn’t know what to think or do. “The MO looks like the work of a serial killer called The Carver. He’s murdered five other women so far, all in the past nine months.”
Tension simmered between them. “Will you take me to see her?”
“I’ll call the M.E. while you shower.” He gestured toward the small bathroom adjacent to the bedroom. “There should be clean towels on the shelf. And you left a few clothes in the closet. Some sweats and jeans and stuff.”
She nodded, then slid from the bed and walked toward the bathroom, hugging his shirt to her. He tracked her movements, searching for a familiar body gesture, something to prove she was his wife.
Seconds later, the shower kicked on and unbidden images of Caitlin naked came to him. He banished them quickly. Needing some distance from her, he sat down at the Formica table in the kitchen and reviewed the files on his missing wife. They’d met two months ago at that honky-tonk in town. It was karaoke night, and she’d danced her way across the stage wearing red sequins, singing “I Will Always Love You” in a sultry, soul-filled voice that had immediately ripped into his gut.
They’d connected instantly. Later that night, he’d seduced her, or had she seduced him? All he remembered was the mind-numbing attraction, the deep hunger that had whispered that he had to have her, the frenzy in the way they’d come together. And for days after, they’d practically stayed in bed. All she had to do was trail her long red fingernails over his abdomen and his sex stirred.
And when she’d talked about opening an arts center for kids, he’d believed she was a family kind of girl. The kind he’d always wanted but never thought he’d deserved.
A few days later, he’d been so drunk on lust and foolish dreams of happily-ever-after that he’d married her at a local Justice of the Peace’s office.
Three days later she’d changed. Turned into a different person.
Three weeks after that, she’d disappeared.
What exactly had she wanted from him? Why had she tied the knot?
Hell, why had he?
Too much tequila and a weakness for a sexy woman? Dreams of a family, one to replace the one he’d lost as a kid?
He’d lay off booze and women from now on.
Scraping a hand over his beard stubble, he skimmed the paltry personal information he’d accumulated so far. They hadn’t talked about their families, their pasts; they’d been too busy making love. Whispering promises.
When he’d checked her records after she’d disappeared, he’d learned she was an only child. Her parents had died years ago. And when he’d questioned the patrons at the Steel Toe he’d realized that he knew nothing about his wife. That she’d had no intention of settling down with him. She’d been cheating on him from the start, had played him for a fool.
He just didn’t know the reason.
Frustrated, he slammed the folder shut. He’d revisit that honky-tonk and question the locals again, especially the bartender. And he’d take Caitlin with him. If she really were suffering from amnesia, the place might trigger her memories.
Knowing he had to call Agent Brown and fill him in, he punched in the man’s number. “It’s Monahue.”
“Yeah?”
“Listen, I want you to come to my place. We have to talk.”
“You can’t tell me over the phone?”
“No, it’s too important.” He wanted to see the agent’s reaction. See if he could tell the look-alikes apart.
Brown agreed, and they disconnected, then he phoned the M.E.’s office. An image of his wife lying on the cold steel table amidst the medical examiner’s tools hit him, churning up more misery. Then he glanced at the imprint of the woman’s body in his bed, and his head spun with confusion.
Was the dead woman his wife, or had his wife returned to him, frail and suffering from amnesia?

“LOOK, SHERIFF MONAHUE, I’m backed up, but I’m going to work on her this afternoon.” Dr. Arthur Mullins gripped a scalpel in one hand, the phone tucked beneath one ear while he eyed the seventy-five-year-old man who’d lost his life the day before. “I’ve had bodies stacked up with that pileup on the interstate yesterday. You’ll have to be patient.”
“You know time is of the essence in a murder case,” Miles barked. “Make this one a priority.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll do my job, you do yours.”
“Not a problem. But I need extensive DNA testing to verify the woman’s identity.”
Mullins twisted his mouth in confusion. “I thought you identified her yourself.”
“There’s been a complication.” Miles paused. “I think the woman has a twin. We have to be sure which one of them was murdered, so I’ll need dental records checked as well as any medical files we can locate.”
Mullins agreed to run every test possible, chewing on the information as he hung up and walked over to the steel slab to study Caitlin Collier. He hadn’t been lying about the bodies stacked up; he had his hands full.
The scent of formaldehyde, the drills and saws and instruments he used in his trade, offended some people, even turned their stomachs. But he had always been infatuated with the human body.
Especially the dead ones.
A smile curved his mouth as he lifted the woman’s pale, bloodstained, battered hand. He was an expert at his job. He would find out everything he could from this woman’s corpse. After all, he worked for the law.
Any evidence he discovered would help them nail her killer.

Chapter Four
As hot water sluiced over Caitlin’s skin, she luxuriated in the sensation of being free from the probing eyes of the nurse at the mental institution, who had invaded virtually every aspect of her life, including her personal regimen of bathing. “For all we know, honey, you might try to drown yourself in the shower,” the nurse had said.
