Phil popped into Sam’s lab just as he was scanning in the skull of a young African American male. A bulldozer had come across the remains of the skeleton two days ago. “What’s up?”

“I received a call from TPD.”

Sam nearly crushed the skull. “Did something happen to Jenna?” He hadn’t been able to keep focused thinking someone wanted to kill her.

“No, thank God. Marlon Giombetti, one of my contacts in the force, told me about a family who’s been calling him every week to ask about their missing son—their missing twenty-year old African American son.” Phil nodded to the bones on the gurney.

Sam tensed. “You think it’s this guy?”

Phil handed Sam a photo. “Marlon faxed this over to me. Does it look familiar?”

The man’s broad smile revealed two gold teeth studded with diamonds. “Holy shit. It sure looks like our man. The teeth will be able to confirm it.”

“The DNA’s already in our Lab.”

Sam chuckled. “I knew you were good, but that good?”

“Aw, shucks. Seriously, the victim’s name is James Coverson. But here’s the spooky part. He worked as a part time gardener for...are you ready for this? Creighton Jackson.”

“Shit. Maybe Coverson saw the killer and needed to be shut up.”

Phil swiped a hand over his head. “I can’t wait for this nightmare to end.”

A soft knock sounded, followed by the familiar tones. Carla entered. “I am good,” she announced with a smile.

“What did you find?” Phil spun toward her.

“Get this. Deidra’s sister’s husband was a med student here at Braham University, but he dropped out fifteen years ago after finishing his second year. The registrar is a good friend of mine and told me that according to the records, the guy still owes his last semester’s bill.”

“I don’t suppose she gave a reason for his financial trouble?”

“She didn’t, but I hunted down one of his fellow classmates who remembers the husband quite well, claiming he gambled—a lot.”

“Carla,” Phil said. “You’ve earned every measly dime I pay you.”

A broad smile lit her face. “Such a generous man. I gotta go.” She saluted and left.

Something tickled Sam’s brain. “You know the fact Shelby’s husband was a med student fits well with the surgeon angle. Not just anyone could cut off a head and hands and not do any injury to the bones. That takes skill.”

“You’re right. I’ll have TPD put an APB out on the guy and have them bring him in for questioning. I’d like to see him explain away all the coincidences.”

After Phil disappeared, Sam’s concentration went to shit. He couldn’t get his mind off Jenna. They’d spent last night hashing out her plan as the Tampa Police patrolled their street all night long. Having Jenna in his arms gave him a contentment he never knew existed. The woman had definitely burrowed her way under his skin.

His brain sent out a warning. Every person he’d grown close to had either died, gone to jail, or run away. He prayed he wouldn’t lose Jenna too.

The bigger question was whether he was willing to give her the last piece of his heart and chance having his dreams crushed.

After Jenna visited her dad in the hospital, she decided she needed to play matador and flash the red cape at Deidra. The woman was connected somehow to this mess and only by confronting her would she find out how she was involved.

The occult shop was actually crowded for a Wednesday afternoon. A new guy was at the counter, and she approached him. “Is Deidra in the back? I need to see about a check she owes me.”

He scrunched up his lips. “Yeah. Haven’t seen her in a few hours, so knock first.”

Whatever. The incense seemed more cloying than the last time she’d been in and a tickle caught in her throat. Jenna stopped at the door, hand ready. She didn’t relish confronting Deidra. It was hard to ask someone if she’d hired some kids to rob a bunch of graves so she could do a stupid spell for an outrageous price, but unless Jenna brought up the topic, she’d never learn the truth.

Her rap was louder than she’d planned, but there was no answer. Jenna knocked again, and was one more met with silence. Surprised the knob turned, she pushed open the door and stopped dead in her tracks. A scream lodged in her throat at the bloody sight. Deidra was slumped in her chair, a bullet hole in her head. “Dear Lord in heaven.”

