“You’ve barely said a word since we left the scene,” Kerry said. “Were you thinking about the crime? Or your wife?” The anniversary of Hunter’s wife’s death must be an agonizing time for him. She hadn’t planned to broach the topic, but she believed if he could discuss his grief, he might start to heal.

“Amy? Yes and no.”

Now what did that mean? She wasn’t one to pry, but the frown on his face needed smoothing. “You want to talk about it?”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” Clipped response that held a lot of hurt.

Liar, liar. Or was he in denial? Hunter was a mass of knots that needed a healing touch, but she wasn’t sure it was her touch he wanted or needed.

Hunter pulled to a stop in front of the cabin, shut off the engine, and jumped out. She raced after him.

“How did your wife die?” she blurted out.

There. She’d asked the burning, and yes rude, question. She couldn’t help herself. Understanding what made him tick would help her know the man better and how to deal with him. They were, after all, a team.

Stop it, Kerry. Don’t lie. You want to know what drives him, what turns his heart to mush, what makes him risk his life for people he doesn’t know. You want to know him.

Hunter always acted as though he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but no one should believe they were responsible for everyone—even the mighty Hunter Markum.

The protector ducked into the kitchen and snatched a bottle of water from the fridge. “You want something?” He used his elbow to motion to the contents inside.

“Yes, an answer.” She sucked in an audible breath. “I’m sorry. Look, if you don’t want to talk, I understand.”

When he turned to face her, his remarkably blue eyes transformed to dark gray. He let out a breath. “Amy was driving and talking on her cell—to me. She never implied she was in a car.” He stabbed a hand through his hair. “I should have recognized the background noise, but the office can get real loud. I would have made her hang up if I’d known where she was. It was so stupid.”

“What was?”

“The argument. She wanted me to watch Melissa that night but I had a case I was working on. We fought. We should have talked face to face. It’s my fault she died.”

“What happened?”

“She was hit by a train.”

Kerry sucked in a breath. “Wasn’t there a barricade?”

“No. It was out by Odessa, where it is rather rural.”

“Which was way you probably didn’t hear any cars on the road, especially if she had her windows rolled up.”

“Maybe.” His shoulders slumped.

“A lot of people make calls when they drive.” She tried never to do both.

“I bet if she hadn’t been focused on explaining her side of the disagreement, she would have seen the train coming.” His jaw clenched. “I heard the train’s brakes screech and Amy’s screams. The sound of metal collapsing will be etched in my brain for life.”

“Oh, Hunter, I’m so sorry.” What could one say to such trauma? Kerry wanted to hug him, to give him whatever strength she had, but Hunter stepped past her and strode into the living room, his boots smacking against the wooden floor.

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry about,” he called back. His voice was thick with emotion. “Amy’s gone. I’ve moved on.”

She didn’t believe he’d remained unaffected by her death—especially every time he looked at his daughter, who probably looked a lot like his wife. Mr. I-want-to-protect-everyone must have felt powerless when his wife, the mother of his child, had died.

Her heart tore at his loss. Out of the blue, her mom’s smiling face flashed before her, yanking her heartstrings. Death sucked.

For both their sakes, she decided to let the conversation drop. As much as wanted to get inside his head, now wasn’t the time. Vulnerable men always drew her into dangerous waters. She had a job to do and didn’t need Hunter messing with her mind.

Kerry followed him into the living room. “Is there something else bothering you?” She wanted to give him a chance to change the subject.

He dropped onto the sofa and nearly polished off the rest of the bottle. “Yeah. I recognized the woman in the car.”

Kerry’s knees almost buckled, so she slipped into the chair next to the sofa. “You knew her?”

“I saw her for the first time yesterday at Dr. Dalton’s office. I think her name was Chanel, like Chanel No. 5, the perfume my mom used to wear.” He dragged one hand down his cheek. “The bastard’s guilty, I know it.”

“Who?”

“Dr. Dalton.” He finished his water.

