HER STOMACH TWISTED AS EVE GRAY GAZED UP at the imposing building centered on the busy Atlanta street. Heat rose from the pavement, seeming to surround her. Someone bumped her from behind, and she took a quick step forward.
Just one step, then she caught herself.
Her heart was racing so fast, too fast, and her palms were sweating. She brushed her palms over her narrow skirt, and then Eve took just a moment to smooth down her hair.
This was it. The moment she’d been waiting for. The people inside would either help her or—
No, there is no option. They have to help me.
She straightened her shoulders and headed through the big swinging doors. She kept her gaze focused straight in front of her as she marched toward the elevator. She needed to go up to the fourth floor. Suite 409.
The elevator doors opened silently. Men and women in expensive business clothes climbed on and off the elevator. Eve kept her chin up. Her clothes were older, faded, too casual for this office building, but it wasn’t like she had a lot of choice.
There were no choices for her.
The elevator dinged, and she hurried out onto the fourth floor. The lush carpet swallowed her footsteps. Then, a few desperate moments later, she was standing in front of a heavy, wooden door. Across the door, golden letters spelled: LOST.
Her lips curved in a smile that just felt sad. Lost. Yes, that was exactly what she was. And she desperately needed the people inside that office to help her.
Eve turned the doorknob with trembling fingers and crept inside. A perky receptionist glanced up at her, showing a smile that flashed huge dimples. “Welcome to Lost, how may I help you?”
Eve had to swallow twice in order to ease the dryness of her throat. “I need to speak with Gabe Spencer.” He was the man she’d read about in the paper. The tough ex-SEAL who’d made it his new mission to create LOST.
LOST . . . the Last Option Search Team. This office and all of the personnel in it had one function, just one—to find missing people. To search for those that the authorities had already given up on.
The receptionist, a pretty girl with sun-streaked blond hair, gave a small shake of her head. “I’m sorry but do you have an appointment, ma’am?”
“No.” And Eve knew that the perky lady was about to tell her to hit the road. So Eve shoved her hands into her oversize bag—the only bag that she had—and yanked out a carefully folded newspaper. She smoothed out the folds and offered the paper to the receptionist. “I need to talk with Mr. Spencer about this.” This being the series of murders that had been highlighted in the Atlanta News three weeks ago. Seven women had been abducted. Tortured. Killed.
Their murderer hadn’t been caught.
“We don’t . . . um . . . we don’t really hunt serial killers here at LOST,” the receptionist said with wide eyes. “I’m not sure what you think Mr. Spencer can do for you—”
The office door opened behind the receptionist. At the soft sound, Eve glanced up automatically and saw a man—tall, handsome, powerful—filling that doorway. His hair was jet-black, thick, and still military short, even though she knew the guy wasn’t active with the SEALs any longer.
Gabe Spencer.
She’d done research on him at the local library. Found his picture. Read his bio, again and again. Thirty-four. Single. Master’s degree in criminal justice. He’d been a decorated SEAL, but he’d left the Navy after his sister had been abducted a few years ago. Gabe had made it his sole mission to find Amy and bring her home.
He had brought her home, just not alive.
His gaze was a bright, intense blue, and that gaze focused sharply on Eve. She shifted beneath his stare as uncertainty twisted within her.
He was handsome. No, almost too perfect. But his features had looked softer in the pictures she’d seen online. In person, his jaw was sharp and square, his cheeks high, his nose a strong blade . . . and his lips were sensual. The man had a deep, powerful appeal that seemed to fill the air and—
And she was just staring at him. Heat stained her cheeks. What is wrong with me?
“I don’t think we can help you,” the receptionist told Eve, giving a sad shake of her head.
But Eve wasn’t really paying attention to the blonde any longer. She was too aware of Gabe.
Gabe was still staring straight at her, too. His gaze dipped from her face down to her toes—the toes that peeked out from her high heels—then it slowly rose to study her face once more. His voice was a deep rumble as he asked, “Have we met, Ms. . . . ?”
She almost laughed at his question. “I’m afraid that I don’t know if we have.”
One dark brow lifted as confusion flashed in his blue gaze.
“I’m here to meet with you, Mr. Spencer.” The words came out in a rush, but this was her chance. She had to take it. Eve grabbed her newspaper back from the receptionist. “Please, can you spare a few minutes to talk with me?”
That bright stare seemed to weigh her. Eve tensed. She was used to people assessing her. It was all they seemed to do lately. Assess. Judge. Find her lacking.
