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The Man from Gossamer Ridge
Paula Graves


To criminology professor Alicia Solano, serial killers aren't just academic. A very real one is stalking her now, possibly the same madman who brought Gabe Cooper to town. The sexy Southern lawman still blames himself for an unsolved murder and this time, he'll do anything to catch the killer–and keep Alicia alive.Not that the feisty prof wants his protection. Her protests prove useless when Gabe insists on moving in with her. And although Gabe senses getting Alicia to trust him–especially after surviving her own traumatic past–is going to be a challenge, it'll be worth it. Gabe knows better than anyone just how far this murderer will go to get what he wants. But so will Gabe. And what he wants is Alicia.









If anyone thought he was going to let them get to this woman, they’d badly overestimated their power.


“You’re not alone like those other women. You’re not going to be alone.”

“I live alone. I walk to work and back every day, alone—”

“No more of that. You drive everywhere. No more walking alone.” Gabe crossed to where she leaned against the truck, putting his hand on her shoulder. “And no living alone, either. I know you’ve got neighbors all around you, but that note proves the killers think they can get to you regardless. So you’re not living alone, either.”

“So, what—I get myself a roommate and now she’s in danger, too?” Alicia shook her head firmly. “I’m not putting another woman in danger.”

“Not a woman.” Gabe leaned toward her. “Me.”




The Man from Gossamer Ridge

Paula Graves







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


For my sister Patty, whose indomitable spirit can both drive me crazy and inspire me.




ABOUT THE AUTHOR


Alabama native Paula Graves wrote her first book, a mystery starring herself and her neighborhood friends, at the age of six. A voracious reader, Paula loves books that pair tantalizing mystery with compelling romance. When she’s not reading or writing, she works as a creative director for a Birmingham advertising agency and spends time with her family and friends. She is a member of Southern Magic Romance Writers, Heart of Dixie Romance Writers and Romance Writers of America.

Paula invites readers to visit her website, www.paulagraves.com.




CAST OF CHARACTERS


Alicia Solano —Her doctoral dissertation project has turned into a serious investigation of a serial-killer pair she believes has been killing women across at least three states. Could they be behind the cold case murder of the mother of one of her students?

Gabe Cooper —Torn by guilt about a mistake he believes led to his sister-in-law Brenda’s murder twelve years ago, Gabe can’t say no when his niece asks for his help in solving two new murders.

Cissy Cooper —Left motherless as a child by a brutal murder, Cissy believes her professor’s theory about a serial-killer pair may explain all the discrepancies in her mother’s murder case.

J. D. Cooper —A widower still mourning his murdered wife twelve years after her death, he’s determined to bring his daughter Cissy home to safety when he learns about the coed murders in the college town where she’s living.

Marlon Dyson —Alicia’s fellow college instructor seems a little too interested in her new friendship with Gabe. Is he jealous? Or does he have darker intentions?

Tony Evans —The handsome policeman is Alicia’s ex-boyfriend. But Gabe wonders if ulterior motives drive Tony’s newfound interest in Alicia’s investigation.

Tyler Landon —Alicia’s student shows sudden, inappropriate interest in her just as she begins to receive threats from a stalker. Is he just a student with a crush or could he be a killer?




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

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen




Prologue


Brenda was going to kill him.

Well, probably not Brenda, Gabe Cooper amended mentally. His sister-in-law was a real sweetheart who could forgive just about anything. But if she let it slip to J.D. that Gabe had shown up twenty minutes late to check on her at work, there’d be hell to pay. Gabe’s older brother definitely wasn’t a sweetheart and he’d have no trouble riding Gabe’s back about it for ages to come.

But was it Gabe’s fault that tonight was the first time his friend Cam Shelton had been home from college in almost four years? They were both over twenty-one now, and the closest place to buy a beer and shoot a little pool was a whole county over. He’d lost track of time, catching up with his old friend’s rowdy tales of fraternity parties and football games in Austin, Texas. It had been after eleven before Gabe had even thought to check the time.

As he rounded a curve in the highway, he came upon a car with its bright lights on. The other car dimmed its headlights, but the afterimage of the bright orbs lingered long enough that Gabe nearly missed his turnoff. He whipped the Jeep left onto Piedmont Road, which dead-ended at the parking lot of Belmont Trucking. Taking the curve into the parking lot too fast, he swept the front of his Jeep precariously close to the large white Belmont Trucking Company sign. Righting the Wrangler, he whipped into the slot beside Brenda’s silver Pontiac Grand Prix just as the dashboard clock flipped from 11:22 p.m. to 11:23 p.m.

Since the Pontiac was still here, she must have been right about the battery. She’d called him earlier that evening to ask if he could swing by the trucking company around eleven when her flex shift ended, in case she needed a jump. J.D. was out of town on Navy temporary duty, so it fell to one of the other Cooper brothers to come through for her. Gabe had been the first she’d been able to get on the phone.

He hurried up the walkway to the trucking company’s entrance, a thick, steel-reinforced door set into the side of the building. Up close, he could see that the corrugated metal siding was in dire need of a good soaking rain to wash away some of the grime. The door was locked, as it generally was after five o’clock. Brenda would have to buzz him in. He rang the doorbell and waited for Brenda to answer, stamping his feet against the November cold. When she didn’t answer after a minute, he rang the doorbell again.

Two minutes and several doorbell rings later, he began to worry. Flipping open his cell phone, he dialed Brenda’s number. After a moment, he heard the low burr of her cell phone ringing.

Behind him.

The beer he’d drunk a half hour earlier rumbled in his gut as he retraced his steps to the Pontiac. He followed the ringing noise around to the driver’s side, spotting the phone on the pavement just beneath the car door.

With his heart pounding like a bass drum in his ears, he took a couple of steps toward the ringing phone and stopped, his gaze stopping with horror on a dark streak marring the Pontiac’s driver’s side door. In the cold blue moonlight, it looked as black and shiny as pitch.

He swallowed the dread snaking up his throat, snagging his keys from his pocket. He turned on the small penlight attached to the key ring and played the narrow beam against the Pontiac’s driver’s door. In the small circle of light, the streak on the door glimmered deep crimson.

“Brenda?” He backed away from the Pontiac, his mind recoiling from what he was seeing. Maybe she’d cut herself trying to get the battery to work and she’d—

She’d what? Left her cell phone lying by the car, ignored the shelter of the building behind her and started walking the six miles to town to seek help?

He pushed down his rising panic and hurried to the Jeep for the heavy-duty flashlight he kept in a toolbox in the back. Shining the powerful beam on the scrubby bushes edging the trucking company property, he kept calling her name, hoping she’d simply become disoriented and wandered into the thick woods beyond the property.

He found her five minutes later, only twenty yards away from the parking lot, her limp body positioned between the rough trunk of a pine tree and the prickly green leaves of a wild holly bush. Her eyes were half-open, staring sightlessly at the three-quarter moon peeking through the winter-bare trees. Blood stained the front of her blouse in several places.

Stab wounds.

Gabe bent to check for a pulse, tears spilling down his cheeks in icy streams. But he knew the truth before his fingers found the still place where her pulse should have been.

She was dead.

And it was his fault.




Chapter One


Alicia Solano looked up from the file contents spread across the table in front of her and gave a small start at the sight of her own reflection in the psychology lab windows. Inky twilight had fallen outside the building while she’d been working, catching her unaware.

Her pulse notching upwards, she gathered her papers into a neat stack, forcing herself to move with deliberation rather than speed. If she took her time now, her files would be in order the next time she opened her briefcase and then she wouldn’t have to spend time she didn’t have trying to remember where she left off.

And moving faster wouldn’t make it any easier to step out into the darkness that loomed between her and the safety of her apartment.

Snapping the briefcase closed, she paused for a second in the stillness of the empty lab and listened carefully for sounds of other people remaining in the building. There would be few here this time of night; at a school as small as Mill Valley University, night classes were rare and usually limited to the business school or the continuing education classes that convened in the liberal arts building across campus.

As she headed for the exits, the faint sound of a cleaning crew chatting in rapid-fire Spanish floated from somewhere down the hall, easing her sense of isolation. Alicia relaxed, at least until she reached the heavy double doors of the exit. Once she stepped into the mild evening air, tension crept back into her spine.

It’s not the right set-up, she reminded herself, images from her files flashing through her head. She was still within earshot of students moving about the quad a hundred yards away. There was also the cleaning crew in the building she’d just exited who could come quickly if she cried out. The other women had been utterly alone, in secluded places where nobody could hear their final screams.

