After Hunter dropped Kerry off at work, he escorted Brad Stafford to the sheriff’s department. She had insisted on returning to the lab to identify Jane Doe #4. Her lips had quivered, and her voice had been thick with emotion. It tore his heart up real bad. Hunter wasn’t good with women, but he knew people. Arguing with her wouldn’t have earned him any bonus points.

As much as he wanted to comfort Kerry, and tell her everything would work out in the end, but shit, why lie? Her relationship with Susan would never be the same.

His heart ached knowing the anguish and turmoil Kerry’s sister was in for. A pain that cut so deep, the wound might never heal—like his continuing ache over Amy.

Amy.

His wife’s usual fresh face had been less distinct, and less real of late. Kerry’s smiling image had crowded his dreams, not Amy’s. Caring, bright, passionate Kerry. Though he was guilt ridden to admit it, Kerry was more of a mate than Amy had ever been. Kerry listened to his theories, and even saw through any illogical conclusions he might draw. Amy’s life was all about her climb in the banking world. Even Melissa came second, he third.

Kerry understood why he had to search for the criminal, whereas Amy wanted him home to take care of the lawn and the house.

Kerry understood death and what it did to the soul—like he did.

“Detective? Are we getting out?” Brad said.

Drowning in his thoughts had made him forget Brad Stafford in the back seat. “Sure.”

Hunter slid from the car and opened the back door and led the man into custody. As he turned back toward the desk area, Brad called to him. Hunter turned. The man’s eyes looked hollow. “Do you want me to give you a DNA sample? If you find my daughter, you’ll see I didn’t harm her. She died of SIDS, I promise.”

Maybe the guy did have a heart after all, or else he didn’t want to face a murder charge too. “The sergeant will take care of you.” Kerry believed Baby Doe was Teresa, but it wouldn’t hurt to have Brad’s DNA in the system.

Hunter headed back to his cluttered desk. He’d pulled out his chair when his cell rang.

Phil. “What’s up?”

“Ahern just called. The bullet that killed Chanel Carlitta didn’t come from the same gun that killed Nancy Donnello-Sanchez.”

“Damn.”

“But there is good news.”

“Tell me.” He wanted to strangle his partner right now.

“Here’s the interesting part. I ran the ballistics on the bullet that killed Willie Wyble.”

“And?”

“Same caliber as Chanel’s.”

“You shitting me?” The results might throw Kerry’s theory down the drain.

“Nope. We won’t know if it came from the same gun until after the lab finishes processing it.”

“That’s an interesting twist. Thanks.” He hung up.

What did Chanel and Willie Wyble have in common? Kerry had been so sure Nancy Donello-Sanchez was a victim of the serial killer. She’d been abused, pregnant, and had plastic surgery. But Willie Wyble? He didn’t have any of those characteristics. Shit. They must have been looking down the wrong barrel—or else they were faced with two different killers.

His phone trilled again and he snatched it off its cradle. “Yeah?”

“Detective Markum?” The woman’s voice wobbled, sounding old, frail, and scared.

“Yes?”

“I’m Helen Szemansky. I’ve been afraid to call, but when I saw you and that pretty woman on TV the other night, you both looked so kind and nice I thought what harm could come from checking.”

“Excuse me?”

“The bust of the missing woman your woman friend showed?”

“Yes?”

“I think the woman might be my granddaughter. Bea, that’s my daughter, didn’t want me to call.”

“I’m glad you did.”

She coughed several times. “Sorry.”

“Would you like to come in and take another look?” He thought her breath hitched. Poor woman. “Up close?” Perhaps it’d give her closure and them a positive identification.

“I’m afraid I can’t walk, and it’s too much for me to get my daughter to take me. She hasn’t been the same since Deidre left us.”

His mind raced. “I could come to your place, if that would be easier.” Her sigh of relief made him smile. “I have a good quality photograph of the model.”

“That would be wonderful. And bring that nice woman with you.”

* * *

The time had come to face Susan. Conflict tore Kerry up. Denying the father the right to see his daughter was wrong—unless Susan believed he’d harm the baby. Kerry was determined to find out what really happened in Ohio—and Florida.

Regardless of the outcome, she would finish the facial reconstruction of Teresa, if only to give her niece the respect she deserved. Having found no evidence of any stress fractions or damage to the bones, the autopsy had concluded the baby could have died of SIDS as Brad claimed. For that, she was grateful. For now, Brad seemed to be telling the truth.

She checked her watch. Hunter had called and said he was on his way to pick her up. ETA about fifteen minutes. She cleaned up her area, and then trashed the paper gown and booties. As she headed out to the front, Steven burst through the door, a serious look on his face. He stopped, his eyes widening.

“Hey,” he said. “You still here?” He wiped his palms on his lab coat.

Quarter to six wasn’t exactly overtime material. “I’m about the leave. Cutting the clay strips for my new reconstruction took longer than expected.” Total babble. Until she spoke to her sister, Kerry wouldn’t discuss the identity of Teresa. “And you?”

