Chanel’s body spasmed as her unborn child jerked, forcing her to grab the kitchen counter to steady herself. Bile rose up her throat. At four and a half months, she should be over the queasiness, or so her friends had claimed. These same friends had drilled into her she shouldn’t take any medication during pregnancy, but her stomach hurt. Bad.

If only her momma were still alive, she could have told her what to do. And Gabe? He should have been home by now. Then he could have driven her to the hospital.

Crap. Why hadn’t he come home for dinner? Or called. Stupid man. He was probably gambling or out boffing some slut he’d picked up on Kennedy Avenue. If Chanel wasn’t carrying his child, she’d consider leaving her old man.

Another pain stabbed her gut, causing tears to drip down her cheek. If she didn’t get help now, her baby was sure to make an unwanted entrance. She couldn’t wait for her no-good husband to get back.

An ache made her back arch. This wasn’t good. Chanel grabbed her purse, slipped into her car, and headed toward the Emergency Room. If she’d called an ambulance, Gabe would have hit her for sure. They couldn’t afford no fancy care, he’d said.

Her momma had claimed her aches and pains came from nerves. It was always nerves, but maybe her momma was right this time. When Chanel found out she’d have to wait another six months before getting her scars fixed, she’d cried the whole way home. Scars she never should have gotten in the first place. If she hadn’t made Gabe so mad that one time when he was drunk, he wouldn’t have beaten her to a pulp.

Chanel’s stomach soured. Damn hormones.

Her car clipped a cinder block someone had tossed on the side of the road, and her heart jetted into overdrive. Pay attention, girl. With her focus back on the road, she wove her way through the trailer park. Lights blazing, Mildred was on her front porch knitting something—probably another doggie vest. The old woman waved, but Chanel could only manage a nod.

She pulled out of the park onto the near empty thoroughfare and pushed the accelerator hard. Another wave of nausea blasted her, but she kept her full attention on the street. As she rounded the first curve, headlights flashed in her rearview mirror.

She looked up. It was too dark to see the make of the car. “What the hell could he want?” she mumbled. She was going over the speed limit as it was. Could that be Gabe behind her? She slowed a bit.

The lights flashed again. The unidentified car pulled real close behind her and honked. She accelerated. “What are you doing, mister? I don’t have time to stop and chat.” Her heart sped up. “Crazy bastard,” she muttered. Oh shit. Maybe it was the police. She slowed again.

The car following her pulled along her left side—in the oncoming lane. It didn’t look like no police car. Was the man insane? She looked ahead. Thank you, Lord, no car was coming toward them.

She gripped the wheel hard, taking the next turn too fast, her tire running over the grass berm. She jerked back to the pavement and blew out a long breath. On the straightaway, she peeked to her left. He was still there. All she could see was someone waving her over. She slowed.

“For God’s sake.”

Oh, crap. Was gas leaking out of her tank or something? Was she about to blow up? Gabe said once they had some money, she should have her car looked at. Three years was too long to go without a service call.

A strobe light flashed in his dash. Damn. It was the police in an unmarked car. She didn’t need no ticket. Her pulse raced, and the baby acted up again. Chanel slowed and pulled off to the side but left the engine running. She reached for her cell phone to call Gabe, but she couldn’t find it in the bottom of her messy purse.

The man got out of his car and shined a flashlight in her eyes. She squinted.

“Roll down your window, please.”

Something deep inside told her not to do what he asked. Her hand stalled on the handle.

He slapped his palm on the window. “Open up.”

Definitely not Gabe. She couldn’t see the man’s face, but he was wearing a suit and tie, like a detective might wear. She needed to get this over with and on her way. The police were safe.

She locked her door and rolled down her window part way. “What is it, Officer?”

All she saw was a gun pointed toward her belly. A large, black gun, and her eyes widened as her heart did a flip inside her chest. She sucked in a large breath waiting for him to hurt her. A scream bubbled up just as blast ripped through her. Her mind stopped working, as pain ricocheted in her abdomen and raced down her legs.

Chanel grabbed her stomach, but the blood bubbled up through her fingers. “Noooo!” Sweet Jesus, he’d shot her.

“Cunt.”

That voice. She knew that voice. Her heartbeat raced. Who was he? The pain stopped. She was going to die without ever holding her child in her arms. “Why?” she sobbed.

He pressed the cold muzzle against her head. A click sounded, and stars splintered across her vision before fading to black.

