That’s how she had met Quentin; he had been the detective assigned to her case. They now lived with their young son in Mandeville, a bedroom community located across Lake Pontchartrain from New Orleans.

“We shouldn’t have missed this,” he said.

“No, we shouldn’t have.”

The months immediately following Katrina had been nightmarish; they’d been overwhelmed, stretched to near breaking. It had made them sloppy, a fact neither was proud of.

“Do they know we’re coming?”

“I spoke with Quentin.”

They fell silent once more. She glanced at Spencer. “He wasn’t happy.”

Another understatement. The Malone men took protecting those they loved seriously. Having Anna threatened-or even the hint of a threat-would bring that streak out in him.

No doubt he was pacing like a caged lion right now.

That didn’t prove to be the case. Thirty minutes later, as they pulled into Quentin and Anna’s drive, Spencer saw that the couple were waiting on their wide front porch. Not only was Quentin sitting, Sam-their seventeen-month-old-was sprawled across his lap.

Anna stood as they climbed out of the car. Spencer adored his redheaded sister-in-law-and had from the moment he met her. How could he not? His brother had never been happier.

“Sam’s asleep,” she called, tone hushed. “Already played out, and it isn’t even eight-thirty yet. And I wonder why I’m tired.”

She said the last with a smile that showed that considering the source, she didn’t mind the fatigue.

Spencer reached the porch and saw that the toddler was, indeed, asleep, his dark curls damp with sweat. Sam had been born days before Katrina struck. When they named him after Sammy, they’d had no idea how poignant that decision would become.

He embraced Anna, then greeted Quentin. “Yo, bro. Looking domestic.”

All the Malone men were strongly built, with dark hair and blue eyes, but Quentin was unarguably the most classically handsome of them.

Quentin met his eyes. “I can still take you, little brother. If I were you, I wouldn’t forget that.”

“In your dreams, old man. I could-”

“For heaven’s sake,” Patti interrupted, “could you check the macho posturing long enough for me to get a look at the baby?”

Spencer stepped away and Quentin smiled sweetly at her. “Hello, Aunt Patti.”

She bent and hugged him, then kissed Sam’s head. “I saw him just last week, I swear he’s grown since then.”

“He has,” Anna said. “Actually, we’re thinking of nicknaming him Weed. I’ll take him inside so we can talk.”

She scooped him up and carried him into the house. The minute the door closed behind them, Quentin jumped to his feet, all but vibrating with pent-up energy.

“What’s going on, Patti? And not just the ‘official’ bullshit story. The whole truth.”

“As I explained on the phone, in studying photographs taken of the Handyman’s refrigerator, we found-”

“One of Anna’s promotional magnets. That I already know. How the hell did you miss it the first time around?”

Spencer laid a hand on his brother’s arm. “Back off, Quent. We’re doing everything we can.”

“Back off? Anna having any connection to that madman, even one as flimsy as a free magnet, is not-”

“Spencer’s right,” Anna said from the doorway. “I’m not thrilled about this turn of events, but there’s not much I can do about it. Except try to help them identify the refrigerator’s owner.”

He gazed at her a moment, then nodded tersely. Anna turned toward them. “So, what can I do?”

“Take a look.”

Patti handed the file folder to Quentin. He studied the photos, jaw tight, then crossed to Anna and handed them to her.

“It’s mine, all right.” She handed the photos back. “Dead of Night was published in April 2005.”

“How many of those magnets were distributed?”

“Twenty-five hundred. Give or take.”

“All in the New Orleans area?”

“No. I gave them away at my book signings, through my Web site and to fans who wrote and requested one. In addition, I sent a stack to a number of my most supportive booksellers. For their customers.”

“How many locally, do you think?”

“Five hundred, for sure. Maybe seven-fifty.” Her voice shook slightly and Quentin put his arm around her.

“I know this makes you uncomfortable, Anna,” Patti said. “I’m sorry.”

“A psycho who severs his victims’ hands does hit a little too close for comfort. But this isn’t about me. It’s about Sammy. And the girls who were murdered. I think I can handle it.” Her eyes grew bright. “I loved Sammy, too.”

Patti held her gaze a moment. “Thank you.”

Spencer brought the focus back to the investigation. “Ever have a fan threaten you?”

“Just Ozzie.”

“Osborne?”

At the mention of the rocker and erstwhile reality-TV-show figure, a ghost of a smile touched her mouth. “Hardly. A guy who axed his wife. Said he’d do the same to me.”

Spencer arched his eyebrows in surprise. “And how, sister-in-law, did you meet him?”

“Fan mail from prison,” Quentin said for her, voice tight.

“You get letters from prison?”

“Doesn’t everyone?” When nobody laughed, she went on. “Yes, from both male and female cons. Since Ozzie, I don’t even read them anymore. Refuse them and send them back unopened.”

“Do you still have his?”

She shook her head and Quentin stepped in. “He was doing life without opportunity for parole. I took the letters to the proper officials. Mr. Oz’s days of letter-writing to authors are over. Anna, it turns out, wasn’t the only one.”

“Any other readers, particularly local ones, who’ve made you uncomfortable?”

“Because of what I write, there’s an occasional whack-job who comes up to me at a signing, but overwhelmingly everyone I meet is just a really nice person who likes to read scary books.”

“Do you have a list of local fans’ names and addresses?” Spencer asked.

“I do. I’ll print a copy.”

She headed inside and Quentin turned to them. “What next?”

“We run the names through the computer, see if we get any kind of a hit. We’ll follow up from there.”

“And if you don’t get a hit?”

“We find another angle.”

They fell silent a moment. From inside, they heard Sam waking up. Patti started for the door. “I’ll go see if I can help Anna.”

When she disappeared into the house, Quentin turned to Spencer. “How is she?”

“Patti? Not herself. Though finding this link to Sammy’s murder seems to have given her direction.”

“That’s a good thing.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

For a long moment his brother simply gazed at him, then he nodded. “This couldn’t have happened at a worse time. Anna’s pregnant.”

The news floored him, though Quentin and Anna hadn’t made a secret of the fact they wanted another child-someday.

He hadn’t realized that someday meant now. He playfully punched his brother’s shoulder. “Way to go, stud. Big surprise.”

“We just found out. We were waiting until she was through the first trimester to announce, just to be certain everything was okay.”

Before Sam, Anna had lost a baby early in the first trimester. Unfortunately she and Quentin had shared their good news with everyone-then had to share the bad news as well. It’d been devastating for everyone involved.

“We’ve got several weeks to go, so I’d appreciate you keeping it under wraps.”

“I’ll try. But keeping a secret in the Malone family is damn near impossible. Personally, I think Mom’s psychic.”

“I’m going with John Jr.’s. theory that she’s planted listening devices in our homes and vehicles.”

“Works for me. But slightly more creepy than the psychic angle.”

“How’s Stacy?” Quentin asked, changing the subject.

“She’s good.” He frowned. “Has Mom said something?”

“Not that I know of. Why?”

“Just going with the conversation, man. You’re the one who segued from psychic, snooping mothers to my relationship.”