The Prey

He pulled her tightly to him. “What? Tell me.”

“I-I can’t.” Her voice came out a croak.

He turned her face to his, searching her eyes, her mouth, the worry lines on her forehead. Her lips quivered. He desperately wanted to kiss her, to show her that he could protect her, that he would always be here for her.

He couldn’t kiss her. She was too vulnerable, too needy. But damn, he wanted to taste those quivering red lips, soothe the pain on her face. If only she would let him in.

She was out of his arms so fast he almost didn’t feel her push off of him. “Michael, this isn’t a good idea.”

She had sensed their co

“Rowan, I can wait.” Damn, that was hard to say. He didn’t want to wait. He wanted to be with her completely, entirely, right now. But he wasn’t going to make the same mistakes he’d made before.

He swallowed and watched her face for some of the passion he hoped simmered under her skin. He didn’t see anything, but she was an expert at hiding her emotions. Surely she felt the tug at her heart as it-fate-tugged at his.

Again, the doorbell rang.

“Shit,” Michael muttered as he strode to the door.

Rowan sighed in relief as she turned from Michael. She purposefully made her way to the dining room table. She liked Michael and was begi

And she liked Michael too much to lead him into believing something about her that just wasn’t true. He’d proven to be competent, giving her both the space and support she needed.

She picked up her coffee mug, averting her eyes from the box. Her hand shook. She willed for all of this to stop. She would not fall apart. Never again.

She heard Qui

“There’s been another murder. Where’s Rowan?”

Rowan almost dropped the mug, then carefully placed it on the table before sinking into a chair. Closing her eyes, she swallowed hard. Another murder. The pigtails. She hadn’t written about any of her villains taking hair from a victim, but she knew this was related to her.

He so desperately wanted to hurt her.

“I don’t think-” Michael began. Rowan opened her eyes. Qui

Qui

Colleen nodded her hello and Rowan returned the gesture, then turned to Qui

“Who’d he kill?” she asked.

“Divorced mother and two daughters,” Qui

“Portland. Harper. Crime of Clarity.” She closed her eyes, still seeing the pigtails in her mind. “Get an evidence bag.”

“What’s going on?” Michael asked.

“One of the victims was a five-year-old girl who appeared to have her hair cut. Brunette,” Qui

“Another copycat crime.”

Qui

“But you’re sure this is the same person?” Rowan asked, even though there was no doubt in her mind.

“Left your book at the scene,” Qui

Qui

Rowan’s book. Rowan’s fault. She closed her eyes and put her head in her hands, willing herself to keep it together. She knew the killer had intentionally deviated from the book because he knew about her past. And somehow she was sure he was going to kill her when he was done destroying her.

Who was this bastard? Who knew about Dani? She didn’t believe in coincidences. He had to know about her little sister.

But no one knew Dani had been murdered.

Something clicked. What she’d been thinking about the Franklin murders the other night. That little girl was a brunette, too. It was seeing her butchered in her bed, with the dark pigtails, that had forced Rowan to turn in her shield.

Another co

“Qui

“You didn’t work that case,” Qui

She resisted the urge to clam up. She hated having to bring up her weakness again to be examined for the world to see. “It was my last case. I did the initial walk-through. Then I quit.”

Both Michael and Qui

She forced herself to stand straight, keep her hands loose in front of her on the table. Avoided fidgeting with her coffee mug. She didn’t know if she had the strength to fight this unknown evil, but damn if she was going to show her weakness to the rest of the world.

“We’ll get the hair down to the lab and process it to confirm that it’s from the victim,” Qui

He was coming after her. She knew it. If the police or FBI didn’t catch him first, he would come after her. The weight of the Franklin murders rested heavily on her heart. If she hadn’t quit the Bureau four years ago, would something have changed? If she had ridden the case out like the good law enforcement soldier she’d been trained to be, putting all her personal baggage aside, would there have been a different outcome? She didn’t know, and not knowing added to the weight on her already heavy conscience.

So much death in her life. Maybe her own death would finally set her free.

“There will be one more,” Rowan said, her voice cracking. The killer had picked one murder from each of her three books. Were they random? Or did they hold special significance for the killer? She cleared her throat. “Crime of Corruption. There were seven murders in that book. Can you do anything to get the word out? There are seven women in jeopardy.” She picked up her coffee and sipped. It was cold, but she needed something to do with her hands.

“We’re on it,” Qui

Rowan slammed her coffee mug so hard on the table it cracked. The rage she’d focused inside, on the unknown killer, she now turned on Qui