* * *

Kerry had spent yesterday afternoon photographing, measuring, and cataloguing #4’s dry, clean bones. This morning she’d begun to arrange them in anatomical position. Not only were a few missing, she had some little bones left over. It reminded her of when she’d helped a friend assemble a bike for her daughter’s birthday. The bike seemed to work fine, despite all the left over screws.

Kerry was staring at the body, trying to figure out what she’d done wrong, when John Ahern walked in.

“Any luck?”

She didn’t look up. “Not yet. I feel like all the King’s horsemen and all the King’s men couldn’t put this together again.”

John chuckled. “Coming from a forensic anthropologist, that’s scary.”

Kerry stepped over to the sink, removed her gloves and washed her hands. I need to think for a moment.”

“Always a good idea.”

She was about to ask him about the medical examiner’s van that might have picked up Willie Wyble, when she noticed where she’d left the small bones—between the woman’s legs. “Oh my God.”

“What?”

“Give me a sec.” Small bones, the size of lima beans huddled together in no pattern. Most were pitted and soft from decay. “It’s a fetus. I can’t believe I didn’t connect the dots earlier.”

“Could it be because you just began the process?”

“That or because most of the fetus’s bones are either missing or had turned to dirt. None of the bones are even connected, so I didn’t realize what I was seeing.”

Sickened by her find, she raced around to locate the correct instruments to gauge the baby’s age. Kerry measured the length of the only metacarpal she could identify. “Hand me the growth chart on the counter over there, please.”

Kerry studied the chart. “The fetus is between three and four months in development.” She tried hard not to let this new fact bother her, but it did. This baby was the same age as hers when she’d miscarried.

Don’t cry, don’t cry.

“So Jane Doe #4 was pregnant,” he stated.

“Yes.”

“That makes two of them.”

“Two?” Her heart pounded.

“I received the tox screen back from Janet Kopetski. She had high levels of progesterone and estrogen in her tissues.”

“Shit.” Kerry bit her lip. “Sorry.”

“Do you think we’re looking at a killer who only kills pregnant women?”

“I hope not.” Her hands trembled.

“I need to check on something.”

John spun and left her room. She immediately grabbed her phone and dialed Hunter’s number.

“Kerry, what’s wrong?”

She almost smiled at his overprotective behavior, but the ramifications of what she was about to ask sickened her. “I’m fine.” She told him about the two pregnancies. “Do you think you can find out if Tameka Dorsey was pregnant?”

“I’ll try. By the way, I have something I’d like to do after work. Is there any possibility your sister could drive you to the cabin? Assuming you keep a close watch in your rear view mirror.”

“I can do that. Don’t worry about me. We’ll be extra careful. Is it about the case?”

“I want to speak with Tameka’s fiancé, but that’s not what will hold me up. It’s the second anniversary of Melissa’s mom’s death today. I’d like to spend some time with her.”

Kerry had trouble swallowing. She noted he didn’t say the second anniversary of his wife’s death. “I’m so sorry, Hunter.”

“Yeah. It’s tough on her.”

And on him too, she bet.

* * *

“So what did you say that hunky detective was doing tonight?” Susan passed Kerry the package of cooked chicken strips from the cabin’s refrigerator.

Susan wasn’t nosy as a kid, but apparently she’d changed. “I didn’t say, but he’s working on the case.” Susan didn’t need to know the details, and she didn’t need to know his wife had died only two years ago.

“You like him, don’t you?”

Don’t go there. “Why the third degree? He’s my bodyguard. That’s all.”

“Do you trust him?”

Kerry didn’t want to be having this discussion, couldn’t have this discussion. The pain scratched at her brain and raced down to her belly. Her emotions were twisted, and she no idea what she was feeling. “Trust has nothing to do with anything.”

“You know what I think?” Susan had a wicked look in her eye.

Kerry arranged the chicken on the tortillas, sprinkled a handful of leaf spinach on top, and then doused the roll-up with Parmesan cheese. To hell with watching her weight. “No. What do you think?” She was tempted to tell her sister to mind her own business, but Susan was too stubborn to listen.

“I think Hunter is worming his way into your heart. I heard how you talked to him over the phone.”

Kerry’s fingers froze. “You are so off base. Hunter loves his work and loves his daughter, but there is no room in his life for a girlfriend, if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

“I merely stated—”

“Besides, I don’t think I could handle being with a cop. He’s always gone. He could be injured at any time. Nannie always complained about Grandpa’s long hours, if you recall.”

“Yes I do, but me thinks you protest too much.”

“Hand me the salad dressing. I’m hungry.”