She gripped the handle of her briefcase more tightly, grateful for its solid heft. It would make a good weapon if she needed one.

Her apartment was within walking distance of the campus, though secluded, tree-lined Dogwood Street was narrow and tunnel-like, an attribute she enjoyed during daylight hours but regretted now as she navigated the deep shadows inking the sidewalk between her and the relative safety of her apartment.

The four-unit apartment building came into view, a two-story structure rising up in the gloom like the phantom of an old Southern mansion, complete with tall white columns supporting a white-railed porch on the bottom floor and matching balconies on the second floor. The muddy golden glow of the streetlamp on the corner didn’t penetrate the canopy of hickory, oak and pecan trees towering over the building, though somehow the ivory columns seemed to glow in the dark like moon-bleached bones.

Alicia quickened her pace at the corner, her low heels clicking loudly on the sidewalk. She had almost reached the steps to the apartments when she realized her footsteps were not alone. Her steps faltered, but the footfalls behind her kept coming, the pace even and unhurried.

She slipped her hand into the pocket of her light cotton jacket and closed her fingers around the small canister of pepper spray. Taking a deep breath, she turned to face her unknown companion.

He was little more than a silhouette in the cool purple shadows behind her, backlit by the shaft of streetlamp glow several yards beyond. Definitely male. Built well. Short hair, powerful shoulders, narrow waist, long legs.

Alicia’s heart hammered against her rib cage, but she squelched the urge to run up the steps to her apartment. She knew she’d never make it before he caught up with her, and she’d lose whatever advantage she had gained by facing him head-on.

“Can I help you?” she asked, hating the quiver in her voice.

“I’m looking for Bellewood Manor.” His voice was deep, friendly and deliciously Southern. A California girl, born and bred, Alicia had discovered a soft spot for a deep, slow drawl. She fought against letting her guard down, however. A sexy Southern accent didn’t preclude very bad intentions.

“May I ask why?” she countered warily.

“My niece asked me to meet her here. Cissy Cooper—do you know her? She’s a student at Mill Valley University—”

Alicia dropped her guard a notch. Cissy Cooper was one of the students in the second-year criminology lab she taught. She lived two doors down from Alicia. “I’ve met her.”

He stepped toward her. Her heart rate edged upwards again. “My name is Gabe Cooper. I’m sorry if I scared you.”

She lifted her chin. “You didn’t.”

“She wasn’t sure she’d be here when I arrived—her shift at the library ended at seven, but she said she sometimes has to stay late.” He cocked his head, gazing up at the apartments. “Do you know which apartment is hers?”

Alicia’s tension rose again. “She told you to meet her but didn’t give you the address?”

“My cell signal was bad when she called.”

Alicia edged backwards, suspicion eclipsing attraction at the moment. “Perhaps you should try calling her again.”

“Don’t you live here? I mean, you looked as if you were heading right here.” He waved his hand at the building.

A car rounded the corner and started coming up the street behind Alicia, headlights briefly illuminating the stranger. He had hair as dark as her own and clear blue eyes that met hers without any shiftiness. He was trim and tall, dressed in snug-fitting jeans and a heather gray polo shirt worn untucked. The car passed, plunging them back into darkness.

“I have to go,” she said, turning away from him. She’d circle the block and come back from another direction, see if the stranger had moved along or if he was still lurking there. Or maybe she’d go back and find a campus security officer to walk her safely to her doorstep.

“Is this about the murders?”

His soft query halted her steps. She turned to look at him. “The murders?”

“Cissy said something about some murders. She wanted to tell me about them. It was all very cryptic.”

Alicia eyed him warily. Cissy knew about Alicia’s theories, of course. The last time they’d spoken, Cissy had mentioned she was debating telling her father about Alicia’s research. But she hadn’t mentioned anything about an uncle.

“So you came all the way here to Millbridge because your niece cryptically mentioned murders?”

“Cissy calls and asks for my help, I come,” he said simply.

“Nice uncle,” she murmured. She wasn’t even sure her parents would come if she called, much less any of her uncles from either side of the family tree.

“Look, I’ve clearly spooked you. And I guess if there are murders going on here that Cissy thinks I need to know about, you’ve got good reason to be a little freaked.”

“I told you, you didn’t scare me.”

“I’m afraid I don’t believe you,” he answered in a slow, devastating drawl. He reached into the back pocket of his jeans. As he did so, the side hem of his shirt lifted to reveal a handgun tucked into a slim holster attached to the waistband of his jeans.

Alicia’s heart skipped a beat. She pulled the pepper spray canister from her jacket pocket, ready to press the button and run like hell at the slightest provocation.

But the man who called himself Gabe Cooper merely brought out a thin, dark-colored wallet. He flipped it open with one hand and flashed a small penlight onto the contents. Alicia saw a photo ID inside.

“This is me,” he said, moving closer.

She settled her trembling finger over the button of the pepper spray dispenser, but stood her ground as he came close enough for her to see the ID. It was an Alabama driver’s license, with a Gossamer Ridge address. The photo of the man was impossibly good for a driver’s license photo, making Alicia hate him a little in envy.

The name on the license was definitely Gabe Cooper, and she knew her friend Cissy was from Gossamer Ridge.

“Would a second ID help? I have a lifetime Alabama fishing license—”

Her tension eased again. “What do you do for a living?”

He hesitated a second, as if realizing this was a test. “I’m a fishing guide and sometimes professional angler. I also pull volunteer shifts as an auxiliary deputy at the Chickasaw County Sheriff’s Department.”

“What’s Cissy’s father’s name?”

“J.D.,” he answered patiently. “James Dennison, actually, but we’ve always called him J.D.”

“What about her mother?”

He hesitated again, this time answering in a faint, emotion-tinged voice. “Brenda Alice Teague Cooper. She died twelve years ago.”

“How’d she die?”

“She was murdered.”

Pain etched every word into the darkness between them, reminding her of the way Cissy spoke of her mother, in a voice raw with sadness. Only with this man, the pain was rawer still, edged with a bitterness that made Alicia’s stomach ache.

This man couldn’t take a person’s life with the impersonal ease of a serial killer. Alicia put the pepper spray back into the pocket of her jacket. “I’m Alicia Solano.”

“So you’re Professor Solano?” He sounded surprised. Alicia guessed his niece had mentioned her to him at some point.

“Instructor, actually. No Ph.D yet.” She tried not to bristle at his skepticism. It wasn’t an insult to be thought too young to be a college instructor, or so her older colleagues insisted. She was a young-looking twenty-five, especially when she eschewed makeup, as she’d done today.

“Cissy speaks well of you.”

“She’s a good student,” she answered automatically, then softened her voice. “Good person, actually.”

The shadows of his face split to reveal a flash of white teeth that even the gloom couldn’t conceal. “We’re kind of fond of her our own selves.”

“Cissy shares Apartment D with a couple of other Mill Valley underclassmen.” Alicia waved at the apartment on the far left. There were no lights burning inside on either floor of the two-story apartment. They were nearing the end of the spring semester, so any of the girls might still be at the library studying for end of term exams.

“Looks like no one’s home,” Gabe murmured.

“You can wait for her at my place.”

He looked surprised. “You don’t even know me.”

She was a little surprised herself, remembering the holstered gun she’d spotted. But she was convinced he really was Cissy’s uncle and he’d said he was a volunteer deputy sheriff. If Cissy had asked him to visit, he must be a pretty good guy, packing heat or not.

Besides, she had a million questions for him. Cissy had been seven when her mother died, and from what she had told Alicia, she’d been sheltered from a lot of details of the murder. What little she did know, she’d gleaned mostly from snippets of her father’s conversations she’d overheard over the years and from a series of newspaper articles she’d looked up at the local library when she was in high school.

But Gabe Cooper was old enough to know everything that happened. He could answer some of the questions she had about Brenda Cooper’s murder. And maybe, if she asked the right questions, he could help her catch a couple of killers.



THE OUTSIDE OF THE apartment may have been all shabby Southern charm, but inside, a riot of color greeted Gabe Cooper, nearly scorching his retinas. Pale yellow walls were the extent of subtlety inside Alicia Solano’s apartment, providing a neutral backdrop for a variety of bright furnishings, from Caribbean dancers writhing in frenetic joy across a wide canvas hanging over a bright orange sofa to the lime green area rug covering the hardwood floor underfoot. It reminded Gabe of an outdoor market he’d visited in South America the last time he’d gone fishing down there, all vivid colors and kinetic energy.