Jenna might have been on the force for five years, but she’d never been first on the scene at a homicide. Shit, shit, shit. Now she’d never learn the truth. And here she thought Deidra might have been the one to off Creighton Jackson’s head and possibly his gardener’s. Deidra still could be guilty, but someone else was definitely at large—someone under six-foot with a tattoo on his arm. The jerk who’d confronted her in the backroom didn’t have red hair like the pizza deliveryman, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t blown up her car, thrown the rock in Sam’s window, killed Carla sister, or committed a host of other transgressions. When he’d approached her, he’d always worn a jacket or had on long sleeves—hence no visible tattoo.

A quick call to the precinct about the murder gave her some solace that help was on the way and that she didn’t have to deal with the body herself.

A slapping of wood sounded behind the office, and adrenaline rushed through her. Crap. Was the killer in the back? She tugged on the door that led to the backroom, and it creaked open. She debated waiting until backup came, but if the sound was from the perp, and she didn’t go after him now, he would get away. She refused to think this was a stupid move. With her vest, collar, and gun, she was prepared—or so she hoped.

She withdrew her Glock from her backpack purse and, as silently as she could, raced down the hallway praying the last door would be unlocked too. Her breaths rapid, she placed an ear to the door. Nothing. Damn. Go for it.

When she tugged on the handle, the door swung open. The dim light was on, and the air was a combination of rotten remains and something else she couldn’t pinpoint. A quick glance told her no one was here. She turned, and the light glinted off something in the floor. Hand on the trigger, she stepped to the far left side of the room and past the wall with the crazy symbols.

A dull, one-inch ring sat in the dust on the floor. She stepped over to the area and bent to pick up the metal, only to find it was attached to the floor. Wait a minute. Jenna moved behind the ring and tugged. A trapdoor eased open. So that was how he’d been able to escape.

Sirens sounded in the background as understanding flooded her. Rickety steps led to a dark, dirt-lined room. No way was she going down there. Uh, huh. Nope. The killer could be waiting for her.

After releasing the handle, she raced back to where Deidra lay. The stench of death filled the air. Two cops burst through the door—David Hanson and Mike Blansky, both with Homicide. They nodded to her.

David stopped and scanned the room. “Mike, get the CSU team here ASAP.” He faced Jenna. “Mind waiting outside. We don’t need you messing with the evidence.”

Like she would? Instead of flipping him the bird, she scooted out without making eye contact. Neither seemed to think she had anything to do with the murder, thank goodness.

The Hispanic behind the counter had shooed everyone out, so she could shake and worry by herself.

“Is it bad?” The man who had more craters on his face than the moon nodded toward the office.

“Yeah, real bad. You didn’t see anyone go in there?”

“Besides you?”

“Funny. Yeah, besides me.”

“Nope. Deidra disappeared about three hours ago. I learned my lesson about interrupting her.”

Smart man. The front door dinged and the CSU team piled in, including the medical examiner who wore his fatigue both in his face and his bent back. Both techs waved, and Jenna directed them to the back. Given someone murdered Deidra, her ex-boss might not have been the one to do in Creighton Jackson. Whether Jenna’s boss had ordered the two teens to break into the mausoleum was anyone’s guess.

Mike Blansky strode out wearing his footies like a good detective. “Jenna, I need to get your statement.”

“Sure thing.”

She led him out of earshot of the cashier and told him what she suspected.

Mike took notes. “Larry and Marlon brought me up-to-speed on Ms. Willows and her connection to Jackson. We’ll have to see what the M.E. says about time of death, but I’d say she was killed two to three hours ago.”

“Hey, Mike.” His partner rushed out with a piece of paper encased in plastic. “I think you’ll want to see this.” David dangled the plastic enclosed note in front of both of them, his gaze shooting between Mike and her.

“It’s a note covered in blood,” Jenna said.

Mike lifted the baggie toward the light and read the message out loud. “Jenna’s next.”

“Oh, shit. Why me?”

Both shrugged. “You worked here. Maybe he thinks you know who’s responsible for all the bad shit that’s been happening.”

“I wish.” She and Sam had been over all the suspects and had come up empty-handed.

“Some guy is staying at your place, right?” Mike asked.

“Yeah.” Some guy.

On her way from downtown to the lab, Jenna stopped by the deli and picked up Sam’s favorite sandwich of rare roast beef on rye with lettuce and tomato. She bought nothing for herself, because Jenna couldn’t rid her brain of the vision of poor Deidra. And here Jenna thought she wanted to be a homicide detective. Maybe giving out parking tickets wasn’t such a bad profession after all.