Before Kerry could carry her meal to the dining room, someone knocked on the front door.

Susan’s eyes bugged out. “Do you think it’s the killer?”

Kerry refrained from rolling her eyes. “A killer wouldn’t knock. I bet it’s Hunter. He probably forgot his house key.”

Kerry acted cool, but inside, fear clawed its way up her spine. Now where did Hunter keep his gun?

Duh. He had it with him.

“Lock yourself in the bathroom,” Kerry whispered to her sister.

“Hell no. You said it was probably Hunter. I’m not leaving you alone in case it’s not.”

Now her sister wants to be there for her? “Just go. And here, take my phone.”

“Why?”

“If you hear me scream, call 9-1-1.”

Despite Susan’s stubbornness, she did what Kerry asked. Once the bathroom door closed, Kerry went to the front door. No peephole. Shit. “Who’s there?”

“Phil. Hunter’s partner.” Even though his voice came out muffled, it sounded like him.

She prayed it really was Phil. She threw back the latch and opened the door. Her shoulders sagged. “Hi.” Her hand flew to her chest to calm her beating heart. “Has something happened to Hunter?”

Phil laughed. “No. May I come in? The bugs are eating me alive out here.” He stepped into the foyer. “What took you so long to answer?”

“Just making sure you weren’t the boogie man.”

“Me?” Phil’s eyes sparkled.

“Yes. Wait a sec. I’ll be right back.” She knocked on the bathroom door. “It’s okay. You can come out.”

Once Kerry introduced Phil to her sister, she offered him a beer. He deserved a drink for driving all the way out to this place. She needed a drink too. Susan declined.

“Not to be rude,” Kerry said, “but why are you here?”

“Hunter was worried about you.”

She always suspected her bodyguard cared but hearing confirmation from a cohort sent a warm, gooshy rush through her. “I’m safe as long as I stay in the cabin.”

Susan grabbed Kerry’s arm and shook it. “Ooooh. The detective likes my sis-ter.”

“Susan. Stop it.” God. “Phil, please sit.” Kerry needed to regroup. “As you can see, we’re perfectly fine.” Could this get any more embarrassing?

“I had to come. Hunter would have chewed out my ass if I hadn’t checked up you two. Besides, he wanted me to tell you he found out that Tameka Dorsey was pregnant—something like a few weeks along.”

Her heart broke. “Damn.” Another baby dead. “Why couldn’t Hunter have called to tell me?”

“He wanted me to make sure you were safe.”

“Oh.”

Phil gulped down half the bottle. “I think some good can come out of this. We now have a motive.”

“What? The killer believes in zero population growth?” She couldn’t keep the sarcasm from her tone.

“Maybe, maybe not.”

Kerry made a mental list. Jane Does #1, #2, #4, plus Nancy Donello-Sanchez were all pregnant. Kerry had found no evidence that #3 was pregnant, but if she were only a few weeks along, there wouldn’t have been any evidence of a fetus.

Kerry’s cell rang, and her heart nearly stopped. “Excuse me.”

She retrieved her phone, checked the caller ID, and answered. “John?”

“Kerry, I’m sorry to disturb you. I know you only do bones, but we found another woman tonight. She was about four months pregnant. I thought you might want to take a look at her.”

How much more could she handle? “You think there’s a connection to my case?”

“You’ll have to tell me.”

Her mind raced. “Ah, yeah, sure.” She jotted down the directions. “I’ll be right there.” Kerry hung up.

Before she had a chance to explain her circumstance to Phil, his phone rang.

“Sorry.” He answered it. “Where?... Just a sec.” He glanced up at Kerry. “Where are you going?”

She told him.

He returned his attention to his caller. “I’ll be right there. Tell the medical examiner I’ll be bringing Dr. Herlihy with me.” He disconnected. “Looks like we will be spending some time together.”

Susan stood. “That means I get to lose another game of Scrabble to Grandpa.”

“I’m sorry, Susan. Duty calls.”

“No problem.”

Kerry wanted to lay a hand on Susan’s shoulder to say all was forgiven, but she didn’t feel comfortable with her emotions yet. “I’ll remind Hunter about helping with Brad.”

Susan’s lip trembled. “That would be great.” Susan leaned over and hugged Kerry.

“Let me pack up your chicken dinner.” Kerry pulled away. “I don’t want you to starve.” Kerry’s upbeat tone came out fake even to her ears.

* * *

Police lights swirled on the side of the road as a stream of cars slowed. Damn rubberneckers. They didn’t need any more accidents on the road.