“She doesn’t have an appointment,” the not-so-perky-now blonde said. “I was just telling her—”
“Melody, I think I can spare a few minutes,” he said, and stepped back. Gabe gave a little wave of his hand, indicating the open door. “If you’d like to come inside, we can talk privately.”
Eve’s knees were trembling as she hurried forward. At least she didn’t trip or do anything to embarrass herself. Yet. This meeting was important. No, this meeting was everything. She had to get Gabe Spencer to help her. If he didn’t help her, she had no idea what she’d do next.
The office smelled of leather. A bright expanse of windows looked over downtown Atlanta. Gabe’s desk was huge, taking up a third of the room. She sat across from that big desk, sinking into one of the leather chairs. She expected him to assume a position behind his desk. Instead, he strode toward the left side of the desk, the side close to her, and he paused. His arms crossed over his chest as his gaze raked her once more.
“Is someone missing?” His question was low, sympathetic.
Eve gave a small nod, then offered him her newspaper.
Frowning, he read the headline. “The Lady Killer?” Gabe shook his head. “I know they recovered some bodies after the last hurricane swept through that area, but I don’t see—”
“They haven’t recovered all of the bodies. S-Some are still missing.” Her fingers twisted in her lap. According to the newspaper, there were seven suspected abductions and murders. But only four bodies had been found so far.
Three women were still missing.
His gaze scanned over the article. Then, after a few moments, he glanced back up at her. “You want me to find one of the missing women?”
He wasn’t getting it. “O-Open the paper.”
Frowning, he opened it. Pictures of the missing women were inside. Grainy pictures. Black and whites but . . .
“I don’t need you to find a missing woman.”
“That’s what we do.” His gaze was on the photos, not her. There was a slight southern drawl beneath his words, just a little growl of sound, barely noticeable. “We search for the missing. We—” He broke off and she saw his gaze widen. Slowly, very, very slowly, that bright blue stare came back to her face. This time she felt his stare like a physical touch on her.
Eve licked her lips and said, “I don’t need you to find a missing woman . . . because I’m pretty sure . . . I think—I think I am one of the missing. I’m one of the Lady Killer’s victims, only I’m not dead like they say in the paper.”
Gabe Spencer wasn’t talking. So Eve let her words tumble out. She didn’t want him to think she was crazy. She needed his help too much. “I’m not dead. I just . . . I don’t remember anything. I can’t remember anything that happened to me before June third of this year.”
“And what happened on June third?” he asked, voice lacking all emotion.
“That was the day I woke up in St. Helen’s Hospital.” She’d woken to a room of white. To the sterile scent of cleaners and disinfectants. To the steady drone of machines.
And it had felt . . . wrong.
I should have heard the waves. Should have smelled the ocean. Those had been her first thoughts, but after them, she’d remembered nothing of her life. No names. No faces. No memories at all.
He just stared at her.
Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. “I’m not lying.” Desperation cracked beneath the words. “You can check at the hospital, and they’ll verify everything that I’ve told you.”
Dissociative amnesia. That was what one of the doctors had told her she had. She’d sustained a strong blow to her head. Some memory loss was common after an injury like that.
But she wasn’t just talking about some memory loss. She’d lost everything.
“I need your help,” Eve told him, and she knew it sounded like she was begging—she was. “Because what’s missing . . . my life is missing. I’m missing.” She stood on trembling legs and went to his desk. She looked down at the paper that had fallen to his desktop. Her fingers touched the picture of the beautiful smiling woman. A woman that could be her. “If that’s me, then I want to know what happened.” She glanced over at him. “I want my life back, Mr. Spencer.”
“Call me Gabe.”
A hard order as his gaze traveled carefully over her every feature. She couldn’t read the expression in his eyes. She wanted to, so badly.
“Have you gone to the police with your story?” he asked.
Her lips tightened. “The abductions and murders happened along the southern Gulf Coast. Not here in Atlanta. They don’t see the connection.” And she believed the detective that she’d spoken with had just thought she was crazy. Since one of her endless doctors had been giving her a psych evaluation at the time, the cop had probably felt pretty justified in that opinion.
A faint line appeared between Gabe’s brows. “No one has escaped from the Lady Killer.”
“No one that you know about.” Her fingers were shaking when she lifted them up to her neck. She pulled her hair back and pointed to the raised flesh, the long, white scar that slid around the left side of her throat. Usually, her hair covered that scar. She didn’t want people staring at it and asking questions she couldn’t answer. But this time . . . the scar could actually help her. Maybe. “I think that I got away from him.”