“I don’t drink coffee,” Alicia said over her shoulder, moving out of the living room into the smaller, open kitchen area, “but I have iced tea. Or I could make some lemonade—”

He could tell by her accent that she wasn’t from anywhere near the sleepy college town of Millbridge, Alabama, but she’d apparently picked up the local customs of hospitality somewhere along the way.

“Or maybe you’re hungry?” she added. “Had dinner yet?”

He laughed softly. Yes, she’d learned the Southern way very well. “I’ll wait and have something with Cissy when she gets home,” he answered.

She paused in the middle of the kitchen, turning to look at him. “Oh, okay. Sure you don’t want something to drink?”

“Ice water would be great,” he answered, mostly so he wouldn’t disappoint her.

She turned toward the cabinets, standing on tiptoe to reach the glasses on the top shelf. She seemed relieved to have something to do with all the bottled up energy radiating from her compact body.

He’d scared her earlier, despite her protestations to the contrary. He should have identified himself first, put her at ease. He sometimes forgot, having grown up in a little town where everyone knew everyone else, that the world could be a very different place for other people.

Brenda’s murder should have etched that life lesson into his soul a long time ago.

She came into the living room bearing a glass of water and ice, a paper napkin under the bottom as a makeshift coaster. She waved for him to sit on the sofa and dropped onto a bright green ottoman nearby.

“I’m not keeping you from anything, I hope.” He eyed the neon blue briefcase she’d set on the coffee table when they entered.

She followed his gaze. “Just brought some notes home to work on my thesis.”

He took a sip of the water. She didn’t put a lot of ice in, which meant wherever that accent had come from, it probably wasn’t somewhere particularly hot. “Where are you from? Originally, I mean.”

“San Francisco.”

“Pretty area.”

“Yes.”

She watched him with a narrowed gaze, her mind working visibly behind a pair of dark, observant eyes. She didn’t have any makeup on, though with her thick black eyelashes and honey-toned skin, she didn’t need much. It had been hard to tell at first glance what sort of body lay beneath the loose-cut gray blouse and plain black skirt she wore. But watching her move, as he’d done when she went to the kitchen for his water, he’d quickly seen the graceful curves of her hips and spine, the straining of her round breasts against the front of the blouse when she’d risen to reach the glasses.

Surrounded by the riot of color in her apartment, she seemed almost unnaturally still in contrast, a little sparrow sitting quiet and watchful in the midst of chaos.

A shrill sound emanated from inside the blue briefcase, making her jump. “That might be a student—I have to get that.” She snapped open the case and retrieved a small silver phone. She flipped it open. “Hello?”

As she moved toward the kitchen, Gabe glanced at the contents of the open briefcase. A stack of files and papers lay within, nondescript at first glance. But the edge of a photo peeked out of one folder. The only thing he could make out were a patch of tall grass and a woman’s single shoe.

But it was enough to make his blood run cold.

He glanced up at Alicia. She’d moved all the way into the kitchen, her back to him as she spoke in low tones on the phone.

Gabe reached into the case and pulled out the file containing the photo. He took the photo out and stared at it, his pulse hammering in his head.

Brenda.

She lay as he’d found her, wedged between the tree and the bush, her skirt demurely in place, her legs slightly bent. Her brown pumps were still on her feet, though the police had informed the family that there had been scrapes on the heels of her feet and shredding of her stockings consistent with being dragged through the rough parking lot outside the trucking company.

When Victor Logan raped and killed her, he’d made sure she was left in a dignified position in death. Apparently he’d fancied himself a gentleman. Gabe’s lip curled with disgust.

“I should have closed the briefcase.”

Gabe looked up at Alicia’s words. He hadn’t heard her approach. “What are you doing with this?”

The look on her face was equal parts guilt and determination. “Well, I’d hoped that Cissy would get here before the subject came up, but I’m pretty sure that’s why she called you to come here.”

Connections started forming in his mind, though they made no sense. Brenda’s murder had been solved finally, after twelve years, when his twin brother Jake and Jake’s wife Mariah had put the pieces together that implicated an itinerant mechanic named Victor Logan in Brenda’s murder as well as several other murders in a three-state area. Logan had died in a gas explosion at his home in Buckley, Mississippi, not a month earlier.

Cissy knew Victor Logan had been living in Chickasaw County at the time of her mother’s murder and that he’d kept a scrapbook on the series of murders that had included articles about Brenda’s death as well. She knew why the police believed Logan was her mother’s killer, so why would she have called him all the way here just to dredge up a closed case?

“Brenda’s murder investigation is over,” he said aloud, dropping the file onto the coffee table dismissively. “The killer is dead.”

A knock on the door sent a jolt through his nervous system.

Alicia gave a small start, too. She crossed to the front door and glanced through the peephole. Her tense posture eased and she opened the door to reveal Gabe’s niece Cissy.

Cissy’s green eyes met Gabe’s, first with delight then with a growing sense of dismay as she sensed the tension in the room. “Has something happened?” she asked Alicia.

“He saw the file,” Alicia answered quietly, closing the door behind her.

Cissy pressed her lips into a narrow line. “I wanted to set it up better, but I guess you know why you’re here now.”

Gabe shook his head. “Not really. How about you start telling me why you really dragged me down here?”

Cissy took his hand for a moment, then wrapped her slender arms around him and gave him a tight, fierce hug. “I know you wanted this to all be over. I did, too.” She stepped back, pinning him with the full force of her green-eyed gaze. “But it’s not. Victor Logan didn’t kill my mom.”




Chapter Two


Alicia watched Gabe Cooper’s expression go from puzzled to furious in the span of a second. His gaze whipped up to snare her own, snapping with anger so intense her stomach knotted.

“Did you put this idea in her head?” he asked.

Cissy tugged at his arm. “Alicia can’t make me believe something if I don’t think it’s true. I’m the one who raised the subject with her, not the other way around.”

Gabe turned to his niece, his brow furrowing. “Why? You heard everything Mariah and Jake told us about Logan. You know about the scrapbook—”

“Nobody’s ever tracked down the other guy,” Cissy pointed out. Alicia knew she was referring to a second man the police were looking for in connection to Victor Logan’s death. Cissy had filled her in on everything the Cooper family knew about Logan and the events of the previous month, when Logan had taken Cissy’s Uncle Jake and his wife Mariah captive.

“Jake’s certain the other guy wouldn’t have been more than a teenager when your mother was murdered,” Gabe said, gently stroking his niece’s arm. “I know it doesn’t feel like closure. We never got to face Victor Logan and make him admit what he did, but grasping at straws—”

“They may not be straws,” Alicia interjected.

Gabe’s head snapped toward her. “What is your deal? You’re so desperate for a thesis topic that you’d mess with a young girl’s mind about her mother’s murder?”

“Damn it!” Cissy pulled away from her uncle. “I’m not a baby and Alicia’s not messing with my head. Do you have any idea how insulting you’re being right now?”

Gabe’s expression fell, and he raked his hand through his dark hair, turning away. “I’m sorry.”

Alicia crossed to Cissy’s side, offering a united front. “Cissy had questions about her mother’s murder before she ever stepped foot in my lab. When she found out I was doing my doctoral thesis on a series of unsolved serial murders in the Gulf states, she asked my opinion about her mother’s case.”

The hard muscles of Gabe’s jaws tensed. “My brother and I have both spent the last twelve years looking into every lead that emerged, most of which fell apart. We know a viable suspect when we see one. Victor Logan had the means to do it and the opportunity. And based on his issues with women, we’re confident we have a good idea what motivated him—”

“Why you?” Alicia interrupted, struck by something he’d said a moment earlier. “I mean, I get why Cissy’s father would have devoted his life to finding an answer, but why you?”

Gabe glanced at his niece before answering. “I’m the one who found her body.”

Alicia glanced at Cissy, whose expression was solemn and tinged with sympathy as she gazed up at her uncle. If she found the answer as incomplete as Alicia did, she gave no sign of it.

“I see,” she said, although she didn’t really. Finding the body might have given Gabe a bigger stake in learning what happened to Cissy’s mother, but not enough to spend twelve years following leads long after the case had grown stone-cold.

“I appreciate that you have a paper to write. And I get that having Cissy here is like a case study practically falling into your lap. But all the authorities who’ve ever looked into Brenda’s murder are convinced that Victor Logan is the guy.”

“He’s one of them,” Alicia agreed.

Gabe’s brow furrowed. “One of them?”

“I’ve managed to get my hands on the bulk of the police reports dealing with Victor Logan’s actions from this past April as well as your sister-in-law’s statements about his actions four years ago, when he killed her son’s father.” She felt a ripple of guilt at the look of dismay in Gabe’s eyes, as if he saw her actions as intrusive and presumptuous.