Now that Phil and she were at the crime scene, Kerry almost wished she hadn’t eaten dinner. Bones. She liked bones. Not decaying flesh. The female’s brain matter had oozed out of her skull, and coagulated blood had pooled on the victim’s distended abdomen. She hoped both the baby and mother had died quickly. Kerry covered her nose with one hand and wiggled her fingers with the other. “Mask.” The rancid odor made her gag. Some anthropologist she was.

“Here,” one of the technicians said.

Flies buzzed the body as the crime scene unit processed the scene. She still didn’t understand why John Ahern had asked her to come.

“Kerry, tell me what you see.”

She peered into the half-rolled down passenger side window and swatted away the flies. The woman had toppled over onto the seat. “The contusions and bruising on her face look a few weeks old. Unless she was strangled, she died from either the gunshot wound to her head or bled out from her abdomen.”

“My money’s on the head wound. You see any evidence of plastic surgery?”

Kerry hadn’t wanted to check, but she knew she had to. With gloved hands, she reached through the window and touched the woman’s face. “Same as the ambient temp. What was her time of death?”

“Rigor’s come and gone. I’d say she’s been dead about twenty-four hours.”

She checked for sutures around the hairline and behind the ears. “Nothing here, but she could have had surgery on her arms or legs. An X-ray would confirm.”

“I can do that.”

She pointed to the scars around the female’s eye. The ones on her forehead had a pinkish cast to them. “These scars look to be a few months old from the amount of scar tissue, but these ones nearer the scalp are fresh. Someone beat this woman about the face not long before she died.” Her stomach did a somersault. This woman had been abused, pregnant, and possibly in need of plastic surgery.

Dear God. What had happened here?

She stepped away from the vehicle, in part to get away from the flies, and in part to distance herself from the grief that surrounded this woman. Kerry swallowed to find her voice. “Who found her?”

This woman had bled to death in her car, and it had taken hours before anyone bothered to stop and check why a car with blood spattered windows sat abandoned on the side of the road.

John nodded toward a kid, no more than fourteen, standing next to his bike.

“Did he see anyone leave the scene?” she asked.

“No.”

Phil stepped next to her. “Any identification on our vic?”

Again John shook his head. “Just the clothes on her body. No purse.”

A petite woman, whose nametag read, Sanders, strode up to Phil. “We ran her tags. Car belonged to a Gabe Carlitta. I’m guessing that’s her husband.”

“Did you notify him?”

“I called but was unable to reach him. Dispatch said the husband called the station to report his wife missing around midnight last night.”

Kerry couldn’t believe someone hadn’t found her sooner. “No one went looking for her?”

“The department’s hands were tied. They had to wait until she was gone at least forty-eight hours before investigating.”

The poor husband. He would be so distraught when he learned of their deaths, unless he was the one who killed her. She turned back to John. “Do you think there’s a connection to my case?”

“At first, no, but considering she was pregnant, perhaps.”

Kerry forced herself to remain calm. To kill a woman was bad enough, but to kill a pregnant woman was lower than scum.

A young male officer came over and held out a small device to Phil. “We found this under the back bumper.”

Phil lifted the piece of metal from the officer’s hand. “A tracking device.” He handed it back to the man. “Process it.”

“Will do.”

Someone tapped Kerry on the shoulder. She jumped. From the spicy scent, it was Hunter. She turned around and smiled. “Hi. How did you find me?” Having him at the scene lifted much of the tension.

“Phil called and told me.” He turned to John Ahern. “You need Kerry much longer?”

“She can help me with the autopsy tomorrow. Take her home.”

She grabbed her boss’s arm. “Can you tell by looking if the caliber of the bullet that killed the victim was the same as the one in Nancy Donello-Sanchez?” Please say yes.

“I won’t know until after I open this one up, and the crime lab makes the comparison.” He placed a hand on her shoulder. “I’d sleep with one eye open if I were you.”

Before his comment sunk in, Hunter wrapped a possessive arm around her waist. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from the car and blood streaked window.

“You shouldn’t look at the body too long. It’ll give you nightmares,” he said.

“And bones don’t?”

“Caught me. I wanted to get you away from here. It’s not safe. Our killer could be hiding in those trees.” He leaned a head toward a line of trees about one hundred feet ahead on the right.

Kerry snuggled closer to Hunter, her protector. She squinted into the wooden area, but couldn’t see anything.

For the first time in a long time, she was glad she wasn’t pregnant.