And she had been tempted to…. Anything to escape the tormenting sessions in that room.
Another, deeper kind of agony consumed her. Her hope for finding the truth, and her family, had been the thread that had kept her sane during her ordeal at the hospital.
But now her only surviving family member was dead.
Grief erupted inside her, tearing at her insides. Although she thought she’d cried all her tears the night before, once again sobs wracked her body. She didn’t fight the emotions. If Nora was really dead, then a part of her had died as well.
How was it possible that her sister was gone? Fleeting memories of her childhood flashed before her eyes, spotty and confusing, yet she remembered cuddling in bed with her look-alike and whispering in their own secret language, a special way of talking that had allowed them to communicate without their parents, teachers or virtually anyone else understanding their exchanges. A language and closeness she could never share with anyone else.
She struggled for more details of the past, her later years, but she felt as if her memories had been stolen and only tidbits of her life remained, all jumbled together as if they’d been dumped into a big cauldron and stirred, leaving her to piece together the rest. Where had she lived before she’d been admitted into the hospital? How had she wound up restrained in a psych ward? Had Nora even known she’d been missing, or had someone kidnapped her at the same time and kept her hostage?
The fact that Nora had turned up dead the same day she had escaped the mental hospital was bizarre. Did her escape have something to do with her sister’s murder? Was it her fault Nora had been killed?
God, no…
She clutched her stomach as guilt assaulted her. She needed Nora, couldn’t accept the fact that her actions might have gotten her sister murdered. What if she knew who had killed her sister but she’d blocked out that memory as well?
And how could she survive alone? She and her sister had been so close they were like two halves of the same person.
Bits and pieces of her past sprang back to haunt her, like snippets from someone else’s life that she was watching through a camera. The phone calls to Nora that hadn’t been returned. The worry that her sister was in trouble.
She soaped her hair, driving her fingers into her scalp, desperately trying to keep the images at bay, but other disturbing ones followed, images of a life that didn’t fit with her desire for a family. Images of nights when she’d performed at a smoky bar. Nights she’d drunk too much and partied into the wee hours of the morning. Nights she’d flirted and caroused with men, crawling into a stranger’s bed and waking up God knows where.
Men…there had been lots of men.
Was that how she’d met Miles Monahue?
She closed her eyes, willing away the awful feeling that she had done more than that, that she had sold herself for a good time and hurt others in the process. But she’d never hurt Nora…would she?
Panic squeezed the air from her lungs as she struggled to remember more, but a black emptiness swallowed the rest. Her tears finally exhausted, she rinsed her hair, stepped from the shower and wrapped a towel around her, shivering in the chilly air.
She had to understand the reason she’d married Miles Monahue, or if he had married Nora instead. And she’d do whatever necessary to find out what had happened to Nora, and if she were to blame for her sister’s death.

THE SHOWER WATER kicked off just as Miles started breakfast. Thank God. It was too damn tempting having Caitlin back in his house, in his bed, in his shower naked. He wanted to go to her, throw her on the bed and demand some answers.
Hell, he wanted to strip his clothes, run his hands over her silky skin, taste her spicy wanton lips, sink himself inside her and screw her until she screamed. Then he might just get his fill of her once and for all.
But he couldn’t forget the agony she’d put him through the last few weeks, or that her look-alike lay in the morgue with stab wounds through her hands and heart. That Caitlin didn’t remember being married to him and had track marks on her arms. That she might not be his wife but a twin, and that his wife might be the one dead.
No, he’d feed her, then pump her for the truth.
A knock jerked him from his task, and he set the eggs and bowl aside. The toaster pinged, but he ignored it and strode to the front door, coffee in hand.
Special Agent Brown stood on the other side, his expression stony and unreadable. “You wanted to talk?”
Miles nodded and gestured for him to follow him to the kitchen nook, well aware Brown anticipated some kind of confession. One he’d never hear from him.
Brown stomped snow from his boots and accepted a cup of coffee with a mumbled thanks.
“I have that list of my enemies.” Miles handed him the final version of his research from the day before.
Brown skimmed the paper, then glanced up, eyes narrowed. “Did you make me drive out here for this? You could have faxed it over.”
He shrugged, hesitant to tell him about Caitlin. “Have you found out anything more?”
Brown frowned. “As a matter of fact, I did some checking on your wife. Word on the streets is that she had a reputation in the bars in Nashville before she showed up in Raven’s Peak.”
He sipped his coffee, biting back a reply. He’d stumbled on that info himself after she’d disappeared.
“You don’t seem surprised,” Brown said.
Miles shifted onto the balls of his feet. If he said he knew, he’d be hammering the nail in his coffin. On the other hand, denial made him look like a fool.