A different guard was manning the HOPEFAL’s desk. This one appeared alert and friendly. She thought about asking what happened to the last guard but decided to keep quiet. She flashed her temporary HOPEFAL badge Phil had given for her and signed in. Once on Sam’s floor, she punched in the code to Sam’s door and stepped inside. He and Lara were huddled over a gurney studying a skullcap.

“I’d say between forty and fifty,” Lara said.

“I agree.” Sam looked up, but Lara seemed oblivious someone had come in or else was too focused on her work to notice.

His heavy perusal and small lift of his lips gave Jenna oohlala goose bumps that implied lots of kissing and touching were in her future. “I brought lunch.” Jenna waved the bag.

Sam strutted over to her, planted a tongue tingling kiss on her, and removed the food from her hands. “Thanks. You staying?” He nuzzled her neck. “I miss you,” he said soft enough for only her to hear.

For some reason making out with Sam in front of his intern embarrassed her. What was wrong with her today? Was she nervous about confronting the killer? God knows she had enough protection to keep a SWAT team at bay. Or had seeing her former employer shot ruined things for her?

Jenna took a big breath. “Someone killed Deidra. Shot her in the head.” Might as well not cherry coat it.

He tossed the sandwich bag on the counter and took hold of her arms. “Tell me everything.”

She filled him in on the details, including the threat aimed at her. “All I can say is that it was pretty ugly in there.”

Sam leaned in closer. “Are you sure you want to go through with the investigation now that your life has been threatened?” His eyes pleaded with her.

“You mean, again? I have to.” She probably should show him the knives and guns, and every other precaution, but he might realize the cops would never give a civilian so many weapons without proper training. If only she was ready to assure him nothing would go wrong, that she was a cop and was trained to handle this pond scum, he might support her decision.

Sam ran a hand down her face. “Let’s eat then.”

“I ate already.” She wouldn’t tell him her stomach was doing acrobatics inside, and eating anything would have made her vomit. Sam split his sandwich with Lara who seemed sweet enough and had the courtesy not to look too intrigued by her professor.

Sam pointed to the microphone Phil had found in the lab. “So what exactly is your plan?” Both believed if they filtered their conversation, they could trap the guy.

“I’m going for a jog in Lettuce Lake Park. I need to unwind. Finding Deidra dead has me on edge.” No lie there.

“Be careful.”

“I promise.”

Jenna kissed Sam goodbye and left. Once in the car, she adjusted her earpiece under the headscarf. The leather collar itched like hell and the Kevlar vest weighed her down, but Jenna was determined to get this guy.

She tilted her head downward and spoke into the mike that was pinned to her bra strap. “I’m heading down Fletcher Avenue toward Lettuce Lake Park.”

“I read you loud and clear. We’ll have our guys there before you even arrive,” Larry said. He’d volunteered to run the sting and had four beat cops stationed inside the park. “You have nothing to worry about, but do be vigilant.”

“You can count on it.” Thankfully, the windows in the car were bulletproof.

Even though the plan was on schedule, Jenna couldn’t stop glancing in the rear view mirror every thirty seconds. A white truck followed her for about a mile before turning off. Either the guy was good, or she was going for a nice run in the park—alone. The sun shone bright, the day in the mid sixties. If nothing else, the fresh air might give her time to think about Sam and how to approach him about what she did for a living.

Jenna pulled through the gate and drove down the tree-lined road to the parking lot. Gnarled live oaks dripping with sphagnum moss extended their long arms and provided some nice shade. Palmetto bushes, intermingled with some scruffy underbrush, dotted the landscape. About six other cars were parked in the lot. Given the cops were in unmarked vehicles, she figured one or two must belong to them.

Her bodyguards were good about keeping out of sight. Deciding to enjoy the clear, cool day, Jenna slipped out of the safety of the car and jogged toward the wooden walkway that wended through the park toward the Hillsborough River. Egrets feasted on snails, seagulls squawked overhead, and lily pads bobbed in the running water. When she reached the peaceful river, she leaned over the handrail and caught sight of an alligator basking in the afternoon sun.