“Then why are we sitting here? We need to go after him.” Her pulse soared.

He reached over and clasped her hand for a moment, most likely to keep her from rushing out the door, and his warmth shot to her heart. Leaning against the sofa back, he released her hand, his gaze jumping from her to the floor. She was so tempted to drag his strong fingers back to hers.

Hunter blew out a breath. “I have no proof he’s guilty of anything.” His jaw clenched. “Don’t worry, I’ll question him when I know more.”

Damn. “Don’t you see? Chanel’s death fits the pattern of the other women.”

“Because she was pregnant and abused?” His voice came out gruff as sandpaper. “The MO is different. If he killed Chanel, why didn’t he bury her?” He grabbed the edge of the sofa cushion and squeezed the life out of it.

When Hunter looked up, she guessed his question wasn’t rhetorical.

“Different circumstances called for different methods?” Not an enlightening thought. Think. “Maybe someone came along the road right after he killed her, and not wanting to be near the scene, he split, taking his chances no one would connect him to the murder.”

“What about our Bay woman, Nancy Donello-Sanchez? That murder was premeditated. He would have had time to bury her. Christ, he tied a cement block around her waist and dumped her in the water. The docks were in plain view of the cruise repair center. That took balls.”

Kerry prayed there was only one person involved. The thought of two sickos churned her stomach. “Premeditation doesn’t mean foolproof. Maybe the killer only wanted the person dead and didn’t realize her gases would cause the body to rise.” Her mind spun with possibilities.

“If the killer was a doctor, he’d know that.”

Damn. “With Chanel, once he’d shot her, perhaps he figured removing the body might leave some trace evidence behind as well as on his clothes.” She snapped her fingers. “Or maybe he used different techniques so the police would be fooled into believing there were different killers.” Kerry sorted through her racing ideas. “If the crime lab can prove the bullet that killed Nancy Donello-Sanchez came from the same gun that killed Chanel Carlitta, we’d be close to connecting all of their deaths.”

“Good luck. I’m still convinced we’re dealing with different killers.” As if something had bitten his butt, he jumped up and made a small circle around the living room. “This killing has to stop. I have to do something.”

“You’re not the only detective on the squad, you know.” His solo attitude wasn’t healthy. It could get him killed.

Her belly soured. Hunter dying would be a terrible loss not only to Melissa, and to Jen, but to her too. The tension vibrating around him nearly choked her.

“Why don’t you call Dr. Dalton and ask where he was last night?” she asked.

He snorted. “You think he’d answer once he saw the caller ID?”

“He would if he has nothing to hide. Didn’t you say he gave you his cell number?”

“Yes. I have it in my notebook, which I left in my truck.”

“Then get it. You won’t know until you try.”

He shrugged. “Be right back.” He jogged toward the door, his step lighter than she’d seen in some time.

The moment Hunter disappeared outside, the coziness in the cabin evaporated. She strained to hear the truck door open and close, but only silence bounced back.

She waited. For an insane second, she pictured someone subduing Hunter. Her fists clenched. That was stupid. No one knew where they were--unless someone had followed her when she and Susan came here the other day. Damn. She should have been more careful.

His truck door slammed and she closed her eyes, thankful for the small blessing.

Hunter sauntered in, skimming through the pages of his notebook. “Got it.”

She let her breath out slowly.

Feet wide apart, his hand gripped the phone so hard his knuckles whitened. He punched in seven numbers. A quick flash of surprise crossed his face a moment later.

“Dr. Dalton?... Detective Hunter Markum...” He gave Kerry a quick flick of his brow. “I have a quick question for you. Can you tell me where you were last evening from about six to nine?”

With his back turned to her, Hunter dropped his head back, as though we were gazing at the ceiling. With each second that passed, a little piece of her died. She was sure the man was making up some alibi. Hunter straightened. “Sorry to have bothered you.”

Hunter clacked the phone closed and turned around. Defeat raced across his face. “Shit.”

“What did he say?”

