At first, after Mandy had returned from a walk in the park with her child and found the first arrow on her door, Dean had tried to convince Rachel that someone was playing a sick prank. Maybe it was someone who, for his or her own perverted reasons, wanted to resurrect the past, to remind everyone about Jake’s brutal murder. But after each committee member found an identical paint-tipped arrow on her back door, Dean had come around to Rachel’s way of thinking. Someone was targeting the women who had been a part of Jake’s life back in high school. But why? And was the stalker the same person who had killed Jake?

Day by day, Rachel sifted through the Cupid Killer files, with Dean assisting her in his free time. As she worked diligently to put together the pieces of a twenty-year-old murder, she often felt that she was betraying her father’s memory. Mac Alsace had been the best detective in the world, bar none. If he hadn’t been able to find Jake’s killer, what made Rachel think she could?

Time and distance often had a way of clearing the gray areas, of making things more black and white. Sometimes even the best investigator could be too close to the forest to see the trees. As she had studied the photos, read the reports, gone over the facts again and again, a clear picture had emerged. Jake Marcott had not been the boy she’d thought he was, that was for sure. But more important, the likelihood that one of his teenaged peers had killed Jake was slim to none, unless one of them had been a skilled archer and had been able to keep that fact a secret.

Back in the day, the police had released very little information about the case, hoping to keep the killer in the dark. And Rachel’s father had never discussed the particulars of the case with her, partly because he was duty-bound to keep certain things private, and partly because he had wanted to protect her from some ugly truths.

Even after all these years, she still missed her dad. As much as she had loved her mother, she’d always been a daddy’s girl. His death at age forty-seven had come as a shock. Such a waste. A man in his prime.

Rachel couldn’t help wondering how her life might be different now had her dad lived. One thing she knew for certain-her mother wouldn’t have moved home to Tennessee as long as Rachel remained in Portland, and Rachel would never have left Portland as long as her dad was alive. And if she had stayed here in Portland? She wouldn’t have a slight Southern accent, wouldn’t be referring to a group of people as y’all, and she would never have married Allen Turner.

Would she be working alongside her dad now, who would probably be chief of police instead of Uncle Charlie? Would she perhaps be partnered with Dean McMichaels? Would the two of them have hooked up years ago, maybe gotten married and had a couple of kids?

Wow! Where had that thought come from-Dean and she married? Back then, she hadn’t even liked Dean. But back then, she hadn’t really known Dean. If she had, she never would have suspected him of killing Jake-and she had! After all, it hadn’t exactly been a secret that the two guys, once best buddies, had parted ways, and no one had understood why. Now Rachel did. It had been because Dean had known one of Jake’s deep, dark secrets. Because Jake had used Dean’s feelings for Rachel to blackmail Dean to keep him quiet.

Dean placed two brown paper bags on Rachel’s desk. “Lunchtime,” he said as he pulled up a chair and sat beside her.

“You didn’t have to bring me lunch.” She twisted her swivel chair around so that she faced him. “But it’s a sweet gesture. Thanks.”

“It’s no big deal. I had to eat anyway, so I just picked up something for you, too.” He eyed the brown paper bags. “Do you still like Reubens? Kosher dills? Diet Coke?”

Her mouth opened wide in surprise. Why would Dean remember her teenage favorites? “If you’ve got a Snickers candy bar in there for dessert-”

“If I do, what?” he teased.

“I won’t believe it until I see it.” She opened one sack, removed two sandwiches, two giant dill pickles, and two single-serving bags of potato chips.

Dean opened the second paper sack and removed a regular and a diet canned Coke and a couple of straws, then he turned the sack upside down and shook it. Out popped two Snickers bars.

Rachel gasped, then giggled. “Dean McMichaels, you have a memory like an elephant.”

“Only for the important stuff.” He winked at her.

Her heart did a crazy little rat-a-tat-tat. “I imagine that kind of memory has helped you become a top-notch detective.”

He unwrapped his roast beef sandwich. “What makes you think I’m a top-notch detective?”

She popped the tabs on both colas, stripped the paper off the straws, and inserted them into the openings of the two cans. “Uncle Charlie told me. You’re a highly decorated officer, made lieutenant younger than anyone else on the force, and you’re in line for a big promotion.”

“I just do my job. That’s all.”

He seemed genuinely embarrassed by her praise. A modest man. Imagine that. So different from her ex-husband. So different from Jake.

Rachel unwrapped her sandwich, lifted it to her mouth and took a bite, then sighed. After chewing and swallowing, she said, “Delicious.”

Dean opened both potato chip bags. “I tracked down the man who owned the bow that was used in Jake’s murder.”

“You did?”

Dean nodded. “Patrick Dewey moved his family to Salem nineteen years ago. I phoned his home today, right before I went out to pick up our lunch.”

“And?”

“I spoke to his wife, Marilyn. She said Patrick died a couple of years ago.”

“Hmm…too bad, but I don’t suppose he could have told us any more than he told the police twenty years ago. He reported the bow stolen a week before Jake was killed.”

“Yeah, and the only reason we know it was Dewey’s bow is because he registered it with the manufacturer right after he bought it. They keep a record of the serial numbers for the warranty registration.”

Rachel nibbled on her potato chips. “I saw a report where my father interviewed several bow hunters who lived in the area, but none of them, including Dewey, knew Jake or his family.”

“Yeah, and besides that, they all had alibis for the night Jake was killed.”

“You really did go through all these old files, didn’t you?” Rachel sipped on her Diet Coke.

“A few years after I joined the force, I asked permission to take a look at the Cupid Killer files,” Dean said. “It wasn’t that I actually thought I could find anything your dad and his partner missed. I was curious. You know, because the victim was Jake and because of how things happened. I think Jake’s murder affected all of us in some way or other.”

“Mmm…” Rachel washed down the bite of sandwich in her mouth with another sip of cola. “Sometimes, I think the reason I went into law enforcement after college, other than the fact I wanted to follow in Dad’s footsteps, is because of what happened to Jake.” She looked directly at Dean. “Is that crazy?”

“I don’t think so, but I’m the wrong person to ask. I figure the way Jake’s murder hit all of us so hard is one of the reasons I joined the Portland Police Bureau.”

“It seems you and I have a great deal in common, don’t we?”

Dean reached out and brushed a stray curl off Rachel’s cheek and moved it behind her ear. Their gazes connected and held for a heart-stopping moment.

“Too bad we didn’t realize that years ago,” she said.

“Better late than never.”

Oh, no. Those pesky butterflies were doing a jitterbug in her belly again. Every time Dean looked at her as if he wanted to kiss her, she felt the kind of rush that comes only with falling in love. But she wasn’t falling in love with Dean, was she? Not Dean McMichaels! Of all the men on earth, why him?

It’s just good old-fashioned lust, she told herself. You haven’t been with a man in a long time and you’re horny. That’s all there is to it. You need to have sex.