“It’s never a good idea to walk alone when so many . . .” He waved his hand to the crowd. “ . . . drunk jerks are about.”

She almost smiled at him then.

“How about I just take you two streets over, to where the cabs wait? Will that work?”

Her fingers were still pulling lightly at her braid, but right then, a particularly drunk SOB—drunk and fat—barreled into her. Molly would have gone flying face-first into the pavement, but he lunged out and caught her.

“Got you,” he whispered to her.

She smiled at him. “I . . . I think I’d like it if you came with me.”

Of course, she would.

They turned together and headed down the road. He kept his pace even with hers, and he talked easily about everything. The weather. Beignets. The LSU Tigers. And a few minutes later, when the crowd thinned because they’d left Bourbon Street and no one was watching him, he put his hand on Molly’s slender shoulder.

It’s time. This was the spot he’d picked.

“Do you think she suffered?” he asked Molly.

Her steps stumbled. “Wh-What?”

“Your mother. Before she died, do you think she suffered?”

Molly’s body tensed. She tried to jerk away from him.

He didn’t let her go.

“Let’s find out,” he said, and he put his hand over her mouth before she could scream. “Let’s find out just what those last, horrible hours were like for her.” He shoved a needle into her throat. Then he lifted her up easily, and he started to hum as he carried sweet Molly away.

Chapter 3

SARAH CRACKED OPEN ONE EYE. SHE SAW A WHITE, thick comforter about two inches from her face. She opened her other eye—and she saw a big, naked male right beside her.

Jax was sprawled across the bed, and he had one arm currently wrapped around her stomach. A naked stomach since—just like him—she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothes.

They’d moved from the den. After the best orgasm that she could remember having, she’d been limp, but they’d made it up the stairs.

Then he’d given her another mind-numbing orgasm.

Fear had been the last emotion she felt during the hours with him.

She could just see the light of dawn creeping through the shades. The night had ended, and it was time for her to go. She held her breath as she slid from the bed. Morning-after scenes weren’t really her thing. Mostly because she didn’t have a whole lot of them. Very carefully, she rose to her feet and tiptoed to the door. Sarah was naked when she headed down the stairs. When one stair creaked beneath her feet, she stopped, but heard no sound from above.

Her heart was racing in her chest when she reached the landing, and Sarah hurried to the den and found her clothes thrown around the room. She dressed as quickly as she could, and— Her gaze fell on the wineglasses.

You don’t have to pretend here with me. You can let go. She had let go with him. All of her defenses had fallen down in the darkness.

She turned away and hurried to the little alarm box near his door. When he’d been typing in the code last night, she’d been paying careful attention. She always did. She’d been taught to watch others. Her fingers quickly flew over the keypad and she disengaged the alarm. Then Sarah rushed outside. She paused briefly near the gate, then typed in the code there, too. Before she left, she glanced back over her shoulder once more. Her gaze rose to the second floor. The blinds were open now, and she could see Jax. Standing up there, watching her.

She froze. This was it. Her last moment with him. And she was running because she didn’t know what to say. Oh, Sarah understood completely why she was drawn to him. Like a moth right to the burning flame.

It wasn’t because he was drop-dead sexy, though Jax certainly was.

It wasn’t because he was strong. Fierce. It wasn’t even because he’d saved her life the night before.

No, it was something even more basic than that. She looked at him, looked past the mask that he wore and she realized—

His secrets are as dark as my own. He was a man who understood the ghosts she battled every day. Her fingers trailed over the scar on her left wrist. A scar that she’d always kept hidden from her fellow LOST agents. She’d worn long-sleeved shirts or her bracelet—one she’d picked just because its large width covered the wound. She hadn’t wanted anyone to know how desperate she’d been on that long-ago night.

But Jax knew. She had the feeling that Jax could learn all of her secrets.

She slipped through the gate.

And that’s why I have to leave him.

“SARAH . . .” JAX put his hand against the windowpane. “You can run, but I’ll find you.” And she was running. Vanishing through that gate. Clever lady, she’d learned his alarm codes last night. He hadn’t even realized that she’d been watching when he keyed them in. Now he would remember that Sarah was always focused, even when it seemed her attention was elsewhere.

He turned from the window. The room smelled of her. Sweet vanilla and sex. He’d had her, but taking Sarah hadn’t ended the odd obsession that he felt for her. If anything, the obsession had intensified because now he knew what it was like to sink into her, to hear her moan, and to watch her eyes go wild with pleasure.

“You can run,” Jax murmured again as he touched the pillow she’d lain on moments before, “but I like the hunt.”

EVEN THOUGH IT was early, the New Orleans police station was already buzzing with activity. Uniformed officers hurried around the bullpen. Tired-looking detectives hunched over their desks. Phones rang. Voices rose.

Chaos was all around her. Luckily, Sarah was used to chaos. Squaring her shoulders, she walked toward the dark-haired detective who had just risen from his desk. He was one of the detectives she’d spoken with after her attack—Brent West. He was tall, had broad shoulders, and had a no-nonsense attitude that she’d respected. His skin was a dark cream, totally unlined, so he could be anywhere from twenty-five to forty.

He turned toward her, and she saw that his gaze looked . . . tired. As if he’d been up all night. When he saw her, a furrow appeared between his brows. “Dr. Jacobs?”

She gave him a quick smile. One that she hoped didn’t look particularly nervous or desperate. “Do you have a moment to spare for me?”

The furrow deepened between his eyes. “Sure. I mean, has something happened? Are you all right?”

She waved away his concern. “I’m fine. I actually . . . I wanted to talk with you about Eddie Guthrie.” She kept her voice mild and her hands stayed loose at his sides.

“Oh, ma’am, you don’t have to worry about him.” Brent gave a firm nod. “With the evidence we have on him, it’s going to be an open-and-shut case.”

Yes, right, but . . . “Is there any chance I can see him?”

The detective blinked at her. “You want to run that by me again?”

She straightened her spine. “I’m a psychiatrist, and I’ve interviewed literally hundreds of criminals over the years.”

He waited and didn’t look particularly impressed. Right. Sarah cleared her throat. “What if he just needs help?”

His sharp look questioned her sanity. “Ma’am, he attacked you. He had a knife to your throat. You’re lucky he didn’t slice open your jugular.”

What a lovely visual. She swallowed. “My father . . . killed Eddie Guthrie’s mother.” Such an understatement. Her father had tortured Gwen Guthrie. And I heard her screaming. I was just a kid. I heard her . . . but he told me it was nothing. He tucked me in bed. Kissed me good night, and said I was safe.

Only Sarah hadn’t realized the truth of that long-ago night, not until far too late.

“Because of what you father did, you think that makes it all right for that guy in there to come after you with a knife?”