“What the fuck, stud muffin?”

Sean shut the bedroom door behind him so he wouldn’t wake Grace. Suki had called the minute she’d heard what happened and she wasn’t happy.

“I told you to piss him off, not get run over by the guy.”

“Trust me,” he responded. “Getting run over was not in my playbook. But apparently our UNSUB has a different one.”

Suki huffed. “Apparently. Are you okay?”

“I’ll live.” He sat on the couch ignoring the glare Rico was giving him from the recliner. The cat was still pissed off he’d been evicted from the master bedroom. “But despite my bruises and road rash, we’re no closer to IDing this guy. Any new suggestions?”

“Yeah. Get eyes in the back of your head.”

He snorted. The shrink loved to bust his chops, and he gladly took the comic relief. “I’ll add it to my to-do list.”

The doorbell rang, sending Rico scurrying down the hall to the spare bedroom. Sean stood and peeked through the front door’s peephole. Sighing, he unlocked the door and opened it. “Suki, I’ll call you back later. My oldest brother is here with his very pregnant wife . . . after I told them not to come.”

“Don’t blame me,” KC told him as Sean disconnected the call. Moriah looked him up and down, evaluating the injuries not covered by his sweatpants. “When your pregnant and hormonal wife demands to see her brother-in-law in the battered flesh to reassure herself he’s okay, you hop to it.”

“I’m fine. See?” He did a 360 degree turn, keeping his injured arm tucked against his ribs. “I wasn’t lying to you earlier.”

“Stick it, both of you,” Moriah chastised as Sean kissed her cheek while KC shut the front door. “Our baby only has two blood uncles, and he or she is not losing one of them to a deranged psycho if I have any say about it.”

KC helped his wife sit in the recliner Rico had fled from. “Trust me, the baby is due in two days. If I could’ve convinced Moriah you were okay, we’d still be up in Little Creek.”

Moriah waved her husband away. “Stop hovering. I’m pregnant, not a priceless antique.”

“Well, not an antique, but definitely priceless.”

Taking a seat on the couch, Sean watched his sister-in-law melt at the compliment before turning back to him. “Where’s Grace?”

“Sleeping. We both passed out for a bit after we got home from the hospital.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. We’ll come back later.” The woman struggled to stand again, hampered by her wide baby-girth, and KC helped her up, rolling his eyes in exasperation. There was no way he was going to say his wife was driving him nuts, and knowing that, Sean bit back a chuckle. “We’ll bring dinner.”

Sean shook his head. As much as he loved his brother and Moriah, he didn’t want everyone hanging out here later. At least if they met somewhere, he and Grace could leave when they wanted to. “Why don’t we meet you at Sassy’s for dinner? Tell Brian, Bonnie, and Uncle Dan to meet us.”

“Six o’clock?” KC asked while escorting Moriah to the door.

“Perfect.” Sean held the door open for them. “The beach house is all yours, which you probably already knew since you came here. I assume Bonnie gave you the address.”

“Actually, Dan did. He’s already written you off as taken and headed for wedded bliss, by the way, so you might as well go engagement ring shopping, because it’s inevitable. Which also means Brian is next in line for the old man’s matchmaking. Can’t wait to see that boy go down—hard.”

Snorting, Sean had to agree. “That’s going to be very, fucking entertaining. And I’m going to sit back, watch, and laugh my fucking ass off.”

“So am I. Later, bro.”

“Later.”

Sean shut the front door then ambled down the hallway to the master bedroom. Rico was sitting outside the closed door meowing, so Sean let the cat into the room and lowered his voice. “Fine. You can join us now. Just stay away from my balls, you little homo-cat. If you want a boyfriend, I’ll get you one that’s feline.”

* * *

George pounded the steering wheel of his mother’s car as he drove past the address he had for Special Agent Sean Malone. He’d switched vehicles and planned to hide his for a few weeks, until he could get the damage fixed without raising any flags. It’d been three days since he’d hit the bastard, and Malone still wasn’t at the beach house. Finding out his address had been as easy as hitting a few computer keys. However, the night of the incident and the next morning, there had been another guy and a pregnant woman at the house. No one had been there since, as far as George could tell. The fucking bastard was probably staying with the blonde slut.

Doing a U-turn, he rethought his strategy. Maybe the sheriff’s department would be the best place to find the fed again, then follow him. Yeah, that would work. But right now, George was itching to acquire a new whore to be turned into art. Something to tide him over until he could get his hands on the fed’s girlfriend. But where to leave his new masterpiece? He pondered a few places as he drove past the beach house once again.

“That’s it! That’s how to lure that prick back into the open!” Formulating a plan, he steered toward home. Tomorrow he was off from work so he’d have plenty of time to make sure everything was perfect. There were things to do and sluts to kill. The karma gods were shining brightly today!

* * *

“How does that feel?”

“Hmmm,” Sean moaned. “Like heaven. But I think it needs to be lower, please.”

Grace adjusted her hands on his back and shoulder. “There?”

“Uh-uh. Between my legs.”

Chuckling, she continued to knead his injured muscles. “I know for a fact that area is working just fine. Besides, my first patients are due any moment and I don’t want anyone thinking a ‘happy ending’ is part of the therapy we offer here.”