Maybe he was right. Maybe it wasn’t her place. But if her theory was correct, then the nightmare wasn’t over.

More women were going to die.

“Uncle Gabe, please listen to her.” Cissy put her hand on her uncle’s arm. “I didn’t want to believe it, either. I was hoping Alicia would tell me I was imagining things.”

Gabe’s eyes narrowed as he looked from Cissy to Alicia. “I take it you didn’t?”

“Why don’t we sit?” Alicia motioned toward the sofa.

Gabe frowned but sat. Cissy dropped onto the sofa next to him, leaving Alicia to take the ottoman again. She cleared her throat and leaned forward to pick up the folder Gabe had set down just before Cissy arrived.

“Cissy’s been taking criminology courses since last year,” Alicia began, straightening the contents of the file to give her twitchy hands something to do. “One of her courses was Basic Criminal Profiling.”

“I profiled Mom’s murderer as one of my assignments,” Cissy added quietly. “Got an A.”

“I’m sure you probably know that profiling is more an art than a science,” Alicia continued, trying not to react to the raw intensity of Gabe’s gaze, part of her wondering what it would feel like to experience that sort of no-holds-barred focus under more intimate circumstances.

“Understatement,” he murmured.

She slanted a look at him. “Legwork solves more cases. I don’t dispute that.”

“The evidence against Logan was damning,” he said simply. “Why keep asking a question that’s already been answered?”

“Because the one person we can prove Victor killed was a man. A man against whom he had a personal grudge. I read the statements your brother and sister-in-law gave last month after their ordeal with Logan. He used a gun to subdue them, and even then, he wasn’t very good at using it. He’s not the person who shot the game warden—that was the other man.”

“Uncle Gabe, nothing fits, don’t you see?” Cissy turned to Gabe, her expression animated. Alicia watched her warily, aware that the younger woman’s personal stakes in the case put her at risk of getting too wrapped up in the outcome of Alicia’s project. She had to be careful with Cissy, not let her get any more involved than she was already.

Gabe pressed his lips together in consternation. He looked across at Alicia. “How did you get all this material?”

Alicia looked down at her hands, a little embarrassed. “I used to date one of the local cops. He still does favors for me now and then. He talked his bosses into letting me look into some cold cases that might be connected to the other murders.”

“And you sweet-talked them into letting you request records from other law enforcement agencies, right?”

Alicia almost laughed aloud. Sweet talk wasn’t one of her strong suits. Bulldozer was a better description. “Something like that. I used Cissy’s profile, tweaked it with my own observations and put out feelers to other departments to see if they had any cases that fit the profile.”

“What did you find?”

Alicia couldn’t tell if he was interested or just humoring his niece. Either way, it might be her only chance to convince him to listen. She dug through the file for the timeline she’d worked out, speaking as she searched. “I found fifteen murders that I think are connected.”

“That many?” He sounded surprised.

“I’m not sure there aren’t more,” she admitted, finally finding the paper she was looking for. She pulled it from the file and laid it on the table in front of her.

Gabe eyed the paper warily, as if it were about to morph into a cobra or something. Alicia darted a look at Cissy, who returned her gaze with an apologetic shrug.

“I need food,” Gabe said.

Alicia blinked, caught off balance. “I could make something—”

“No, I think I’ll take my niece out to dinner.” Gabe stood, looking down at Cissy.

“Uncle Gabe—”

“I’m not shutting down the conversation,” he said. “Just tabling it until I’ve eaten.”

Cissy stood, lifting her chin. “Alicia, would you like to join us?”

Gabe’s expression was neutral, but Alicia saw the irritation in his blue eyes. She shook her head. “No, not tonight. I’ve got a lot of work to sort through. You two go have fun. We can talk tomorrow.”

Cissy’s lips tightened to a thin line and Alicia could see the family resemblance between her and her uncle. But she didn’t argue, following Gabe to the front door.

“I’ll call you if we don’t get back too late,” Cissy told Alicia firmly. “This isn’t over.”

Alicia closed the door behind them, locking up. She remained by the door a moment, surprised by how empty and large the apartment seemed now that her visitors had left.

Gabe Cooper sure knew how to fill a room with his presence.

She crossed to the sofa and plopped down in the space Gabe had just vacated. The cushion was still warm, and maybe she was just imagining it, but she thought she detected a whiff of testosterone lingering in the air.

She laughed aloud, the sound echoing in the silent apartment. Man, she needed to get out more.

Her laughter faltered a few seconds later, when she heard a furtive scrape coming from the porch outside.

Instantly tense, she grabbed her discarded jacket from the coat tree by the door and pulled the vial of pepper spray from the pocket. It seemed grossly inadequate, but her aluminum bat was in the bedroom, too far away.

There was a window by the front door, which would give her a clear view of the porch, but she couldn’t talk herself into moving the curtains aside and taking a look. She settled for the peephole in the door and its fish-eyed view. She saw no sign of movement outside.

And yet, she heard another set of creaking noises, as if someone was walking around on the wooden porch outside.

Stop it, she told herself, backing away from the door. This isn’t some isolated warehouse and you’re not really alone.

But she held on to the pepper spray anyway.



“I CAN’T BELIEVE HOW RUDE you were.” Cissy kept her voice low, glancing around the restaurant as if she thought her half-whispered rebuke might cause a scene.

Gabe felt a hint of guilt, but it was eclipsed by annoyance at his niece and, more to the point, the pretty little egghead who’d stirred up Cissy’s emotions about her mother’s murder. “I prefer to call it direct,” he answered tightly.

“Call it whatever you want. It was still uncalled for.”

“Know what else is uncalled for? Dragging someone across the state on false pretenses.” Gabe gave Cissy a pointed look.

“They weren’t false. They were…incomplete.”

Gabe fiddled with the salad fork lying beside his water glass. “Victor Logan killed your mother.” Even as he spoke the words aloud, doubt nagged at him, making the back of his neck prickle with unease.

“You don’t sound as convinced here as you did back at Alicia’s place,” Cissy murmured.

“You haven’t mentioned any of this to your dad, have you?”

Cissy looked horrified. “No! I’m not going to him with anything less than hard evidence. He’s been through enough pain over the years trying to find Mom’s killer.”

“So you called me instead.” Not that Cissy could understand just how hard the roller coaster of false leads and dashed hopes had been on him, too. She didn’t know just how intimately he was involved in the disaster of that night, how much blame he had earned with his selfish thoughtlessness.

“You’ve been there for my brother and me, as much as anyone. I knew you’d come if I called.” Cissy looked across the table at him, her expression softening. “I trust your judgment about this particular topic.”

“Except when I disagree with your theories,” he added with an indulgent smile.

She grinned. “Exactly.”

The waitress arrived to take their orders. Cissy had chosen one of the higher-end restaurants in town, although in a place like Millbridge, Alabama, high-end was relative. A snowy linen tablecloth covered the small window-side table where they sat, their seats overlooking a moonlit garden partially obscured by their reflection bouncing back at them on the picture window. The flatware was stainless steel, but clean and shiny, free of nicks and stains.

At least the menu was unpretentious. Home cooking, plenty of options. Gabe selected a steak and vegetable plate, though he wasn’t feeling particularly hungry at the moment, thanks to Cissy’s ambush.

Cissy ordered cheese fries.

“As the apparent stand-in for your father, I have to tell you that cheese fries are almost completely lacking in nutritional value,” he said after the waitress departed.

“Cheese has protein,” she defended. “Besides, I’m feeling strangely in need of comfort food.”

Reaching across the table, he patted her hand. “That’s my fault, isn’t it?”

Her brow wrinkled. “Not everything’s your fault, you know.”

But it was, he thought. More than she realized. “You want to go back there tonight?” he asked. “Finish what we started?”

“Yes,” she answered simply.

“What do you know about this Alicia person, anyway? What’s her deal?”

Cissy gave him an odd look. “Her deal?”

“What made her decide to look into cold cases in the first place?”

“I don’t know, exactly. She was already working on her thesis when I took my first lab with her.”

“What kind of labs does she teach?” When Gabe had been in school, the labs he’d attended were usually limited to either the hard sciences or language classes. Of course, he had pretty much avoided the social sciences like the plague. His major had been marine biology, with a focus on freshwater ecosystems. Gave him a head start on figuring out where to find the bass when he was fishing a tournament.

“She’s helping the head of the psychology department develop research labs for criminal investigations. For instance, she and another grad student, Marlon, are spending a lot of their time working up a set of protocols to quantify the likelihood of a violence-prone individual to escalate to sadistic murder.”