In the next instant, Gabe was in front of her. To be such a big guy, he sure could move quickly. When his warm, strong hands touched her skin, Eve flinched, totally unprepared for the hot surge of awareness that shot through her. For months her body had been poked and prodded by dozens of specialists. She’d felt nothing. Been too numb. But one touch from Gabe . . .
Her gaze darted to his face. There was no sexual awareness in his gaze. No, his eyes were narrowed and intent on the scar that slid around the left side of her neck. “I—I have more scars,” she whispered. She’d been ashamed of them at first, so many injuries, but if they were proof, if they could help her . . . “Someone used a knife on me.” Long, deep slices. Two on her stomach. One on her thigh. One on her back. One on her left shoulder.
His fingers were caressing her neck, lightly stroking her skin.
He was tall, had to be about six-foot-three or six-foot-four, so she had to tilt her head back to fully meet his gaze. “Help me? Please?”
Their faces were so close. If someone came inside that office, they’d probably think they were embracing. Lovers. And, for just the briefest of moments, she did see a burning flash of awareness in Gabe’s eyes. A surge of heat. Desire.
Her body tensed.
That flash vanished from his gaze. “Let me learn more,” he said, voice guarded, “then I’ll see about taking the case.”
She nodded, refusing to let her hope slip away. But there was just one more thing. Unfortunately. She kept her chin up as she confessed, “I don’t have any money. I can’t pay you. I mean, if you take—” Her cheeks burned as she tried to press on. “I can work for you. I can help at LOST, I can do anything, just—”
Help me stop being no one.
Gabe seemed to shrug that concern away. “We’ll work out payment later. If I take your case.”
He stepped away from her. She immediately missed the warmth of his body. What was wrong with her? She didn’t react this way to men. She didn’t react this way to anyone.
“I’ll need to see your medical reports. Need to know where you were found before you were brought to the hospital. Who brought you in. I’ll want to talk to all of your doctors.”
Eve nodded quickly. “Right, of course.”
A muscle flexed along his hard jaw. “If you’re lying to me, you’ll come to regret it very quickly.”
The words held a silken menace.
“Why would I lie?” Eve whispered. Who would want this life? No, not a life. Nothing.
“Because the woman that you claim to be, the woman in that picture . . . Jessica Montgomery . . . her family is very, very wealthy.”
It wasn’t about the money. It was about being someone.
“I look just like her.” Her words were hoarse. There was no way she and that woman could share the same face. That wasn’t a coincidence.
“All of the Lady Killer’s victims are similar in appearance. Blond hair, green eyes, mid-twenties.” A pause. “Beautiful.”
She shifted uncomfortably before him. “If I’m not her, then I’m still someone. My life is missing. Just . . . I want it back. I want to know what happened to me.”
After a long, tense moment, he nodded, but said, “Sometimes, you should be careful what you want in this world. If you are one of the Lady Killer’s victims, what do you think will happen next?”
Goose bumps rose onto her arms.
“From all accounts, he stalked these women. Chose them specifically. They are his targets. His prey. Wonder how he’ll react when he realizes that one of his victims got away?”
She could feel all of the blood draining from her head. For just an instant she could smell the scent of the ocean. Could hear the cry of a seagull.
No, that wasn’t a seagull. It was a scream. My scream?
Her mouth had gone dust dry with fear, but she still managed to say, “I—I want my life back.”
“Then let’s get started.” His head inclined toward her, and Eve wondered if she’d just passed some kind of test. And if he had been deliberately pushing her, she couldn’t help but wonder . . . what would have happened if she’d failed his test?
THE GORGEOUS BLONDE with the bedroom eyes and the never-ending legs lived in a homeless shelter.
Gabe watched her from his position across the street. She didn’t realize that he’d followed her from LOST. The woman who’d called herself Eve Gray—but who claimed to be someone else entirely, perhaps Jessica Montgomery—had seemed oblivious to everyone and everything as she made her way back through the busy Atlanta streets.
She hadn’t taken a taxi. Hadn’t jumped into a waiting car.
She’d cut through the streets. Carefully counted out change for a bus.
And hadn’t even noticed him slide onto the same bus with her.
Her head stayed down for most of the trip and she didn’t talk to anyone. There were plenty of men who stopped to give her admiring glances. When you looked like her, it would be hard not to attract attention.
Oval face. High cheekbones. Small button of a nose. Lips red and plump. And those eyes . . . one look, and he’d found himself edging closer to her. Wanting to touch. Needing to touch.
That sure as hell wasn’t the way he normally acted. His iron-tight control was legendary. He didn’t look into a pair of big green eyes and think . . .