“You won’t believe this. The guy was at an award’s banquet with the Mayor!”

“You believe him?”

Hunter stomped over to the sofa and dropped like a stone sinking to the bottom of a lake. “I do, because it’s too easy to verify his story.” He punched the sofa seat. “You know what pisses me off?”

“What?”

“It was as if the smug bastard was expecting my call.”

* * *

Dalton flipped on the kitchen light, poured a scotch, and then pressed number four on speed dial.

After a good ten rings, the good-for-nothing nephew answered. “Hello?”

Stay calm. “Tell me why you...” Dalton staggered from a sharp chest pain. “Why did you leave Chanel Carlitta on the side of the fucking road. The police called me about her death.”

“What’s the problem? You had an alibi, didn’t you? It’s what you wanted.”

After three long breaths and the pain subsided. “I didn’t expect them to figure anything out this fast. Your incompetence is unacceptable. My alibi is solid, but Detective Markum isn’t ready to exonerate me on all the other cases.”

“Just chill. The cops are too dumb to piece together anything. Look, I gotta go.”

“Wait. I have another job for you.” Dalton tensed, knowing a fight was inevitable.

“No. I told you I was finished with killing. It’s too dangerous. Shit, I didn’t even have time to dispose of Carlitta’s body.”

Breathe deep. Push aside the hatred. “If you refuse to do what I ask, I’ll use the proof I have against you. Don’t think I won’t tell the police how you killed your father.”

“If you turn me in, don’t think I won’t tell the world your little secret.”

“Don’t even go there. Listen to me. We’re a team.” Dalton knew how to play to the jerk’s hatred of the family unit. “You detested the abuse as much I did.”

“True, but—”

“We’re in this together, right?” Dalton’s teeth ground hard against each other.

“I guess so.”

Asshole. “Listen good. My plan involves Kerry Herlihy.”

The weasel hesitated. “If I help you, you gotta promise this will be the last time.”

Sniveling bastard. “Sure. The last time.” Before you die.

* * *

Hunter guzzled his second cup of coffee while he arranged his folders on his desk, trying to find a commonality among all the killings. He yawned. Two cups weren’t going to do it. He needed a few more. He’d spent a sleepless night thinking about Amy, about the poor dead woman, Chanel, and thinking about Kerry. Mostly, he thought about Kerry. Every time there was a hint of danger surrounding her, an intense anguish clawed at his gut. He wanted to wrap her in his arms and keep her there until the killer was caught, but that wasn’t going to happen unless he put his ass in gear.

He had work to do, and she had work to do. If he did ever get to hold her, he might not be able to let go. Kerry was all kindness, all-caring, and way too trusting—of everyone but him. He couldn’t figure out why she pulled away every time he got close, though perhaps the old adage of the pot calling the kettle black, was true in this case. Regardless, he wanted to learn who, besides her family, had hurt her.

Phil knocked on Hunter’s desk. “Wake up.”

Hunter lifted his head. “I’m awake.” He yawned and sat up in his chair. “Just thinking with my eyes closed. Whatcha got?” He slugged down more coffee. Crap. The brew was old and bitter. The aroma of hot java from Phil’s cup made him want to want a refill of the good stuff.

“I called the Mayor’s office like you asked. I hate being put on hold. By the time someone answered, I was rerouted—”

Hunter lost his patience. Phil was so long-winded, he could have been a Congressman. “What did you find?”

Phil slipped a hip on the edge of his desk. “Dalton was where he said he was. It was an awards dinner to, get this, award him for his community service.”

“Shit. Then who killed Chanel Carlitta?”

“Ah, the big question.”

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, trying to block out the horror of the woman’s face. He pushed back his chair, and it sent out a loud groan. “I’m going to check something out.”

“What?”

“It’s personal. Kerry needs me to run something down.”

He figured as long as he wasn’t in charge of the Chanel Carlitta case, he could afford to spend an hour with Susan’s boyfriend. The quick in and out might earn him some bonus points with the sisters. Problem was, he wasn’t exactly sure what he was supposed to ask the guy.