“Ha! No, definitely not.” He reached back with his good arm and squeezed her ass. “That’s a specialty for your lover boy only.”

The front door of Pro-Care opened and Sean released his grip as Tim walked in with two patients on his heels. It was a few minutes before 8:00 a.m., and after Grace finished the therapy on Sean’s shoulder, he was heading back to work. Brian and the others had kept him up-to-date with the case, but he’d had to wait to get clearance from an orthopedist, which he’d gotten late yesterday afternoon, to officially be back on the clock. Agency rules.

Tim helped an elderly, male patient climb onto a therapy table. “How’re you feeling, Sean?”

“Good. Got the best physical therapist there is working on me.”

Finishing his massage, Grace retrieved a moist heating pad from a steamer and placed it on his shoulder. “Not that he’s biased at all.”

“No, not at all,” Tim said with a chuckle.

Sean had filled the other therapist in on what had happened so the guy knew to keep an eye on things at the clinic. With Tim here, Uncle Dan across the street, and a steady stream of patients throughout the day, Grace was as safe as she could be without being in a plastic, bulletproof bubble.

As she went to set up the other patient, Sean’s cell phone rang. Glancing at the number, he saw it was Brian and answered it. “Hey, bro.”

“Where the fuck are you?”

Startled at the anger in his brother’s voice, Sean responded, “I’m at Grace’s PT clinic and almost done. Heading to the sheriff’s department in a few. What’s wrong?”

“Don’t bother going to HQ. Meet me at the beach house as soon as you can.”

He pulled the heating pad from his shoulder and stood. “The beach house? Why?”

“This sadistic bastard left you a fucking present. Victim number six—or nine if you count the ones in Pennsylvania—is on the patio.”

Fuck!

Within minutes, Sean parked his Mustang behind a state BCI truck that had just pulled up to the curb in front of Uncle Dan’s beach house. He rushed past the two techs gathering their equipment and ran up the driveway to the patio. His gut clenched when he saw the naked and mutilated victim perched on one of the outdoor loveseats that surrounded a stone fire pit. Shit! He and Grace had been sitting on that exact piece of furniture after Easter Sunday dinner. KC had started a fire, and they’d all enjoyed sitting around it waiting for their bellies to digest the huge meal Bonnie had served.

Behind him, one of the crime scene techs, pulled out a camera and began taking pictures for evidence. Sean looked at Brian, Matt, Brad, and Rafe, searching for answers that, obviously, none of them had.

His brother pointed at the house next door. “Mrs. Zielinski’s nephew, Andre, is using her cottage for the week and spotted our vic when he came out to have his coffee on the porch. He went to bed around ten last night and didn’t hear a thing.” He lifted his chin toward the dead woman. “The killer left you a note.”

What? Sean’s gaze returned to the victim and he pushed aside his anger that a place he loved and had lived at during his teenage years had been pulled into this mess. That was the least of their problems right now. The worst being the poor, unidentified, blonde woman who hadn’t deserved to die and be posed like a macabre Halloween display. She’d been placed in a sitting position, but that didn’t hide the word “slut” carved into her torso. The ligature marks were prominent on the pale, blue skin of her neck, wrists, and ankles. She appeared to be in her early twenties and was similar to all the other victims with one exception—there was a white envelope on her lap with cutout letters spelling “Federal Pig.”

Sean turned to the photographer. “Get pictures of the note so we can open it.”

“Done. You’re good to take it.”

Brian handed his brother a pair of latex gloves. “It’s your mail.”

“Gee, thanks.”

After donning the gloves, he picked up the envelope by its corner. “Anyone have a knife?”

The second BCI tech reached into his open box of trade tools and retrieved a Leatherman multi-tool. “Here.”

“Thanks.” Sean opened the blade and slid it carefully under the sealed flap. He didn’t disturb the glued area in case there was DNA evidence, but instead cut the top edge of the envelope to reveal its contents. Pulling out a folded piece of paper, he dropped the envelope into a clear evidence bag the tech held open for him. The others gathered around as he unfolded the single, white, standard piece of printer paper. Again the bastard had used cutout newspaper letters.

Hope you enjoy your get well present. Next time you won’t be so lucky. S.S.

With sarcasm dripping from every word, Sean said, “Aw, and here I thought he didn’t care. Son of a bitch.” He resisted the irrational urge to crumple the paper up, and placed it in another evidence bag the tech handed him.

The ME and two attendants stepped onto the patio and Dr. Hansen shook his head. “This guy is really starting to piss me off, Sheriff.”

Crossing his arms, Matt grunted. “I’m way past ‘starting to’ get pissed off. Can BCI take some fingerprints before you take her? I want to find out who she is as fast as possible.”

Hansen nodded at one of the attendants. “Make sure you scrape under her nails before doing the prints.”

As everyone did their jobs, Brian stepped over to Sean and lowered his voice. “Rock, paper, scissors?”

“For what?”

“Winner sits in on the autopsy. Loser gets to tell Uncle Dan his beloved beach house is now a homicide crime scene.”

Fuck.