Never Die Alone

“And?” he prodded.

“And—” Her eyes opened again. Clear once more. A smile toyed at the corners of her mouth and she seemed calmer. “Look, I’d really like to start over, get to know you.” She rolled those expressive eyes and sighed. “Sounds corny, I know, but I believe in saying what I think.”

“I remember. Direct.”

“Yeah, and so I have a confession.”

“You do?”

“Mmm. You might not believe this,” she said, her cheeks turning pink, “and I hate to admit it, but the truth is I had a major crush on you in high school.”

“I know.”

“You know?” Her smile fell away. “Are you kidding me, Bridges? I bare my soul, make this big proclamation, and you say you know?”

“Yep.” The breeze ruffled her hair and played with her skirt. He tried not to notice.

“Okay . . . so, with the whole Aria

“Really?” He found it hard to believe. Damned hard after the way she’d reacted to him when he’d finally told her the truth.

“That’s all you’ve got to say?”

“I’m just surprised.”

“So you don’t want to?”

“No, no. Of course I do,” he admitted and took a step closer to her. She didn’t back away and he figured that was a positive sign. “But I’ve got to warn you.”

“Warn me?”

“It might be dangerous.”

“How’s that?”

He felt his lips twitch. “I have a strong feeling you might want to pressure me into joining that twinless twin support group.”

Never,” she said, and laughed, shaking her head. “Trust me, you wouldn’t fit in.”

“Okay. Then it’s a deal.” He told himself he was making a huge mistake, but figured what the hell? She was right. Life was far too short to dwell on the past. “So, what do you say? How ’bout a beer?”

She gri

Rick Bentz fingered his badge, turning it over and over as he sat at his desk in his office at the department. It was quiet now, twilight stealing through the slats of the window on the far wall. He still hadn’t quit his job, though he’d played out the scenarios of leaving and staying in his mind a dozen times over.

His quitting the department wasn’t Olivia’s choice, nor was it Montoya’s. It was his alone and, damn it, he was torn. Things had quieted down since their last major case. The 21 Killer, Jacob Bridges was dead. A good thing. Justice served. The one sour note in the case was Donovan Caldwell, who had been, as it turned out an i

Wasn’t fair.

Then again, what was in life?

The other sets of twins who Bria

Thank God. Jacob Bridges had been a nutcase. According to the De

Twins, but diametrically opposed in personality.

“Hey!” Montoya poked his head into the office. “You goin’ home or what?”

“Yeah.”

Montoya’s gaze narrowed in on the badge. “Uh-oh. What’re you doin’? Oh, hell, don’t tell me you’re thinking of quitting again?”

“Always. But I can’t. Even if I wanted to.”

Montoya flashed his knowing smile. “Because of our boy Father John?”

“Maybe.”

“No maybe about it,” Montoya said, walking into the small office and hooking one knee over the corner of Bentz’s desk. “That bad-ass is under your skin.”

“The one that got away,” Bentz said, nodding. The thought still ate at him, but no longer to the point that he needed to down a beer as he stared at the arrogant bastard on the prison’s tape. So far Bentz hadn’t repeated his slipup with alcohol, didn’t intend to again.

Montoya pointed out, “The bastard’s been quiet for a few months now and it was years between his killings.”

That much was true. After the murder of the nun in the prison and the prostitute in her apartment, Father John had seemed to stop his bizarre murders. Inexplicably he’d ceased. Again. Why? Didn’t make sense. Also, though he’d once been an obsessed stalker of Dr. Sam and her radio show, he hadn’t called in, hadn’t taunted her. But of course, he could still be listening. From some dark lair.

This time, the killer was being coy. Careful. Why come back and flaunt the fact that he’d survived by killing the nun and prostitute only to disappear again?

Didn’t make sense.

“Maybe the son of a bitch is dead. You know the prostitute could have been killed by a copycat. That’s the way the department would like to spin it,” Montoya said. “To avoid another panic by the public if they thought Father John was stalking the streets of New Orleans again.”

Bentz reached over, clicked his mouse to his computer and the darkened screen illuminated, freeze-framed on the smiling, nearly gloating image of Father John looking up at the camera right after killing the nun. “The department’s spi

“Or maybe a twin.” Montoya’s dark eyes flashed.

“Don’t even joke about it.”

Montoya gave a quick nod. “A major bad dude.”

“One I have to catch.”

“We,” Montoya corrected, though they both knew it was Bentz whose shot had missed its mark in the bayou all those years before. “We.”

“Okay. We.”

Montoya’s grin grew wide and wicked as he reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out his signature shades. “We’ll get the bastard.”

“Promise?”

“You got it.” He slid his sunglasses onto the bridge of his nose. “The bastard doesn’t stand a chance.”

Chuckling, Bentz slipped his badge back into its case. “Come on, let’s get out of here. It’s almost Halloween and that means the baby’s birthday party, so I’ve got major dad duties to perform.”

“And you love it.”

“Yeah.” No reason to lie. “I do.”

Montoya laughed as they walked out of the office and down the hallway, but Bentz didn’t quite let go of his dark, worrisome thoughts about Father John.

He hated that son of a bitch.

As the moon rose over the bayou, he climbed into his new cabin situated over the water. The night was sticky, the mosquitoes thick. He’d been quiet. Leaving well enough alone, but the itch was with him again, the need firing his blood, the sound of bullfrogs and crickets reminding him it was time to hunt.

He switched on the radio and listened to her voice, low and sexy, offering up advice over the airways. He thought of calling her. It was so much easier now with cell phones, but he waited and eyed the cassock hanging from its hook. Detective Bentz would be expecting that move and there was no way Father John was going to be outfoxed by the cop who’d nearly killed him. Oh, no. Their dance wasn’t over. Not yet.