Letting Brown in on Caitlin’s arrival could exonerate him, yet he wasn’t sure the woman was Caitlin. And her story about being locked in a mental ward would raise more suspicion. But if Brown found out on his own, then it would read as if he were hiding information from the feds and only make him look more guilty.
“I’ve also been studying up on your past,” Brown continued. “Witnessing your parents’ murder at age ten had to have affected you, especially since you lived with your grandmother after that. She suffered from dementia, right?”
“Yeah, then she died six months later, and I stayed in a group home. So what?”
“So, the perp who killed your parents was your mother’s lover.”
Miles silently cursed. He knew where Brown was heading with his theory.
“Your father was gunned down in front of you because of your mother’s adulterous behavior. Maybe you have some deep-seated hatred of women,” Brown continued. “Maybe your wife cheated on you like your mother did your old man, and you decided to make her pay.”
“You must be a fan of that new reverend in town.” Sarcasm laced Miles’s voice. “He’s been preaching on marriage and fidelity.” The bitterness that had nearly driven him over the edge for years threatened his control.
Brown lifted one eyebrow. “Haven’t heard him. But I do know this—your wife’s affair gives you motive for murder. So that puts you at the top of my suspect list.”

CAITLIN STOOD AT THE EDGE of the door listening to the men’s conversation, her nerves strung tight. The sheriff’s parents had been murdered when he was ten? This guy Brown was FBI? Did Miles plan to turn her over to them? Were they going to send her back to the mental hospital?
She gripped the door edge, trying to think, but panic zinged through her. Apparently, Miles had been telling the truth about their marriage. But why had she married this man? And how could she have forgotten him?
Even more disturbing, if she had cheated on him, then he had reason to hate her. Reason to have locked her away. Reason to have killed her…or Nora. What if he had drugged her and admitted her to that mental hospital, then Nora had come searching for her, and he’d killed Nora to keep her from exposing what he’d done?
Chill bumps cascaded up her arms. That puts you at the top of my suspect list, the FBI agent had said.
If Miles had killed her sister, she needed to get away from him. She could run again. But she had no one else to turn to.
And she couldn’t leave without learning what had happened to her twin.
This other man—the FBI agent—might help her. She’d have to take her chances that he wouldn’t send her back to that psychiatric ward.
Inhaling a deep breath, she yanked on the sweats she found in the closet, then pushed open the door and inched inside the den.
Both men stared at each other as if they’d engaged in a Mexican standoff, but at the sound of her footsteps, they turned. Miles’s gaze skated over her damp hair and body, sending a ripple of sexual awareness down her spine.
A voice whispered in her head, If he wanted to kill you, why hadn’t he done so the night before? Why did he hold you and comfort you?
The other man stood close to Miles’s height but had shorter brown hair and a cleft in his chin. He froze, the shock on his face evident. “Good God, what’s going on?”
“She’s the reason I called you, Brown.”
Agent Brown’s head whipped toward Miles, then back to her. “I don’t understand, Monahue.”
“She claims she’s Caitlin,” Miles stated flatly. “Caitlin, this is Special Agent Reilly Brown. He thinks I murdered you.”
Caitlin gasped at his bold truthfulness, then clasped her hands together, the intense look Miles shot her a reminder of the men’s discussion—that Caitlin had been cheating on Miles. Anger, betrayal and hurt simmered in Miles’s deadly calm voice.
Agent Brown cleared his throat. “If she’s your wife, then who’s the dead woman in the morgue?”
Miles arched his eyebrows toward her to suggest she explain. Caitlin shivered, the aching loss still so raw she had to clear her throat to speak. “My twin sister, Nora.”
Brown’s questioning look speared Miles. “You didn’t mention that your wife had a twin.”
Miles shrugged, his dark eyes still fastened to Caitlin. “That’s because I didn’t know anything about her until she—” he gestured toward her “—walked into my office last night.”
“I saw the story on the television,” Caitlin explained in a broken voice. “I…I came as soon as I did.”
“Where have you been the last few weeks?” Brown asked.
“I was hospitalized,” Caitlin replied.
“I’ve already phoned the M.E. to request DNA, medical and dental records to verify her sister’s identity,” Miles said.
Caitlin flinched. Miles suspected she was lying, that she might not be Caitlin? That she might be Nora, and that Caitlin might be dead…
Or maybe he was angry she’d escaped the mental hospital and returned. Maybe he was worried she’d figure out he had admitted her, and he feared he’d get caught. But if so, why hadn’t he killed her last night or driven her back to that mental ward himself? Why had he called the feds?
“Good. We’ll need a DNA sample from you, too,” Brown said, directing his attention to Caitlin.
She nodded, knowing it was the only way to prove her identity.
“Were you and your twin close?” Brown asked.
Caitlin glanced at Miles and saw him watching her, studying her every move. Again, scattered broken memories bombarded her. The secret language, the sisters huddled together. Then later…bitter fights.