“Thought I’d clean out the vans while Dr. A’s not here. I can’t clean while he’s ordering me around.” Steven smiled, his teeth perfectly white and straightened.

Money. He must have been raised on the stuff. She wondered why she never noticed before. “I’m sure Dr. A will be pleased.”

“I hope so. But I’m doing it for selfish reasons. Last time I rode in the white van, I thought I’d puke, and I have a cast iron stomach when it comes to smells.”

She agreed the seats in that vehicle smelled like vomit and death. “Sounds like fun. I wasn’t aware Dr. A had left.”

Hunter was not going to be pleased Dr. Ahern cut out of his babysitting gig early.

“He took off about an hour ago, saying he was coming down with a cold.”

Good reason. “Well, goodnight.”

“Kerry?”

“Yes?”

He shook his head. “Nothing.” Steven smiled again and moved past her down the hall.

Yikes. Maybe the young man had a crush on her, though she hoped not. He wasn’t her type. Hunter’s face appeared in her mind and her pulse quickened.

* * *

“Are you okay?” Hunter asked the moment Kerry slipped into the car.

It might be hot and humid outside, but the heat couldn’t be the only cause for her blotchy face.

“Just a lot on my mind.” She faced the side window.

“Have you figured out what you’re going to say to Susan?” Hunter pulled into traffic.

“Not yet.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I was thinking about Steven.”

“John Ahern’s assistant?” He’d only run into the kid a few times, but he seemed nice enough.

“I can’t put my finger on it. He kind of creeps me out.”

Hunter stopped at a light and turned toward her. “What did he do?”

“Nothing, really. He smiled at me.”

“Oh, okay.” Hunter laughed. “I think with so much going on, you’re understandably seeing something that’s not there.” He reached over and squeezed her hand wishing he could do more to bring her comfort.

She half smiled. “That must be it. Thanks.”

He tapped the steering wheel. “Good news.”

“What?”

“I received a call from a Mrs. Szemansky about Jane Doe #4. She thinks the woman may be her granddaughter.”

Kerry grabbed his shoulder and her heat seared his skin. Her smile moved him, sending a rush of desire straight to his groin. Though the dark circles under Kerry’s eyes worried him, her renewed energy gave him a jolt. A car behind them honked.

Green light meant go. He took off.

“That’s great. Did this Mrs. Szemansky give you any details as to why she thought the model might be her granddaughter?”

Before he could answer, a car sped past his cruiser, going at least twenty-five miles over the speed limit. Idiot. While he didn’t stop folks for speeding anymore, he was tempted to put his siren on and tail the guy.

“No. Talking seemed to be an effort for her, so I cut the conversation short. We’ll know soon enough. We’re on our way there now.”

“That’s wonderful news.”

He kept his eyes peeled for the Bearss Avenue exit. Fifteen minutes later he turned off the interstate. After a few turns, he found the woman’s street, near where a prostitute had been brutally slain last week. White paper mixed with brown leaves blew and floated along the side of the road.

Kerry waved the scrap of paper he’d written the directions on. “That’s it.” She pointed to a small, pale yellow house.

Hunter pulled to a stop in front of the mailbox. The grass needed some cutting and the house could use a fresh coat of paint, but the blooming flowers showed someone cared. They slipped out, and he locked the car doors. No use tempting fate, especially around here.

The humidity had taken a small holiday and a cool breeze blew enough to relieve the intense heat. Hunter pressed a hand to her back and led Kerry to the front door. She stiffened but didn’t move out of his reach, a sure sign she was thawing toward him.

A woman in her late sixties answered his knock. The condition of the house was a palace compared to the landscape of the woman’s face. Only because she was standing did he know she was alive.

“Mrs. Szemansky?”

“No. That’s my mother. I’m Bea Flower.” Her voice came out hoarse, like she smoked three packs a day.

He introduced himself and Kerry. “May we come in?”

“Sorry. I don’t know where my manners are.” Shoulders slumped, she showed them in. “Please sit.”

A sweater and a shirt were tossed on the back of the sofa, and two full ashtrays along with a half-full plate of something unrecognizable sat on a side table.

Two kids ran past an elderly woman in a wheelchair, one waving a plastic sword and the other fending off the attack with plastic nunchucks. The old lady smiled a toothless grin. From all the eye rolling and pursed lips, the older girl, who was in her early teens, was doing her best to pretend she was enjoying herself. The younger sister, dressed in a Tae Kwon Do outfit, was screeching and laughing. Both were mirror images of each other.

An unexpected stirring shot through him at the thought of Melissa having another child to play with.

Hunter refocused as he took in the living room. Books and toys littered the room, and a small television that flickered displaying some cartoons had the sound muted. The furniture had mismatched flowered covers tossed over them, and small figurines were stuffed to the max on the bookcase. He sneezed. The dust quotient was out of control.

“Molly and Danielle, go play in the den,” Mrs. Flower yelled. She coughed, and then pulled out a pack of Marlboros.