He needed to stop by the M.E.’s office anyway to see if Kerry could be more specific about Susan’s issues. He convinced himself he wasn’t stopping by simply to see her.

Traffic going north was a bitch for some reason, making him edgier than he’d been all morning. Fortunately, the woman at the Medical Examiner’s front desk was the usual gal and waved him on back, but not before she tossed him a smile that bordered on flirtation. Her offer didn’t interest him.

He knocked on Kerry’s lab, but no one answered. Just as Hunter turned to leave, John Ahern came down the hall.

“She concentrates real hard sometimes,” John said as he punched in the code to Kerry’s space. “Since she’s not dealing with any killer pathogens, she ought to prop open the door.”

Hunter pulled open the heavy steel door and entered. Sure enough, Kerry was bent over the metal gurney, mumbling to herself. No wonder she hadn’t heard his knock.

He refused to address the lightness in his chest as he studied her—tall, limber, and sexy as hell. Not to mention intelligent, soft-hearted, and yes, challenging. The sense of cheer and hope rushing through his veins was like water going over a dam—hard and fast.

“Hello,” he said, as softly as possible, trying not to scare her.

She whirled around, slapped a hand on her heart, and sank onto the chair next to where she was working. “Hey.”

“I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“I was deep in thought. It’s okay.” She ripped off her gloves and tossed them in a bin marked for disposal. “How did you—”

“John let me in.”

“Oh.”

Tears wet her cheeks. “What’s wrong?”

Hunter squatted in front of her and took her ice cold hands in his. He rubbed them, willing warmth into her fingers, waiting for her to pull away, but she didn’t. Now he knew she was upset. Kerry didn’t take comfort willingly.

“It’s Baby Doe. I always get like this when I have to work on a child.”

He understood. Depression zapped him when a child died, but Kerry wasn’t the type to let her emotions get the best of her, or so he’d thought. “Tell me.” Hunter sensed there was more to the story.

“Tell you what? I don’t know what happened to Baby Doe.”

“I’m not talking about the child. I want to know why you’re crying.”

“I...” She stopped and sealed her lips closed.

With his thumb, Hunter reached up and brushed a tear from her cheek. Her lips parted and a sob bubbled out.

After she composed herself, she sniffled. “It’s a long story.”

Hunter pulled over another chair and sat on the edge of the seat, elbows on knees, his hands dangling between his legs. “I have time.”

His pulse raced, waiting for the shared moment. Kerry dried her cheeks and then took a deep breath, as though stalling for time. Perhaps she couldn’t decide whether or not to share her inner soul with a man who held back his fears and emotions as often as she did.

“When I, ah, lived in Ohio, I dated a man who wasn’t who I thought he was. Excuse me.” Kerry reached over, grabbed a tissue and blew her nose. “Peyton, that was his name, was wonderful, or so I’d believed. I thought we were going to be married. When I became pregnant, he went crazy. You see, he was already married, only I didn’t know it.”

Rage roiled inside him. Hunter wanted to fly up to Ohio and punch the shit out of this guy for hurting her. The word baby then sunk in and a yearning nearly felled him. “You were pregnant? What happened to the child?”

She stared at her twisted hands. “I miscarried. I was so devastated—still am.”

Hunter placed a hand on her knee. “Is that why you came down here? To get away from him?”

“In part. I also received a good job offer at Brahman University, one I couldn’t afford to turn down. Grandpa had already survived cancer and when he suffered a stroke, I had to come.”

A caregiver to the max.

“I’m sorry about what happened to you. I can see why you’re skittish around men.” Boy, could he.

“I am?” She waved a hand as if to erase her comment.

He opened his mouth to say something when she cut him off.

“You didn’t come here to find out about my history.”

“True.” From the cool, composed tone, the story telling was over. “I stopped by to ask you something about Susan’s boyfriend. What do you want me to find out from him?”