Gabe grimaced. “Tell me you’re not helping with that one.”

“I’m not. You have to be a senior or a grad student to participate.” The waitress arrived with Cissy’s cheese fries, assuring Gabe his steak was on the way. Gabe took notice of her this time. She was tall, on the curvy side, with a wide, smiling mouth and eyes the color of dark chocolate. She didn’t look like Brenda, but there was something about her that reminded Gabe of his sister-in-law.

What little appetite he’d had fled.

“What’s the matter?” Cissy asked after the waitress left.

“Nothing.”

Cissy followed his gaze as he tracked the waitress’ departure. “She’s pretty. A little old for you, though. And I think she was wearing a wedding ring—”

Gabe looked across the table at his niece. “She reminded me of someone.”

“Mom?”

“A little,” he admitted.

“Not that much. She’s just on your mind. She’s on mine, too.” Cissy picked at the plate of cheese fries in front of her, swirling one thin strip of potato in the gooey sauce. “Some days, I barely remember her, and others, it’s like I’m right there, curled up in my bed, listening to her read me a story.” A hint of a smile curved her pink lips. “Our favorite was Sam, Bangs and Moonshine. So mysterious and adventurous. A good lesson about the consequences of lies, too.”

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You shouldn’t have had to go through life without your mama.” I shouldn’t have let it happen, he added silently.

Cissy pushed her plate of cheese fries across the table, an unconscious echo of her mother’s habit of offering comfort through the distraction of food. In a family that included five active males under the age of thirty at the time, it had often proved a successful ploy. “I know this may seem like a long shot to you—”

“I just don’t know if your father can bear another let-down.” Gabe gently pushed the plate back toward her. “I don’t know if I can.”

“You may have to.” Cissy met his gaze directly, her expression deadly serious. Gabe realized, in that instant, that his little niece had grown up without his realizing it. How had that happened?

“Why’s that?” he asked aloud.

Cissy leaned forward, lowering her voice. “Because the murders are still happening.”



THE MOON EMERGED FROM BEHIND a wispy cloud, casting a pale blue glow across the front lawn of the Bellewood Manor Apartments. The real estate website was right—it did look like history come to life. He could almost imagine a parade of silly Southern belles strolling along the length of the porch, flirting and flitting and behaving generally like the weak little sheep they were.

He was safely across the street now, hidden by the limber fronds of a willow tree. He’d taken a chance earlier, walking right up to her front door. He’d been careful to stay out of range of the security peephole, though she would have seen him easily enough had she looked out the window.

But she wouldn’t look. For all her hardheaded determination to solve the mystery she’d uncovered, Alicia Solano was scared. Scared she fit the victim profile.

Scared she would be next.

Well, she did fit the profile. She was a curvy brunette with a strong, independent streak just screaming for a take down. Hell, sometimes, he wanted to do it himself.

But that wasn’t his job. He was the scout, not the hunter. That was Alex’s job.

And Alex didn’t take foolish chances.

Alicia wouldn’t be the next victim. Not here, surrounded by people who could hear or see something and share it with the cops. The next victim worked at a convenience store on Route 7, a cashier who could go a whole six-hour evening shift without seeing a soul now that the bypass to the interstate was completed, diverting traffic away from the dying store.

She would close up at eleven, no doubt relieved to be done with the mind-numbing shift. Her only thought would be of heading home, her mind already full of the things she had to do before she could finally go to bed and get a well-earned night of sleep before dragging herself to her first morning class.

Useless ponderings, of course. She’d never make it to bed.

She’d never even make it out of the store.

By midnight, she’d be dead.




Chapter Three


She heard footsteps on the front porch.

Alicia looked up from the files spread out in front of her, reaching for the aluminum softball bat she’d fetched from the bedroom. Unlike the previous time, these steps were swift and strong. Two sets, moving at a determined pace.

She rose, her heart pounding. She tightened her grip on the bat until her fingers ached.

The steps were almost at her door.

Stop. Just stop. You live in an apartment building, you hyper-excitable idiot. This isn’t where he does his work.

She put the bat down beside the sofa and forced her feet toward the front door, looking through the security peephole. Her body buzzed with relief at the sight of Gabe Cooper’s impossibly broad shoulders and stubborn chin distorted by the fish-eye lens.

She waited for his knock before opening the door. He blinked, as if surprised by her quick response.

“Is it all right that we’re back?” he asked, not bothering with any sort of customary greeting.

They weren’t friends, she reminded herself, nor likely to be. This was business.

“Of course.” She backed up, letting him and Cissy inside.

Gabe crossed to the sofa and stopped, looking down at the bat and back up at her. “Worried about intruders?”

Alicia grabbed the bat. “Just seeing if I still have my home run swing,” she joked, not wanting him to know how spooked she’d been only moments earlier.

“Cissy told me about the two new murders.” Gabe sat on the sofa and gave her a look of pure, stubborn-male challenge. “I’d like to know why you think they’re connected to Brenda’s.”

Alicia felt her own bulldog side snapping inside her head, but she held the beast back as she set the bat carefully aside and sat on the ottoman. Cissy stayed a little apart from the fray, her arms crossed and her gaze watchful. She’d done her part, getting Gabe here to talk to Alicia. But she clearly wasn’t going to take Alicia’s side against her uncle.

Like Gabe before her, Alicia didn’t bother with a preamble. “On January 22nd of this year, a coed named Meredith Linden was working at a television repair shop in Blicksville, about ten miles from here. She did their books, reconciled receipts, that sort of thing, and because she was attending college during the day, she worked at night. She lived off campus in an apartment by herself, so nobody noticed she didn’t come home. The owners of the repair shop found her body the next morning. She’d been raped, then stabbed several times, laid on her back and left to die. No fingerprints left, no DNA from the rape.”

Gabe met her gaze, unflinching. “Next?”

She felt herself grinding her back teeth. Forcing her jaw to relax, she continued. “On March 12th, Addison Moore was cleaning a small office in Pekoe, out near the railroad tracks. Also a college student, also going to school by day and cleaning at night after the business closed and her classes ended. Her roommate got worried when she didn’t show up at ten, as she usually did. She found Addison’s body in the first floor lobby, stabbed several times and positioned on her back.”

Alicia sat back, glancing from Gabe to Cissy, who gave a small shrug. She looked back at Gabe, who was watching her with slightly narrowed eyes.

“Two dead coeds in similar crime scenes and similar circumstances in the same town is possibly a sign you have a serial killer working here,” Gabe conceded, his jaw set in concrete. Alicia could see a spark of triumph in his eyes, as if he’d just proved to himself that his instincts were right, that these recent murders weren’t connected to Brenda Cooper’s death or the slayings of the other women chronicled in Victor Logan’s barbecued scrapbook.

She was pretty sure she knew why Gabe had dismissed her presentation as irrelevant, but she pressed him on the question anyway. “What about the similarities in the killer’s M.O.?”

“Ms. Solano, your two coeds have to be a good four or five years younger than any of Victor Logan’s victims. Victims in their mid-to late twenties are clearly part of Logan’s signature. M.O.s change. Signatures don’t. I’d think someone doing her dissertation on serial killers would know that already.”

She ignored the mild condescension, because she had him exactly where she wanted him. “They weren’t four or five years younger. Meredith Linden was twenty-eight. Addison Moore was twenty-nine. Both brunettes, just like the other victims. Curvy women, like the others.”

Gabe’s eyes shifted, his gaze dropping to her body as if searching for her own curves. They were camouflaged by the plain skirt and loose-fitting blouse she’d chosen from her closet this morning, but she could tell he was seeing beyond the shapeless clothing and picturing what lay below.

“Now do you understand?” Cissy asked her uncle.

He looked at her, his brow wrinkled. “There’s never been any evidence in Brenda’s murder that would suggest a second killer, Cissy. Evidence matters, too.”

“There aren’t two killers,” Alicia said. “Just one.”

Gabe swung his puzzled gaze her way. “You said you thought Victor was one of the killers.”

“He’s not one of the killers. Just one of the people involved.” Alicia could see his skepticism growing. “Look, Cissy says you’re a deputy, so I know you probably know this—sometimes there are serial killer pairs. Some of the time they both kill, but sometimes, the weaker of the two—the beta—only aids the killer by doing things like taking care of his kit or acting as a lookout. And sometimes, they just help the killer stalk the victims to pick the right time to strike. I think that was the case for Victor Logan. And I think now our killer has a new wingman.”