She waited over five minutes, but no one approached her. The person after her must not be as observant as she thought or he would have taken advantage of her supposed isolation.

“No one’s here,” she said into her microphone. “I’m going to head east before swinging back to the parking lot.” Even though no one was close enough to hear her, she felt stupid talking into the hidden microphone.

She trotted around the long pathway until the wooden walkway forked and then stopped to watch a mother with her young child off to the left. The mom pointed to a white bird in the tree and the little boy laughed. Her heart tugged as Sam’s face emerged in her mind’s eye. Would she ever enjoy such a moment?

Sighing, Jenna edged her hand along the weathered wooden railing and peered into the water, hoping to see some other form of animal life. The sharp prick of a needle and the hand over her mouth sent a surge of adrenaline zinging through her. Her muscles went numb as her fingers attempted to grab the gun at her waist. Her forefinger brushed the cold steel, but before she could grasp the weapon, the strong man pinned her arms behind her back and dragged her in the opposite direction of the woman. Jenna moaned, hoping the cops would pick up her distress or at the very least attract the attention of the woman. The little boy squealed and pointed to a buzzard flying overhead, overriding any noise she could make. Turn around. Please.

Where the hell were her bodyguards? When she said she was going for a run, did they decide all was clear? Jenna struggled, listening for the pounding footsteps of her fellow officers coming to her rescue, but she heard nothing.

She expected to hear the usual shout of, “Stop, Police.” Only she didn’t.

“It’s no use struggling,” her captor said. “The drug will render your muscles useless in a few minutes.”

She knew that voice. Oh my God. Her eyes crossed and breath hitched. Her legs gave out and her knees nearly dragged to the ground. In a flash, she was hoisted up and over his shoulder. Her eyelids wouldn’t stay open and her body turned to lead.

Oh God, she was going to die, and she’d never see Sam again.

Marlon Giombetti tapped the microphone. “Jenna, can you hear me?”

Derek Wolf, a fellow homicide detective, sat across from him, earphones on. He shook his head, his eyes creased in worry. “Call Prior and Gomez. They’re at the park. See what they say is happening.”

Marlon tried contacting the two agents. “They’re not responding.”

“Shit.” Derek tore off his earphones and stood. “Let’s go.”

“To the park?”

“No, dumb fuck to Busch Gardens.”

Pisser. Once out the door, Marlon notified Phil how they’d lost contact with Jenna. The string of insults lasted until they were halfway to Lettuce Lake Park. Derek ran two red lights and wove in and out of traffic to reach the park.

“Turn left here.”

Wolf tore into the entrance, down the rutted road, and past the guard station. He whipped in next to Jenna’s car.

“She’s still here,” Marlon said blowing out a long breath. “As are Gomez and Prior—or at least their vehicles are here.”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Wolfe said with way too much authority. “Divide and conquer.”

Wolfe shot out of the car and took off down a well worn path as Marlon tried to make contact with Jenna once more. Nothing. He tapped the microphone in case a wire was loose, and then attempted to contact Prior and Gomez again. “Do you read me?”

He waited for a response as he kept his gaze on Wolfe. After ten long seconds of silence, he jumped out the vehicle to search on foot.

He’d gone about fifty feet, when Wolfe shouted, “Giombetti,” and waved him over. Marlon traipsed down the path and wiped sweat from his forehead despite the cool temperature.

“What is it?”

“Blood.”

“That’s not good.” Wolfe was a full-blooded Seminole Indian and had the talent to track anything. “I wonder if it’s Jenna’s.” Marlon knelt down and studied the large stain. “It doesn’t look good for whoever it belongs to.” He glanced around for signs of a struggle. No broken branches, no pieces of torn clothing, and no bullet casings. So far, so good.

Without offering any speculation, Wolfe raced away, stomping through the underbrush. Like a bloodhound, he stepped through the sharp-ended palmettos as if they were blades of grass and stopped about one hundred feet from the path. “Over here.” He ran a hand over his head.

