Nothing.

An inescapable shiver slid down her body. This damn case was messing with her head. She turned away from the door, determined to shake whatever was rattling her. She caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror, and paused. Leaning forward, she examined her image. She exhaled heavily. Okay, so it was a little creepy to look so like the victims. With Hudson, she was so certain of his innocence she had never given it much thought. She should have, of course, because his innocence meant the responsible person was still free. But that was rape, and this was murder. That changed things.

What have you gotten yourself into, Lindsey?

She shook her head and turned away from the mirror, refusing to spend one more moment acting like a frightened kitten. A few minutes later, with sweats and a t-shirt replacing her business attire, she sat down on her bed with her briefcase in hand.

Scouring the Hudson and Williams files for some semblance of answers took hours. She’d been so certain Hudson was innocent, and looking through his file those old gut feelings about him came roaring back to life. Tunneling her fingers into her hair, she made a frustrated sound.

He couldn’t be innocent. It was crazy to even think such a thing.

Determined to handle the Williams case without flaw, she began scanning his file. Thus far, there were four dead women, all of whom were students at the college where Williams taught. The evidence was all circumstantial. She frowned. Williams could be a fall guy, as her father had suggested.

Or he could be a cold-blooded killer.

And he was a common denominator. He’d tutored each and every one of them at some point. In two cases, the girls were killed on nights he had met with them. Sounded like guilt. Yet there was no physical evidence.

Reaching for the Hudson file, she laid it on top of the Williams file and flipped it open. Hudson’s situation had been similar in many ways. He managed a restaurant near the NYU campus, a hotspot for late nights. The victims had all been visitors the night of their attacks. Yet not one could identify Hudson. Their attacker had worn a mask. But, the police needed a conviction, and he had been a common denominator with no alibi.

Lindsey had all but chewed her pencil in half. “Damn, I am far too tense,” she murmured, dropping the pencil on the bed as she wrapped her arms around her knees.

Shoving her files back into her briefcase, she decided to attempt to sleep. It was, after all, two in the morning. Her mind was racing with many uncontrollable and unsettling thoughts. She wondered if Mark was awake. The urge to call him was strong. Which was crazy. Why would she call Mark?

Chapter Four

Lindsey sat straight up in the bed, hand going to her chest.

A loud noise filled the air, penetrating her sleep-fogged mind. Her heart was beating a million times too fast, and her t-shirt was damp. She eyed the nightstand, and let out a breath.

The alarm.

She reached over and turned it off, as images began to form in her mind. As she shoved her hand through her bed-ruffled hair, she felt frustration build. Even in her sleep, she was battling the past. She’d been having a nightmare. A man was chasing her. She tried to make out his features but couldn’t. Running . . . she’d been running from him.

Desperate to get to Mark.

Mark? Why was Mark in the equation? It was strange. She struggled to bring back the images, but her memory failed. Her mind was a blur where she wanted it to be vivid. But the feeling of fear, of being in danger, was as clear as the new day now here. She shoved the blankets aside and eyed the clock, determined to shake the darkness of her feelings.

Coffee. She needed coffee. It was her first-line cure for most things. If it didn’t work, she went for the sure fix. Chocolate. Once the pot was brewing, she took a speedy shower and dressed. She wanted to call her ex-partner from the bureau before Mark arrived.

Dressed in faded jeans, a tan, fitted knit shirt, and boots almost the same color, she walked to the living room, coffee cup in hand. A few moments later, she leaned against a small walnut-stained desk and dialed the phone.

A moment before she heard his voice, she felt a sick feeling of dread. She’d been a crappy friend and knew it. “Steve here.” Hearing his answering voice only made that feeling worse.

“Steve,” she said a bit too softly, “it’s Lindsey.”

She could hear his smile through the phone. “Hey partner, or maybe I should say, stranger?”

There was a reprimand in his tone, but it didn’t lessen his welcome. It only served to make her feel guiltier. “I should have called before now.”

“Yes, you should have. Don’t expect me to say anything different. I’m just glad you are calling now.”

“I’m in town.”

“You’re kidding? For a visit or to stay?”

Talking about this was hard. In the past, Steve had been one of the few people she told about her life. It should have made it easier. It didn’t. “My father has cancer. I’m running his firm until he is through the worst of it.” She stopped there. What if he didn’t get through it? A moment of silence passed and she knew Steve was thinking the same thing. “Or until someone else takes over.”

“I had no idea,” he said with sincere emotion in his voice. “I’m sorry. I wish you would have let me know. I know this is hard for many reasons.”

His understanding nature made her guilt flare again. “I’m sorry, Steve.” And she was. He was a good friend, and she had turned her back on him along with the city. It wasn’t necessary to explain what she apologized for. They both knew.

He was silent for several moments. “If anyone knows why you needed out of here, it’s me.”

“But it didn’t mean I had to turn my back on you. I . . .”

“Don’t have to explain,” he finished for her. “I’m happy to hear from you now.”

She sighed. “I won’t repeat the past. Hearing your voice is like a breath of fresh air. A needed one.”

“Good,” he said. “I’m going to hold you to that. How about lunch today? Let’s start catching up.”

“I wish I could, but I have a case. It’s a problem.”

“I’m listening.”

She smiled into the phone. He expected her to want his help. It was the partners thing. There was a bond that never went away. “Williams is the guy’s name.”

“Doesn’t sound familiar.”

“Accused of killing a group of women. The profile, well, the profile fits . . .”

“Fits what?”

Her doorbell rang, and she was thankful for the reprieve. Talking about the similarities of these two cases was harder than she would like.

“I need to answer my door. Hang on for me.”

With his quick approval, she sat the phone down and rushed to the door. She pulled the door open and waved Mark forward, but not before she felt a rush of awareness. A quick look told her he looked as he had the first day they met, James Dean casual, and way too sexy to be safe.

For her.

She turned away from him, not wanting to keep Steve waiting. “I’m on the phone,” she told him, looking over her shoulder. “There is coffee in the kitchen, if you want some.”

Lindsey grabbed the phone again. “I’m back.” She turned to find Mark standing in the archway overlooking the living room. Propping one shoulder against the wall, he studied her with a watchful eye. She studied him back. Didn’t mean to. It just happened. When they looked at each other, she seemed to forget everything else.

Steve had said something. Damn. “I’m sorry. What was the question?”

“What about this case?”

“You’re going to think I’m crazy.” Mark’s eyes narrowed at her words. She turned and gave him her back. “It’s a lot like the Hudson case.”

A moment of quiet. “How like it?”

“Very.”

“Can’t someone else take the case?” he asked, concern in his voice.