She lit one, and the acrid tang slid down his throat and made him choke. Damn allergies.

Bea Flower took a deep drag as though it would be her last breath.

Kerry’s face fell, for she too must have sensed this woman was at the end of her proverbial rope.

“Mrs. Szemansky and Mrs. Flower, I’ve brought a photo of the reconstruction.” Hunter handed the picture to Mrs. Flower.

Bea’s hand clawed at her shirt and her face paled. She dropped the photo on her mother’s lap. “It could be my daughter, Deidre. Her eyes were set close together like this woman’s and they both had high cheekbones and a small chin.”

Both waited for the elderly woman to agree or disagree. “The nose isn’t quite right, and Deidre never wore her hair that way.” The elderly woman glanced up. Pain dragged her mouth as she covered the photo with her palm.

“I guessed at the hairstyle,” Kerry said. “Same with the ears, nose and lip thickness.”

Mrs. Szemansky nodded. “Then maybe it is her, but I can’t be positive.”

The older lady flipped the photo face down on her lap, and Hunter took it back from her.

“Can you tell me what happened to Deidre?” Hunter didn’t address either of them in particular.

The smell of popcorn floated in from the kitchen. The kids giggled, as if they knew they should wait for dinner.

“Deidre and Trent were married fifteen years ago,” Bea Flower began. “Everything was going real good until about two years ago.” She turned back toward the kitchen. “Deidre was supposed to be at work. She had two jobs, you know, trying to support the family. She did some accounting work for an elderly gentleman. When took sick one day, she came home early.”

Bea took another drag and seemed to savor the taste, the smell, and the high. “She, ah, caught Trent pawing Molly—she’s Deidre’s eldest. Molly was only twelve at the time.”

Kerry drew in an audible breath and squeezed the arms of the chair. “That’s despicable.” A small bubble flew from her mouth, and she swiped her lips.

He wanted to take Kerry away and comfort her, but she’d protest and insist they finish the interview.

“What happened?” Hunter kept his voice low, but his heart pounded in his chest at the injustice.

“They were at their house, mind you, so I only heard this second hand. Deidre went after him with a kitchen knife. That’s when things got real ugly. She cut him on the arm. He then grabbed the knife from her and sliced up her face. Deidre was able to reach the phone and call 9-1-1. Trent got scared and split.”

Hunter scribbled a note to himself to look up the call. “Were charges filed?”

“Yes. The bastard’s in jail, thank God. Doesn’t help Molly though. He already ruined her. She’s only now enjoying herself again.”

So much for the husband killing the wife. “Mrs. Flower, if the woman we have in the morgue is your daughter, did you know she was pregnant?”

Bea’s hand flew to her mouth and her brows arched. She choked out a response. “No.” Her body crumpled onto the chair next to them, her breaths rapid.

“Was she dating anyone?” With her hubby already in jail, Deidre would have been with someone at least two to three months before her death.

It took a moment before she answered. “Yes. Chris. Chris Auger. He showed no interest in the kids, so Deidre thought he was safe. Too bad he wasn’t nice to my daughter.”

“Was she injured again?”

Her bottom lip protruded over her top lip. “Yes, but Deidre claimed she’d been in a car accident. Her injury occurred right before she disappeared. She said the airbag exploded and smashed her face up pretty bad. Broke the bone above her eye, but I never believed her.”

“Did you think Chris abused her?”

“Yes. I didn’t have the heart to ask the kids about it. I didn’t want to scare them.”

“Can you give me Chris’ address?” He’d definitely check out the guy.

“Sure.” She reached into the coffee table drawer and withdrew a notebook. “Here it is.”

Hunter copied it down.

“Did she have surgery to repair the eye socket?” Kerry asked.

Hunter was glad Kerry had popped back to the realm of the living.

Bea sniffled. “Yes. She went to a plastic surgeon.” A hint of a smile lifted one corner of her lips. “And then she sent the bill to Chris. Apparently, when he saw the amount for the procedure, he went ballistic. Deidre called me that night, crying, saying she had to leave him. She was worried about the children. I told her I’d watch the kids while she figured out what to do.” Her lips trembled. “That was the last time I heard from her.”

Hunter had to ask as Kerry looked lost in thought again. “Do you recall the name of this surgeon?”

“Yes. I’ll never forget. She was so excited he made room for her in his busy schedule. It was Dr. Dalton. He works over on 56^th Street.”

Anger stabbed at him. Proof. Somehow he’d get the proof the bastard killed those women. “Thank you.”

Hunter stood and Kerry reached out a hand to stop him. “Mrs. Flower, do you have a hairbrush of Deidre’s?” She explained the DNA process.

“Everything of hers is boxed up in the garage. I suppose I can look through her things.”

“We’d appreciate it.”

Hunter grabbed Kerry’s hand. It was cold and lifeless. Something other than losing her baby had thrown her for a loop while talking to Mrs. Flower, and he was determined to find out what had shaken her to the core.