“Interesting theory.” He cut his eyes toward his niece. “Not one I find particularly plausible, but—”

“I don’t need you to believe it,” Alicia conceded grudgingly, although a little openness to hearing her theories would have been nice. “I just need—”

“Yeah, that’s another thing I’ve been wondering,” Gabe interrupted. “What do you need me for? Cissy probably knows everything I know about the murders. Maybe more, since she’s apparently been making them a subject of study.”

Alicia looked up at Cissy, an apology in her eyes. “Cissy doesn’t know what it was like to find Brenda’s body. You do. And that’s why I need to talk to you.”

Gabe shook his head quickly. “I’m not rehashing all of that with you. Certainly not with Cissy here.”

“I’ve read your statement to the Chickasaw County deputies,” Cissy said.

He looked up at his niece, his expression wary. “It’s not the same as hearing it.”

“Actually, what I’m hoping we can do is go a step beyond your statement,” Alicia said, her stomach tightening into a fist-sized knot. What she was going to suggest was invasive under the best of circumstances, and this definitely wasn’t the best of circumstances. “I think we should try hypnotic regression.”

Gabe’s hard gaze whipped around to flood her with molten fury. “You’re nuts.”

“Uncle Gabe—” Cissy warned.

Gabe pushed to his feet. “You want to play some sort of mind game with me so you can make a nice score on your paper? Too bad. I’m not playing. I’m done here.” He moved around the coffee table and strode angrily toward the door.

Cissy caught up with him before Alicia. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I know it’s not something a lot of people are comfortable taking part in—”

Gabe interrupted with a hard laugh. “I hope you and Ms. Solano find what you’re looking for. I really do. But you’re going to have to count me out.”

Alicia caught Cissy’s arm when she was about to argue further. “Thank you for hearing me out,” she said sincerely. It was more than she’d had a right to hope for. “I’m sure Cissy will be in touch if we find anything new your brother needs to know about. And if you think of anything, here’s my card.” She pulled one of her business cards from the desk near the door, handing it to Gabe.

He tucked it into his pocket.

Alicia unlocked the front door and opened it for him. “Thank you,” she said again.

“I’ll walk you to the truck,” Cissy suggested.

Gabe turned to look at her, his brow furrowed. “No. You go home, lock the doors and be safe. I may not think your mother’s killer is still at work around here, but someone is. You be careful.” To Alicia’s surprise, Gabe’s blistering blue gaze turned to meet hers, softening as he dropped his voice a tone. “You, too.” His eyes dropped, taking in her well-camouflaged figure as if he could see right through her clothes.

Heat rose in her cheeks. “Will do.”

Then he was gone, broad shoulders and long legs disappearing into the darkening night.

“I’m sorry,” Cissy murmured. “I guess I knew it would be a long shot.”

Alicia gave the taller girl a hug. “He’s right, though. Go home. Get some sleep. Lock your doors.”

She watched until Cissy was safely inside the apartment two doors down, then stepped back into her own place and locked the doors behind her.

Gabe Cooper had looked her over. More than once. So he’d seen it, too. The obvious.

She walked slowly into her bedroom and unbuttoned her blouse, letting the garment slide to her feet. Next came the skirt, left where it lay as she crossed to her closet door and looked at her reflection in the full-length mirror bolted to the door. Her dark eyes stared back, wide with the anxiety she tried to hide from the world.

The woman in the mirror had full breasts and wide hips that even her shapeless clothing couldn’t completely hide, courtesy of her father’s side of the family. Three times a week at the gym gave her muscles beneath the flesh, but it couldn’t change her DNA. She was a curvy woman.

And she perfectly fit the killer’s profile.



GABE TURNED UP THE RADIO as Lynyrd Skynyrd’s “Simple Man” came on. Like a lot of classic rock stations in the South, on this station, southern fried rock got a lot of air-play, and Skynyrd was one of Gabe’s favorites.

He sang along under his breath as he navigated the winding curves of Route 7. The two-lane county road undulated northeast, away from downtown Millbridge and the Mill Valley University campus and out toward the rural wilds that encroached the town on all sides.

He’d taken a room at a small budget motel situated on the county road near the delineation between town and country, somehow leery of staying closer to campus, where the relentless beat of a college town’s energy might pose too dark a reminder of his own youthful follies.

But after the night he’d just spent dealing with his stubborn niece and her even more bullheaded teacher, he sort of regretted the miles still standing between him and a long, hot shower and a good night’s sleep.

He should have known Cissy was up to something. His niece was a sweet girl, but she had taken to college life like a hound dog to a ’possum chase, reveling in her freedom and the responsibilities that came with being on her own. No way she’d have invited a visit from her uncle unless she wanted something more than just a friendly ear and a free dinner.

Not that it mattered. He’d do anything his niece asked. It was the least he owed her. His selfish inattention had led to Cissy and her brother Mike spending the last twelve years motherless. If Gabe had arrived at the trucking company on time, he might have stopped Victor Logan. Then, not only would Brenda be alive, but God knew how many other women Logan had killed might be with their families as well.

All because he’d wanted to have a beer and a game of pool with an old high school friend.

As the song on the radio changed to something slow and bluesy, Gabe’s cell phone buzzed. He glanced at the display. It was Cissy.

He turned down the radio and answered. “Hey, Cissy. What’s up?”

“I just wanted to talk to you before I go to bed. I know you’re mad at me—”

“I’m not mad.”

“You should be. I should have told you everything up front instead of dragging you here for the ambush.”

“I wouldn’t have come if you hadn’t set up the ambush,” he admitted, spotting the Route 7 Motor Lodge sign glowing faintly orange in the distance.

“I know, but it wasn’t fair of me to do it anyway.”

“Well, no harm done. Maybe I’ll get a little fishing done in the area before I leave tomorrow. That’ll be worth it.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “What say you cut some classes and come fishing with your Uncle Gabe, just like old times?”

Cissy’s laugh was damp with emotion. “Not this time. End of year exams coming, you know.”

“Yeah, you’re your daddy’s daughter,” he teased gently. “Little Miss Responsible.”

My opposite, he added mentally, his smile fading.

He had almost reached the motel. “Well, you get a good night’s sleep and kick butt tomorrow in class.”

Cissy giggled. “Will do.” She hung up.

Gabe disconnected and laid the phone on the seat beside him. He was only a few yards from the motel parking lot entrance, but he found his foot remaining settled over the accelerator. He passed the motel and kept going.

He checked the dashboard clock. Almost eleven. As he was driving in earlier today, he’d noticed a convenience store sitting all by itself on the side of Route 7. It wouldn’t close before eleven, would it? He could grab some snacks to get him through the night, since his barely-touched dinner was a distant memory.

Past the motel, he was solidly into wilderness, hemmed by trees on either side and ahead of him as far as the eye could see. He’d passed few vehicles on the road at this time of night, so the sudden glare of headlights coming around a curve ahead made him wince. The other driver dropped his bright lights. Gabe did the same and they passed on the narrow road.

With an empty road ahead, Gabe put the headlights on bright again, driving some of the shadows to the edges of the road. He drove about a half mile further along the winding rural road before the lights of the Stiller’s Food and Fuel came into view.

There was only one car parked at the convenience store, a small Honda Civic that had seen better years. It was parked around the side. Probably belonged to the clerk inside.

He parked in front and pocketed his keys and cell phone. As he opened the door, a bell jingled, announcing his arrival. But nobody stood at the counter, nor did anyone come running at the sound of the bell. Curious, but not alarmed, Gabe grabbed a shopping basket and headed down the snack aisle to contemplate his choices.

Beef jerky, smoked almonds, packs of string cheese from the refrigerator section—he threw all of these into the blue plastic basket. He debated the barbecue pork rinds for a moment before tossing them into the basket as well. He bypassed beer and soft drinks and went straight to the juices—apple, grape and orange juice went into the basket.

He spotted a fishing magazine on a rack near the front and picked it up. He had this issue at home but hadn’t had a chance to read it. If the night got long, he could fill the time with this, he decided, topping off the basket with the magazine.

The cashier’s desk remained empty as he approached. He looked around, wondering if he’d just missed someone stocking shelves somewhere else in the store. But he saw no one.

“Hello?” His voice seemed to echo in the empty store.

He glanced back at the door. The “Closed” sign faced him, so the “Open” sign was still facing the outside.

“Hello?” he called again.

The silence that answered seemed to swallow him whole.

He set the basket on the counter and leaned over to look behind it. There was no one lying injured or dead behind it. But a strange, sinking sensation in Gabe’s belly made him keep looking.

