She heard Rick at the office door and quickly replaced the child’s photo, then set the frame back where she had found it. She turned just as Rick stepped through the door.

“Sorry,” he said. “Saturday’s my busiest night.”

“No, I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it-just not for what he thought. By peeking at those pictures she had pried into a corner of his life he obviously preferred no one see. “My timing stinks, but I didn’t…I was afraid for Mark. I think he’s in danger.”

Rick sat and ordered her to do the same. “Now, start at the beginning. Don’t leave anything out.”

Liz began. She told him why she had come to Key West, that she didn’t believe the police version of her sister’s disappearance. She relayed the content of the message her sister had left on her answering machine. “She said she had uncovered illegal activities on the island, something that involved the young people. She feared for her own safety. I believe those involved killed her. Nobody believed me…until Mark.”

Rick leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and linking his fingers together. “Go on.”

She repeated everything Mark had told her: that the group called itself the Horned Flower, that Tara had belonged and that they had threatened her when she tried to get out. “They describe themselves as a family and are both devoted to and possessive of other members of the family, as well as suspicious of those outside. So suspicious that Tara had to keep her relationship with Mark a secret for fear of reprisal. He said the group was into drug use and indiscriminate sex. Their shared ideology was hedonistic and atheist.”

“What you’re describing is a cult,” he murmured. “There are thousands of loosely joined and highly organized groups in the United States that meet the criteria that defines a cult, basically a group organized around a central figure and singular philosophy. Reverend Sun Myung Moon’s Unification Church, Crowleyism, the Charles Manson family all fit the criteria though each is very different from the other.”

“Whatever they are, they had great power over Tara and she was terrified of them. He believes they killed her because she tried to break away from them. He believes they killed my sister as well.”

Rick looked unconvinced. She pressed on. “Mark decided the best way to expose the group was to become one of them. He left me a message saying he was being initiated last night. He told me to come to you if I didn’t hear from him.” She held her hands out, palms up. “So, here I am.”

For a long moment, Rick was silent. When he finally spoke, his tone was low, measured. “Have you asked yourself if Mark was truthful with you?”

“No. Why wouldn’t he have been?”

“Maybe he had something to do with Tara ’s death?”

“No way.” She shook her head for added emphasis. “You didn’t see him when he talked about Tara, about that night. He was in love with her.”

“Do you have any idea how many victims are killed by the very people who claim to love them? A lot,” he finished, answering his own question. He paused as if to allow his words time to sink in. “I was a cop, Liz. I’m thinking like a cop here. Sorting through the facts, looking at this from all angles.”

“And I’m not?”

“Frankly? No, you’re not. You’re too close. Emotionally involved. Overwrought.”

Making a sound of frustration, she stood. “I’m so tired of people telling me that. I’m not overwrought. Mark feared for his safety. He contacted me so someone would know what he was doing and sound the alarm if he disappeared. He’s disappeared, we have to do something!”

Rick stood. She had to tip her head back to meet his eyes. “Okay,” he murmured, tone as calm and soothing as if attempting to reason with a headstrong child. “You’re fine, steady as a rock. Just hear me out. In all probability, Tara was killed by the accomplice of a man who murdered young women in Miami, or someone who is copying his crimes. There’s a chance your sister fell victim to the same maniac. Or that she suffered a mental breakdown and ran off, the way the police think.”

She opened her mouth to deny it was true, and he held up a hand to stop her. “Your sister’s been missing what? Three months?”

“Four,” she corrected. “She was last seen July twelfth.”

“So, where’s her body, Liz? Tara ’s killer made no attempt to conceal his handiwork. If you hadn’t found her that night, someone else would have the next morning. Taft worked in the same manner.”

He had a point; she had wondered the same thing.

But she knew she was right.

“Maybe he wasn’t ready to reveal himself?” she offered. “Maybe he panicked? There could be a hundred explanations for why Rachel’s…”

She let the words trail off; his expression softened. “The KWPD is working in conjunction with the sheriff’s department and the Florida Crime Bureau in an attempt to locate the killer. Perhaps Tara was a member of a group called the Horned Flower, but I hardly think a bunch of pampered teenagers is capable of butchering one of their friends. And trust me, Tara was butchered.”

“Please help me,” she whispered. “I have nowhere else to turn. No one else to turn to. Mark said you’d know what to do.”

“I’m sorry. Go home, get some sleep. In the morning-”

“In the morning Mark might be dead. Are you sure you can live with that?”

Sunday, November 18

2:45 a.m.

“I can take it from here, Margo,” Rick murmured, zipping then locking the deposit bag. “Why don’t you call it a night?”

“Are you sure?” She ran a damp cloth over the seat of a chair, then set it upside down on the table. “I don’t mind staying.”

Rick smiled at the newest member of his staff. He had been lucky to find her. Not only was she personable, reliable and attractive, she could flat-out hustle drinks. “What, no love connection tonight?”

“Nope. I’ve nothing better to do than sleep. How about you?”

“When you get to be my age, sleep’s a good thing.”

She rolled her eyes at that. “You’re what? Thirty?”

“Try thirty-six, Margo.”

“Only ten years older than I am. Not that much.”

Only a decade, Rick thought, amused.

“I could pour myself a glass of wine and keep you company.”

He would have to be deaf and blind to miss the invitation in her question. He pretended to be both. The day after Mark disappeared, she’d walked in looking for a job. Considering Libby’s reliability and Mark’s sudden departure, he had all but fallen to his knees in thanksgiving. The last thing he was going to do was muck that up by getting involved with her. Besides, he believed some lines shouldn’t be crossed. This was one of them.

“Help yourself to the wine, but don’t stay on my account.” He lifted his gaze to hers and smiled, hoping to take the sting out of his next words. “I’m alone a lot, Margo. It suits me.”

Disappointment crossed her features and she quickly looked away. “That’s cool.” She grabbed her purse from under the register and slipped the strap over her shoulder. “Considering I’ve got to open tomorrow, I think I’ll pass on that drink.”

She crossed to the door, then stopped and glanced back at him. “So, who was that chick who stopped in to see you? Your girlfriend?”

“No such luck, Margo. Just a friend of a friend.”

Where had that come from? he wondered as his employee left. The words had sprung so easily from his tongue, as if the meaning behind them had just been sitting there waiting impatiently to be uttered. Not in this lifetime. Even though he found Liz Ames attractive, he had no plans of becoming involved with her. Or anyone else for that matter.

With a small shake of his head, he returned his attention to closing out the bar. Or rather, he thought, a small percentage of his attention-just enough not to totally screw up the mindless jobs he had performed a million times before. The rest of his attention turned to the reason for Liz’s visit tonight.