Want.
Not usually. But today he had.
He’d wanted. So he’d brought her into his office, even though he had three other appointments waiting. He’d brought her inside so he could get closer to her. Gabe had inhaled the light, sexy scent of her. Watched as her long legs moved a bit nervously beneath her skirt.
Then he’d heard her story.
He had been enraged when he’d seen the scar on her neck. The rush of rage hadn’t been expected. He’d heard some brutal stories during his time at LOST, but his elemental fury at just seeing her scar . . . What the hell had been up with that?
She could be bullshitting him. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had come in LOST with a bogus story. There were plenty of people out there willing to lie, steal, or even kill in order to get what they wanted.
And what they wanted? It was usually money.
The kind of money that Jessica Montgomery’s family had in freaking spades.
A homeless shelter.
Gabe recognized the building on Lortimer Lane for exactly what it was. He just hadn’t expected Eve to stop there, but she was rushing inside as if this were a normal routine for her. As if she belonged there.
Her medical files were on their way to his office. He’d be going to see her doctors soon. But right then . . .
Gabe found himself walking across the street and following her into the shelter.
He’d just stepped inside the doorway when a big, hulking, giant of a guy shoved one hand against his chest. “Where you think you’re goin’, buddy?” the man demanded, his voice a rumble that sounded like thunder.
Gabe raised his brows. “I need to talk with Eve.” He threw her name out, waiting for a response. If Eve was a regular there, then—
The man’s hand slammed harder into his chest. Gabe didn’t so much as move as the guy barked, “You stay away from Eve!”
Ah, this hadn’t been part of the plan. The man’s face was flushed a deep red, his bald head glinting, and it looked for all the world like he was about to start swinging punches.
Gabe figured he could take the guy, but fighting his way inside the shelter hadn’t been on the day’s agenda.
Guess the agenda just changed.
“Pauley, stop!” Eve’s voice. High. Scared. Then she was there, running back toward them with a clatter of her high heels.
That was when he noticed that her heels were old, scuffed. The top and skirt that molded to her body so well—showing off her high, round breasts, and slim hips—the outfit hugged her so tightly because it was the wrong size.
Not her clothes.
Eve put a hand on Pauley’s hunched shoulders. “He’s a friend, Pauley.”
Pauley’s gaze darted to her. He shook his head and didn’t move his hand from Gabe’s chest. “No one . . . no one’s supposed to follow you . . . Guarding door. I always guard.”
“Yes, you do.” Now her voice was soothing. She smiled at the man. Pauley looked like he was in his early forties. Tattoos slid down his arms. Dozens of them. Faces. Symbols. “And you guard us all very well. But it’s okay for Gabe to be here. He won’t hurt me.”
The guy hesitated a minute longer, then slowly dropped his hold.
Gabe caught the fast exhalation of breath from Eve. “Thank you, Pauley,” she whispered. “I’m so glad you’re here to keep us safe.”
Pauley shuffled back and resumed what Gabe now realized was his guard position at the door.
Eve bit her lip. She probably didn’t mean to look sexy. He shouldn’t have found her sexy. But there was something about her . . .
I followed her. Tracked her down. Not for the case. Because I couldn’t let her leave. He’d passed off his appointments to his right-hand man, Wade Monroe, just so he could be free to track Eve.
“We need to talk,” Gabe heard himself say.
“I’m assuming so.” She offered a faint smile. “Since you followed me.” Her cheeks held a pink tint, as if she were embarrassed. “Maybe we could talk outside?”
“Where’s your room?” Gabe asked instead, just to see her response.
The pink deepened. “We don’t . . . we don’t have rooms here. Just beds.” Then her chin lifted. Determined pride was there, in her eyes, in her posture.
Pauley had taken up his position a few feet away. Since the guy was so close, they didn’t have much privacy, and Gabe definitely wanted privacy with her. Actually, he wanted her completely alone. “You’re staying here?” Just so he was clear.
Eve nodded. “Ever since I got out of the hospital.” She eased back and stepped into a small corridor. He followed her. “It’s not exactly easy to get work when you don’t have a real name, much less a social security number. And no work means . . .”
No money.
She cleared her throat. “I’m sure you understand.”
Yeah, he did. Gabe looked around the old building. In the next room, he could see a row of cots. Not beds. Cots. “You shouldn’t be here.” For some reason, the fact that she was there . . . it pissed him off. She didn’t belong there.
Where does she belong?