From the hoarse shout, whatever Wolfe found wouldn’t be good. Marlon raced over. Both Prior and Gomez lay tossed on the ground, their throats cut. “Shit. How could this person have gotten a jump on both of them?” Marlon sank to his knees. “Prior’s wife is due to deliver their first child any day now, and Gomez is a single dad raising three young sons. Dear God.” His voice cracked. “I’ll call it in.”

Marlon contacted Captain Lucas, expecting another tirade. Instead, his captain sounded relatively calm, but he could hear the strain in his boss’ voice. “Look to see if her phone is in the car,” the captain said. “The GPS indicates she’s still at the park. Someone needs to check every vehicle leaving the place.”

“Yes, sir.”

Armed with some direction, Marlon rushed back to the parking lot and peered into her car. Her cell was prominently displayed on the driver’s seat. The phone was on, the message light blinking. He tugged on the door handle. It was unlocked. Dumb girl. After donning gloves, he picked up the cell, scrolled through the buttons for the messages and listened.

After two rings, the phone announced the arrival of one message. Three seconds passed. Click. “Jenna’s going to die.” Click.

“What do you have?” Wolfe said right behind him, and Marlon jumped.

He held out the phone. “He’s got Jenna.”

“What did he say? Did he ask for a ransom or anything?”

“No. All he said was that Jenna was going to die.” Wolfe stood like a stone statue, as if he were in a trance again. “The captain said to stop anyone trying to leave. Why don’t you search the park while I talk to the guard on duty?”

Wolfe snapped back into this world, nodded, and took off running again.

Loud country music, mixed with the roar of a big engine greeted Jenna the moment she realized she was alive. Her body heavy, she tried to assess the situation. Where was she, and how did she gotten there? She must be in a car because the movement was linear instead of up and down. A rag was stuffed in her mouth and a blindfold covered her eyes. The vehicle stopped, and then jerked forward. From the low-pitched sound of the engine, they must not be going very fast. That meant they probably weren’t on I-4 or I-75.

Jenna wiggled her toes and fingers, but little sensation registered until pin pricks of pain raced to her extremities. Too bad her hands were tied behind her back or she could have searched for her weapon. Her face rested against a rough carpet that smelled like dog pee. She inhaled to bring air into her lungs and tried not to gag. Mentally, she ran through her options. Her captor must have found the gun stashed at her waist, but had he located the pearl handled 22 shoved in her boot? She wiggled her thighs together but didn’t find the knife she’d strapped to her inner thigh. Damn. The thought of that scum touching her made her skin crawl.

She’d kept her phone in her top pocket but couldn’t tell if she still had it. Jenna rolled part way onto her chest to feel for any kind of lump. Damn. Her cell was gone. There went the GPS. A wave of depression assaulted her. Captain Lucas’ failsafe plan had failed.

Wait. If she could get the mask off far enough to see, she might stand a chance at finding something to attack him with when he came for her.

Energized with hope, Jenna rubbed her face over the carpet, hoping to move the material an inch. With each swipe, the cloth edged farther upward, but it also scraped her skin. After trying for another few minutes, she finally succeeded. Light filtered in and she blinked. In front of her sat a stained carpet, a pen, gum wrapper and an unused cigarette—but no gun, tire iron, or knife. She was in the backseat of a car, not the trunk as she’d anticipated. That made it easier to escape. Maybe.

At least her feet were free. Assuming she had the opportunity, she could make a run for it—if she ever freed herself and her toes functioned again. She needed to go on the offensive when her kidnapper stopped the car. Without making any noise that would let him know she was awake, she rolled onto her back and tucked her knees to her chest. She stretched her shoulders to the max and managed to swing her hands under her butt and threaded her feet through the loop. Phew. Free at last. Thank goodness for being double jointed.

The vehicle turned off the paved road onto a rough surface. She had no time to spare. The ride jostled her up and down, making maneuvering difficult and rather painful.

Her hands might be bound, but she could reach the gun in her boot—assuming it was still there. Groggy from whatever he gave her, her eyes blurred as she reached along the inside of her shoe. When her tingling fingers found her weapon, she nearly let out a strangled cry of gratitude.

With gun cocked, she propped herself up on her elbows and waited for the bastard to open the door.