“I asked you if you were close,” Agent Brown asked again, more harsh this time.
“Yes…I loved her,” Caitlin whispered, knowing that much was true. Although she sensed something had happened between them, something to drive them apart.
“Do you know anyone who would want to hurt your sister?” Agent Brown asked.
Caitlin bit her lip as she struggled to recall conversations between her and Nora. Any mention of a man, a lover, but she drew a blank. In her mind, she saw her and Nora as ten-year-olds. Anything more recent remained a dark empty hole. “No…as far as I know she…she didn’t have any enemies.”
“She had one—the person who killed her,” Brown said. “And I intend to find out who it was.”

CAITLIN’S GRIEF and guilt-ridden look tugged at Miles’s sympathy. He understood those feelings well. He’d been bombarded by them since the day she’d disappeared. Remembering how weak she’d been the night before, he poured her a cup of coffee, then slipped it into her hands. She sank onto the sofa and gave him a fleeting smile of gratitude. Then she dumped a packet of sweetener into the cup, and swirled it around just as Caitlin used to do.
“When did you last see your sister?” Brown asked.
She cradled the mug in her hands, blowing on the steamy coffee. “I d-don’t remember.”
Brown propped one foot on the coffee table, leaned over and glared at her. “What do you mean, you don’t remember? I thought you said you were close.”
Caitlin backed farther into the sofa cushion, her hands trembling.
“She claims she has amnesia,” Miles answered for her. “She doesn’t remember marrying me, doesn’t know what happened to her sister, doesn’t know what happened to her the last few weeks.”
Brown’s eyebrow rose in question. “Amnesia? That’s convenient.”
Caitlin flinched. “It’s the truth. I remember the two of us being together as kids, but nothing later on.”
“Did she live here in Raven’s Peak?”
Caitlin massaged her temple as if trying to think. “No…I don’t think so.”
“What about you?” Brown asked. “Where are you from?”
“I…think we grew up in Georgia, near here, in the mountains.”
“Her parents are dead,” Miles interjected. “After she disappeared, I checked into her past. According to records, the Colliers only had one child.”
Brown frowned, and Caitlin gaped at him, her hands knotted. “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I,” Miles said flatly. “Someone must have tampered with the files.”
“If you were so close to your sister, where was she living? And why didn’t you report her missing?” Brown asked.
“I told you I don’t remember.” Frustration laced Caitlin’s ragged whisper. “Like I said, I’ve been in a hospital for the past few weeks.”
“When she showed up at my office, she was in shock, dehydrated and disoriented,” Miles explained. Hoping to earn her trust, he omitted the part about the track marks.
Brown gave him a skeptical look. “Where were you in the hospital, and why?”
“I…it was in Savannah.”
She hesitated, and Miles realized she was holding back, that her story made her sound unstable. He had to wonder if she was. Maybe Caitlin hadn’t mentioned her twin because she suffered from mental problems, and she’d been embarrassed.
Brown continued to drill her. “How did you get from Raven’s Peak to Savannah?”
She squinted. “I don’t know.” Frustration filled her voice. “I realize my story sounds crazy,” she said in a shaky voice. “But someone locked me in a psychiatric ward. I was on this island, at a research facility. It was off the coast of Savannah.”
Brown exhaled. “The Coastal Island Research Park?”
“Yes, on Nighthawk Island.”
Brown paced across the room to the window, then turned back to her. “Go on.”
“The doctors at the hospital drugged me and kept me locked up. I escaped the night before last and hitched a ride into Savannah.” She sipped her coffee, then glanced at Miles with those pale green eyes, imploring him to believe her. “I went in to a diner in Savannah to warm up, and saw the news report about my sister, so I hitched a ride here.”
A heartbeat of tension followed, then Brown asked, “What was the name of the doctor who treated you?”
“I…his name is foggy. But a nurse named Donna took care of me most of the time.”
“Have you been treated for mental illness before?” Brown asked.
“No.” Caitlin stood and squared her shoulders. “I’m not insane. I didn’t commit myself to that facility, and I didn’t belong there, either.”
Miles studied her, wanted to believe her. But her look-alike was dead, and her story sounded far-fetched. Although he had heard about that research park at Nighthawk Island…
Brown shot him a suspicious look. “If you two are lying to cover up something, I’ll find out.”
“I want the truth as much as you do,” Miles said.
Caitlin inhaled sharply. “And so do I. I may not remember the last few months but I loved my sister. She didn’t deserve to die like this.”
Miles bit back a caustic remark. He had no idea if Caitlin was telling the truth, but she was right. Her sister hadn’t deserved to die at the hands of a ruthless serial killer.
Still, the Caitlin he’d married had obviously kept secrets from him.
Secrets that might have led to her hospitalization.
Or to her sister’s death.

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