There was a back room behind the counter; Gabe could see the door to it standing barely ajar down past the cigarette kiosk. The back room was accessible only from behind the counter, and the counter was walled off with a latched door that wouldn’t budge when Gabe tried to open it.

It wasn’t tall enough to pose an obstacle, however. He jumped over the door and landed behind the counter, a few feet from the back room door.

Hair prickled wildly on the back of his neck, but he forced himself forward. “Hello?” he called again, giving the unlatched door a light push. It swung open with a loud, groaning creak.

The light was off in the back room, hiding most of the area from Gabe’s view. He felt along the wall until he located a switch and gave it a flick.

Yellow light from a single bald bulb filled the room with a muddy glow, revealing what the shadows had hidden.

A woman lay on the floor, her legs stretched out and her hands flat on the floor by her side. Her clothes were neatly in place and her eyes were closed. But across her belly, a series of bloody puncture wounds marred the pale gray of her blouse.

For a second, Gabe was no longer in the middle of a convenience store back room. Instead he was in the woods of Chickasaw County, only a few yards from the trucking company where Brenda had worked, staring down at the bloodstained body of his sister-in-law.

He forced himself to touch the store clerk’s throat to check for a pulse, knowing what he’d find as surely as he knew his own name.

This killer wasn’t going to leave behind a live victim. He never had before.

Gabe pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed 911.

Then he pulled out the card still resting in his back pocket. The one Alicia Solano had handed him before she let him out of her apartment.

Alicia answered on the third ring, her voice raspy and alarmed.

“It’s Gabe Cooper,” he said tersely, not bothering with small talk, since he knew she wouldn’t want it. “There’s been another murder.”

“What?” She sounded more awake now, and over the phone, he heard the rustle of fabric, as if she were throwing on a robe. Gabe was tempted to let himself dwell on the picture that rose to mind at that thought, if only to drive out the sight of the dead woman lying at his feet.

He’d give almost anything to get that image out of his head.

“I stopped at a convenience store on Route 7—Stiller’s Food and Fuel,” he said aloud. “Nobody came to ring me up, so I looked for the cashier. I found her in a back room. Dead. It’s the same guy, Alicia.”

“As the other two coed murders?” she asked carefully.

“As all of them,” he answered, his gaze drawn back to the murderer’s handiwork. “All of Victor Logan’s murders. Or the ones he helped facilitate,” he added, giving in to the probability that Alicia’s theory was right. “Alicia, this guy’s still killing. And you’re right. We have to stop him.”




Chapter Four


It was almost two o’clock in the morning before Gabe Cooper knocked on Alicia’s door. She’d spent the hours since his call on her sofa, certain she’d be unable to sleep. But the long day at work and her stressful evening had taken a toll on her stamina. Gabe’s knock woke her from a dead sleep.

She pushed to a sitting position on the sofa where she’d nodded off, taking a second to gain control over her jangling nerves. Tightening her robe over the shorts and tank top she wore as pajamas, she pushed to her feet. After a quick check of the peephole, she unlocked the door and let Gabe inside.

He looked haggard and apologetic. “I should have just gone back to the motel instead. It’s so late—”

She took his arm and led him to the sofa. “No, I want to hear everything you want to tell me. I guess you’ve been with the cops?”

Gabe’s hair already looked as if he’d spent the last few hours running his hands through it. Another pass didn’t do anything to improve its disheveled state. “Yeah. They had a lot of questions.”

She hadn’t even considered they might think him a suspect. “They didn’t arrest you or anything, did they?”

“No. They called my brother Aaron, who’s a deputy sheriff back home. He vouched for me. That seemed to be good enough for the locals.”

“This is so weird. Your just dropping by that particular convenience store at that particular time—”

“Yeah, I think the cops were pretty struck by that, too. But it’s less than a mile up the road from my motel, and I hadn’t eaten much dinner, so I went to stock up on some snacks.” Gabe grimaced. “Not really that hungry anymore.”

Her chest ached with sympathy. He looked so tired. “You know, maybe what you really need is sleep. We can talk about this tomorrow—”

Gabe shook his head. “It’s fresh in my head now. Best time to discuss it.”

“Okay. How do you want to start? Just tell me what happened, start to finish? Or skip to the details?”

“Nothing really happened—I went to the store, shopped for the food, and by the time I got to the counter, nobody had responded to the bell over the door that rang when I arrived.” Gabe’s blue eyes met hers suddenly. “Can I have some water?”

“Of course.” Alicia kicked herself mentally for not offering something when he first arrived. She found a large glass and filled it with water, adding extra ice because she’d seen the way he’d eyed the glass earlier that evening with a mixture of amusement and mild disappointment. Southerners seemed to like an inordinate amount of ice in their beverages.

He took the glass from her. “Extra ice,” he murmured, a small smile curving the edges of his mouth.

She smiled back. “I guess you earned it.”

He cradled the glass between his large hands. “It was so quiet. I called out, thinking maybe the clerk was in the back and hadn’t heard the bell, but there was no answer.”

“So you went into the back?”

He nodded. “The back room was dark, but I could feel her. When I turned on the light, I knew exactly what I’d see.”

The haggard look in his eyes when he lifted his gaze to meet hers made her breath catch. She reached across and covered his hand with her own.

He looked down at her hand, slowly turning his own until his palm touched hers. “I know you told me the signatures were similar, but when I saw her lying there—” He broke off, seeming unable to find the words.

She waited in silence, realizing Gabe Cooper was dealing with a lot more than just finding a dead body this evening. He’d found Brenda Cooper’s body, too. He’d been younger than Alicia was now, no more than twenty-one or twenty-two. It might well have been the first time he’d ever seen a dead body outside a funeral home. And now, it had happened again.

Gabe cleared his throat, finally, and finished his thought. “It was like finding Brenda’s body all over again. The pose, the wounds, the woman’s shape and overall looks.” His gaze slanted toward her. “You fit the profile, Alicia. You have to know that.”

She nodded.

“You have to be really careful, do you understand?”

“I know,” she agreed. She’d thought of little else since she’d first realized just how much she looked like the previous two victims and, if Gabe’s reaction were anything to go by, the third victim as well. “Did you get a name for the victim?”

“Melanie Phelps.”

Alicia gave a small start. Melanie Phelps was in one of her psych classes. “I know her. About twenty-seven, shoulder-length dark brown hair, brown eyes—”

Gabe nodded. “This guy is a lot more specific than I ever really gave him credit for being.”

“How would you have known?” she asked sensibly. “You knew about Brenda, and after the fact, you learned about the other women in Mississippi and Alabama, but with the scrapbook practically destroyed, you couldn’t have tracked those people down and made the connections.”

“How did you do it?” Gabe asked, waving his hand at the folder still lying on her coffee table. “You’ve already connected these murders to previous murders, including Brenda’s. How’d you even know where to look?”

She listened for any hint of suspicion or skepticism in Gabe’s voice, but all she heard was curiosity. “It started with a favor I was doing for a friend. He’s a police officer, and he’d been the first officer on the scene at Meredith Linden’s murder—the one at the TV repair shop in Blicksville. Anyway, he went to college in Livingston, and there was a case there that had been a big deal in town, and Tony—my friend—thought Meredith Linden’s case sounded suspiciously similar.”

“So he asked you to work your profiling mojo?”

She bit back a smile. “Something like that. I went with the premise that there had to be other similar murders, unsolved, since the guy was still killing. I started gathering information on unsolved murders in Alabama and Mississippi. Anyway, sometime last month, Cissy came to me—she’d heard about my side project, since by then I was thinking seriously about making it the topic of my dissertation, and I wasn’t exactly being secretive about it. She told me about Victor Logan and his scrapbook.”

“And Brenda’s murder?”

She nodded. “The M.O. was so similar—curvy, dark-haired, dark-eyed woman in her mid-to late twenties, working alone late at night in a secluded area. Raped, then stabbed to death.” She held back a shudder. “I started searching through cold cases for that victim profile, making a list of possible victims based on characteristics the killer might find appealing—body shape, hair color, eye color, type of job—that sort of thing.”

“The convenience store was in the middle of nowhere,” Gabe said quietly. “Melanie Phelps could have gone her whole shift without seeing anyone. Just like Brenda.”

Alicia nodded, not missing the bleak tone of his voice. He’d clearly taken his sister-in-law’s murder hard. She wondered if there was more to it than his being the person who found her. “Did the police get anything from the security tape at the convenience store?” she asked aloud.

Gabe released a soft huff of grim laughter. “All the tapes were missing. The guy apparently knew what to look for and covered his tracks.”

