She thought she heard something. Like the glass doors that connected the master bedroom to the pool and patio sliding open.

Despite the heat of the water, she froze.

And waited, listening…

It had been a very long day for Jassy, dramatic in many ways, exciting, frightening.

She was sometimes amazed herself at her ability to sympathize with the victims of violent crime, yet still turn to the sleuthing of pathology with such energy and passion. An interviewer had once asked her if she felt guilty, cutting into the bodies of those who had met with violent ends. She had assured the young reporter that although she often felt sorry that she had to cut into a victim, she didn’t feel guilty in the least. The dead could no longer speak; they couldn’t seek justice for the violence done against them. With her work, she could seek the justice that the dead could not.

With the discovery of the torso, they were now able to analyze the stomach contents of the deceased. Now, with some good investigative footwork, the police could find out where Holly Tyler had eaten her last meal. From there, they could begin to comb the area hotels and motels, and through luck or some heavenly intervention maybe find the place where Holly had been killed, find witnesses to her arrival there, witnesses who had seen the killer.

She was on a satisfied high when she finally got home that night.

She glanced at her watch, delighted to realize that any minute, the new man in her life would be arriving. She felt a giddy excitement, a feeling unlike anything she had felt since high school, for God’s sake! This was so wonderful, so exciting, such a sheer high.

And he loved her, too.

Fifteen minutes.

She slammed her door shut, already crawling out of the clothing she’d been wearing at the morgue all day. Fifteen minutes wasn’t a lot of time.

She dropped her shoes and lab coat in the living room, then struggled out of her skirt and panty hose as she moved down the hallway. By the time she reached her bedroom, she was nearly ripping off the buttons on her white tailored blouse and feeling for the back catch on her bra. Her trail of clothing behind her, she jumped into the shower before turning on the water, then squealed with surprise as an icy spray met her face. Muttering, she warmed the water.

Well, the cold had certainly given her a jolt of energy!

She reached for her solid off-the-shelf deodorant soap, then remembered the scented stuff she’d gotten for Christmas. Dripping, she jumped out of the shower, dug under the sink and found her perfumed gel. It was great. She lathered heavily with it—twice in all the intimate places.

Now…what to wear when she got out?

Nothing, she decided. Nothing except her gold dangle earrings, her sapphire pendant and her anklet. That would do it.

But even as she decided on not choosing a wardrobe, she shivered, certain that she had heard a distant clicking sound. She pondered over it briefly.

Oh, shit! Had she locked the front door?

Killer watched the woman he loved.

Of course, his name wasn’t really Killer, and he loved all women. Still, she was special.

He called himself Killer because he liked it. Because it was a hardy, swaggering, masculine name.

And, of course, because he was a killer. Talented, clever. And they were all such fools.

He watched her…fascinated.

Watched her move with quick, lithe grace. Watched the clothing fall from her perfect form. She had beautiful breasts, high, firm, perfect. Her hair shimmered over her naked shoulders. She turned around, and he trembled, thinking about touching her. She had a great ass. And she was different. He already knew she was different. For one thing, she knew him. Knew him well, not casually. This wasn’t a well-orchestrated but casual pickup, like the others. This time, it could work. She could love him, too. Really love him. She might be the rich scent and sweet softness without…the thorns.

And he might not have to…

Kill her.

She moved again. Soon she would be out of his sight. This was so good, watching her, seeing her, without her knowing that he saw, watched. That he dreamed of tasting her. She didn’t know how good a lover he was going to be. Maybe, sometime, he would have to hurt her. Just so that she understood that she wasn’t to try to hurt him. And so that she could know just how great her pleasure could be after pain.

He would take it slow with her. So slow…

He started suddenly, unhappily aware of an uneasy feeling—as if he were being watched himself. He looked around quickly, frowning. No one, no one, no one, could see him, except maybe…

The other one. The one he really wanted. One day, oh, God, yes, one day! He suddenly felt giddy. She looked and looked and looked, but she couldn’t see! he thought exultantly.

He’d seen her!

While she…she couldn’t see the forest for the trees. They were all so blind. He felt like laughing as an old biblical saying came to mind.

There are none so blind as those that will not see!

Still…

She could prove to be dangerous. And if she came too close, if she threatened him…

It would be slow with her. Because it would be the same as it had been so very long ago. He would adore her, even as he despised her. She was the threat. And he would let her see every single little thing he would do to her, with her.

For the moment, he looked out from the shadows and waited patiently for the clouds to cover the moon before he made another move.

Jassy Adair was certain that they would catch the killer soon. Kyle knew his business, and his profile was undoubtedly an accurate picture of their killer: a handsome, articulate man who could easily charm his way into the trust of women. A man who spent the majority of his time living a seemingly normal life, accepted by his family and peers.

Thanks to her sister, they knew what kind of room to be looking for, and when they homed in closer, she was sure, Madison would be of even greater help. Science and spirituality—or whatever it was that Madison had—could work hand in hand. Science could prove the truth of Madison’s visions.

The killer would be caught….

Then she heard a noise, and she wondered again if she had locked the door. Suddenly she was praying that she would live to see the killer caught.

She leaped out of the shower, grabbing her towel. Sopping-wet, she tore down the hallway, even though logic was telling her it was the wrong thing to do. She needed to darken the house and somehow make her way to the back door.

Too late.

He was already there.

Dead still, soaking in her towel, she stared at him.

“Doors should be kept locked,” he said, very softly. “You should know, doors should be kept locked. You, of all people…” He sighed. “You’ll learn.”

She opened her mouth to speak.

Words wouldn’t come. Because he was already stepping forward. “You’re so beautiful. So perfect and beautiful. And the way you talk about body parts…”

Kaila wrapped a towel around herself, letting the water continue to run. She stepped very carefully to the bathroom door and looked cautiously around it, doing her best to keep herself hidden.

Someone was in her house.

Her instinct was to slam the door and lock herself in. She thought of her cell phone, tucked away in her purse by her bed.

She couldn’t slam the door; her children were in the house. She had to protect them.

She stared out the bathroom door for what seemed like an eternity. Silently she slid around it. She couldn’t see anyone in her bedroom.

But the glass door was partially open. A breeze was lifting the half-closed curtain.

Tentatively, her heart in her throat, she walked toward it.

“Kaila?”

At the sound of her name, she screamed, spinning around, dropping her towel.