Cry Wolf

"I'll do that."

The afternoon passed like a year in prison. Laurel lay on the bed, her body begging for rest, her mind too overloaded and too exhausted to handle all the information it was trying to process. She forced herself to eat and struggled to keep the meal down as her thoughts dwelled on murder and broken trust. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Danjermond. Too handsome, his features too perfect, his smile too symmetrical. Green eyes glowing into hers in a way that seemed not quite human.

But then, if he was what she thought he was, the word "human" didn't really apply. If he had done the things she suspected he had done, then he had no soul, no conscience, and that made him an animal. The most cu

Needing facts, she paged through back issues of the Lafayette Daily Advertiser she had dug out of the recycling stacks in the garage, and read and reread everything she could find on the Bayou Strangler case. But the stories were thin compared with the police reports she was accustomed to poring over, and she knew that critical information would have been withheld for official reasons-to weed out real suspects from the poor crazies who confessed to every crime that came down the pike, to allow genuine perps the opportunity to trip themselves up by revealing information that wasn't known to the general public. While the accounts of the killings were gruesome enough, Laurel knew that details had been toned down and left out. The reality of a murder scene, the horror of a corpse that had been abandoned-

God, an abandoned corpse. She closed her eyes against the sting of fresh tears. That was what her vibrant, beautiful, complex sister had been reduced to by Stephen Danjermond.

He had to be stopped, and she had to be the one to do it.

She thought longingly of her Lady Smith languishing in the evidence room of the sheriff's office, thought fleetingly of simply planting it between Danjermond's eyes and pulling the trigger. But she knew it couldn't happen that way.

Proof. Evidence. Her brain hammered on the words, and she got up from the bed to pace and chew the ragged edge of her thumbnail. He would know better than to keep things around that might implicate him. But might his arrogance outstrip his common sense?

He thought he was invincible. She had seen it in his eyes and had read it in profiles of other serial killers. He had run unchecked long enough to make him believe no one could catch him. That kind of power, that feeling of omnipotence, could ultimately be his downfall.

Keeping souvenirs from victims was a common practice among serial killers. She knew he had kept pieces of jewelry because he had given them to her, drawing her into his web without her even knowing it. Did that mean there were more pieces hidden somewhere?

No one knew where the women had been killed, only that their bodies had been transported and dumped. The bodies had been found in five parishes. Most of the victims had been from a parish other than the one where their bodies were found. Clever. He would know that involving multiple jurisdictions would complicate the investigations.

But the most important question was where had the murders taken place. All in one spot, a lair where he felt safe to practice his depravity? If that was the case, she didn't have a prayer of finding it. The area involved encompassed thousands of acres, much of it the wildest, most remote swampland in the United States. It would be easier to find the proverbial needle.

He would never have risked killing in his own home. He would never have risked being seen entertaining any of the women he had killed. They weren't the kind of women a man of Stephen Danjermond's position and breeding would associate with. But he was the sort of man women would trust-handsome, well dressed, well educated. Everyone expected homicide to come wild-eyed and ugly, poor and desperate and ill bred.

"One never really knows what might hide behind ugliness or lurk in the heart of beauty."

His words rang in Laurel's head as she paced the confines of the room. To distract herself from the emotion that threatened to intrude on her thought processes, she did a mental inventory of the furniture and appointments. Then her gaze homed in on the invitation she had carried up with her from the hall table.

"The Partout Parish League of Women Voters cordially invites you to a di

With special guest the honorable Stephen Danjermond.

He probably hadn't killed anyone in his home, but he may well have brought his trophies there. And he would be out all evening, charming the people who would pave his way to greatness.

"What you're suggesting is against the law," she murmured, pulling methodically on her earlobe.

She had never broken a law in her life.

She had never lost a sister, either.

She stood there for a long while, chewing contemplatively on her thumbnail, waiting for some solid reason to dissuade her. Some overriding sense of right and wrong. None came, only the memory of Danjermond slipping that matchbook into his pocket and strolling away as if he hadn't a care in the world. He thought he was invincible. He believed he could literally get away with murder. If he succeeded, then there was no justice. No law could overrule that simple truth.

"You believe in evil, don't you, Laurel… And good must triumph over evil…"

"Yes, Mr. Danjermond," she whispered. "It must."

The sun was just setting when she finally slipped from the house. The di

She calculated she would have a solid ninety minutes to search the house and get out safely. Provided she could escape from Belle Rivière without being caught.

Ke

With Wilson out of the way, it was a simple matter of creeping down the outer staircase and slipping out a side gate.

Simple… except for the pair of eyes that followed her out of the courtyard and away from Belle Rivière.