Alicia grimaced. “He’s been at it a long time. He’s probably only getting better at it as he goes.”

“You know what? I shouldn’t have come here. I gave the police a statement. It’s probably going to be more accurate than anything that I can come up with right now.” Rubbing his temples, Gabe stood. “I should just go back to the motel and let you get some sleep. I can ask to see my statement tomorrow and refresh my memory then.”

Alicia caught him as he started toward the door. “Wait. Don’t go.”

He stopped and looked down, towering over her. The room around them seemed to close in on all sides, heat roiling the air between them. Alicia dropped her hand away from his arm, but her fingers still tingled from the feel of his sinewy muscles beneath her fingertips.

“What?” he asked, his voice little more than a murmur.

“You can take my bed. I’ll sleep on the sofa.”

His eyes narrowed slightly at her blurted offer, and her cheeks grew hot with embarrassment. Had she really just invited a stranger to stay the night?

“I think the killer’s probably through for the night. You should be safe,” Gabe said.

She was tempted to latch onto the easy out he’d just given her, but that wasn’t really why she’d asked him to stay. Sure, having him around would make her feel exponentially less vulnerable, but so would a German shepherd.

“That’s not what I mean,” she said, stepping away from him to try to regain her focus. “I just—you came here because of me, and you’ve had a rough night because of me. The least I can do is give you somewhere homey and nice to stay instead of some Route 7 motel room.”

“The motel’s not so bad,” he said. But she could tell the words were perfunctory.

She turned back to look at him. “I make a mean omelet.”

His lips curved. “Now you’re playing dirty.”

“And, okay,” she admitted, “I would feel a little safer if someone else was here tonight.”

He laid one large hand on her shoulder, the touch gentle and undemanding. Still, the flesh beneath her robe tingled and burned as if he’d caressed her. “I’ll take the sofa.”

She eyed the brightly colored sofa warily, feeling a little guilty at the idea of his spending the night hunched up there, trying to make his long limbs fit. “It’s not very big.”

“It’ll do.” He dropped his hand away from her shoulder and sat on the sofa, hunching forward to rub his face. His palms swished audibly against the rough patch of beard growth shadowing his jaw. “I’m keeping you up. You probably have classes in the morning or something.”

“I have a lab at eleven,” she answered softly, surprised by how much willpower it was taking not to snuggle up next to him on the sofa. Where had this sudden susceptibility to big biceps and sexy blue eyes come from?

She was a career woman. Dating was a sporadic thing for her, worked in around classes and studies. She’d tried dating entirely outside the criminology pool, which ended in disaster. Then she’d tried dating a cop—not quite a disaster, but no happy ending there, either. She couldn’t give the time or attention required to nurture a long-term relationship.

Recently, she’d stopped trying.

“Why criminology?” Gabe’s voice rumbled into the middle of her musings. She found him looking up at her, curiosity tinting his blue eyes with hints of smoky gray.

“Why not?” she countered lightly, not sure she really wanted to get into the whole sordid Solano family saga at this time of night.

“My brother Aaron became a deputy after he was arrested for toilet-papering a neighbor’s house,” Gabe answered, leaning back and threading his fingers together behind his head. “Well, not immediately after. In between, he blew out his knee, ending a promising college and maybe pro football career. That might have had something to do with it, too.”

“Probably.” She dropped to the ottoman, trying not to stare too obviously at the lovely things his taut chest muscles were doing to the front of his gray polo shirt. What had they been talking about? Oh, right—criminology and why she’d chosen it as a career. She squelched the urge to fan her hot cheeks.

“My brother-in-law, Riley, became a cop because he didn’t want to be a rancher, so when his best friend became a cop, Riley figured, why not?” Gabe’s eyes narrowed slightly, watching her through the space between his ridiculously long, dark lashes. “Which brings me back to you. How did a nice girl from San Francisco end up in Millbridge, Alabama, investigating murders in the first place?”

She smiled down at him. “It’s a long story, and we both need a little sleep. So how about this? I go get you a pillow and a blanket, and in the morning, over that omelet I promised, I’ll tell you the story of Alicia Solano, girl detective. Sound like a plan?”

The sleepy-eyed look he gave her almost made her knees buckle. For a second, any thought beyond dragging him back to her bedroom with her fled her mind. But she managed to get a grip on her hormones before she did something stupid and headed out of the room in search of bedding.

In the hall closet she found a spare pillow and a thin cotton blanket which should offer just enough cover in this warm climate. She pulled them out and held them tightly against the front of her robe, taking a couple of bracing breaths before she returned to the living room.

Okay, add “sexy Southern men” to the list of “things that make Alicia lose her head and behave like a blithering idiot,” she thought. Not that any of the other men around here had ever had quite such a potent effect on her equilibrium before.

He wasn’t even her type. He had to be in his mid-thirties, putting him nearly a decade older than she was. She’d never been one to find older men particularly attractive.

Yeah, but those older men didn’t look like Gabe Cooper, chica.

She took no small amount of pride in the steadiness of her gait as she took the bedding back into the living room. Gabe was in the kitchen, refilling his glass of water. He’d stripped off the polo shirt he’d been wearing earlier, revealing a plain white T-shirt beneath.

Alicia held back a whimper when he came around the kitchen counter into the living room, revealing just how tightly the soft cotton hugged his muscular arms and shoulders. She dropped the bedding on the sofa and retreated to the kitchen for her own glass of water.

She gulped it down greedily, keeping her back to the living room. She ventured a quick glance over her shoulder. “Do you need another pillow or a heavier blanket?”

“No, this will be fine.” Gabe’s muscles flexed as he unfolded the blanket and laid it over the back of the sofa.

By the time Alicia returned to the living room, he was sitting on the sofa with one boot off, busily untying the string of the other boot. “When I was a kid, we used to go camping in the woods up on Gossamer Ridge—it’s the mountain behind our house. I have five brothers and a sister, and the whole crew would go—even Hannah, who was the baby.” He grinned up at her, clearly caught up in the memory, and Alicia sank to the ottoman before her legs gave out on her.

“Big family, huh?” Her voice sounded faint and raspy, but if Gabe noticed, he gave no sign.

“Yeah, and getting bigger all the time. Aaron’s getting married next month, and Luke and Abby just found out she’s expecting. There’ll be Coopers running all over Gossamer Ridge for generations to come. I reckon most of them will go camping during the summers, too.” He waved at the sofa beneath him. “Won’t have a bed quite this comfortable, though.”

“You’re just saying that to make me feel like less of a hostess failure.”

He grinned at her, and her legs went gelid. “Did you ever go camping? There are some great places near San Francisco for hiking and camping.”

She laughed aloud at the thought. “My parents were about as far from the camping type as you get. We spent our spare time at museums, libraries and rallies.”

“Well, that can be fun, too,” he murmured, kicking off his other shoe. She couldn’t tell whether he was sincere or just humoring her.

“Sure, but a little camping might have been fun once in a while,” she grumbled. “Just for variety.”

“Tell you what. Next time you and Cissy have a break at school, get her to take you up to Gossamer Ridge and I’ll see how many Coopers we can gather together for a camping trip.” He stripped off his socks and folded them on top of the polo shirt sitting on the coffee table. “Maybe we’ll even take you on the haunted hike.”

She could tell by his tone of voice that he was enticing her into asking the obvious question. But as much as she wanted to know exactly what a haunted hike was, she resisted. Despite her later class schedule, she still wanted to get up early and do some more work on her thesis. And Gabe looked as if he’d just run a marathon uphill. They both needed sleep.

“I might take you up on that if I ever finish my thesis.” She stood, flattening her robe where it had bunched from sitting. “But for now, I have plans to work in the morning before my classes, and you can certainly use a little sleep—”

“Wait.” Gabe’s hand snaked out to circle her wrist. Almost instantly, her whole arm went tingly and hot. “You said you think I should try hypnotic regression, to remember more about what happened the night of Brenda’s murder. I think it’s worth a shot. Do you know anyone here who could do it? Maybe set me up with someone—”

“Actually, I’m a licensed hypnotherapist,” she answered, forcing her voice past the growing lump in her throat. “I could do it.”

“You?” His eyes narrowing, he released her arm. She tucked her wrist against her belly, resisting the urge to rub the burning skin where he’d touched her.

“After I got my masters in psychology, I did the course work necessary to earn my license. I thought it might be a handy skill if I continued with my criminology work.”

He gazed up at her, bemused. “Just how old are you, anyway?”

She lifted her chin. “Twenty-five.”




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