“It’s better than being on the street.” Her chin was still up. “And you’re going to help me now, right? You’re going to help me get my life back? Once I know who I am, then I can get out of here. I can get my name. Get a job. Get a home.”
Not a shelter.
His gaze locked with hers. He wanted her out of that place right then.
“You’re helping me?” Eve pressed.
Dammit. He hadn’t even started the research on her. The woman could be playing him. If she was, she’d regret it. He’d make sure of it. But for that moment . . . with Pauley muttering behind them . . . with a social worker frowning and heading toward them . . . all Gabe could say was, “Yes, I’m helping you.” He’d find out all of her secrets. Good, bad, and everything in between. Maybe she’d regret it. Maybe he would. But from this moment on he and Eve would be tied together.
Until the case was closed.
GABE RETURNED TO LOST, adrenaline pumping through him. He spared a glance for the receptionist, Melody Gaines. “Call the team into my office.”
Eyes wide, she nodded and reached for her phone.
He hurried inside his office, the memory of Eve’s intense gaze following him. The memory of her following him.
When she didn’t have any memories of her own.
He dropped into his chair. Rubbed a hard hand over his face. He’d never taken a case like this before. Normally, his team found the missing. They started with a case, found the person . . . or sadly and far more often, they found the person’s body. The remains.
This time, they were starting with the body. A very live one.
A faint knock sounded at his door, then the heavy wood opened and Victoria Palmer poked her head inside. A small pair of glasses perched on her nose, and she had her long dark hair pulled back at the nape of her neck. “We’ve got a new case?” Excitement hummed in her voice.
He nodded.
She rushed inside. “Do I have to wait on the others, or can you spill now?” Nervous energy seemed to bubble just beneath her surface. That was the way she always appeared. Tense, moving, on the verge of . . . something.
“You don’t have to wait long,” a low voice drawled from the doorway. “We’re here.” And Wade Monroe strode inside. Not an excess of energy from him. Slow, deliberate steps.
Dean Bannon followed right on his heels. Dean’s assessing gaze landed on Gabe. “I’m guessing this has to do with the pretty blonde?”
“What blond?” Victoria demanded. “I didn’t see—”
“Sarah’s out on another case today,” Gabe said, referring to the psychiatrist he kept on staff at LOST. “So go ahead and shut the door. I’ll brief her later.”
Dean shut the door. Gabe’s team—his top team—because there were dozens of other support personnel who worked for LOST, closed in. They took the chairs around his desk and waited for their intel.
Gabe’s gaze swept over them. Each team member had been chosen because of the specific skills he or she possessed. When Gabe had started LOST, he’d wanted the best personnel working for him. He knew that his team was truly the last chance for many families. Those families deserved the best.
So he’d stolen Dr. Victoria Palmer away from Stanford. The forensic anthropologist was using her talents in the field now, and not just in the lecture hall. As for Wade Monroe, the decorated ex-Atlanta detective could dig to the truth faster than anyone Gabe had ever seen. Wade didn’t mind getting his hands dirty. In fact, the guy seemed to relish that part of the business. Wade wasn’t afraid of danger. He thrived on it. And his personal loss had made him a prime candidate for a position at LOST.
“You’re keeping us in suspense,” Dean murmured, his voice calm and flat. Totally without emotion or accent.
Dean had been working with the FBI when Gabe approached him. An agent in the Violent Crimes Division, Dean had known all about the real monsters who hunted in the world. And he knew how to hunt those monsters. With LOST, Dean had the chance to do plenty of hunting, without so much red tape holding him back.
As for the missing team member . . . Sarah Jacobs . . . Sarah was just as vital to the LOST unit. She had a fistful of degrees, but it was her experience as a psychiatrist and a profiler that mattered most to Gabe. When they tracked the missing, Sarah created victim profiles and profiles for their abductors. Their killers. Dean hunted the monsters, but it was Sarah who got into their minds. She went into the terrible, dark places that most people feared.
And as for Gabe . . . his job was to work in the field. To take the knowledge that the team gave him. To find the missing. To work with his team and local law enforcement to close the cases.
And, of course, his job was also to finance the whole business.
Gabe gave a slow nod. “We’ve got a new case.”
“Who does the blonde want us to find?” Wade pressed. “Hope it’s not her husband.” He gave a low whistle, one that had Gabe’s eyes narrowing. “Because that woman was—”
“Off-limits,” Gabe growled.
Wade’s brows shot up.
“That woman,” Gabe gritted out, “is the case.” Then he pushed Eve’s newspaper toward them. “She says her name is Eve Gray—no, actually,” he corrected, “she doesn’t know her real name. Eve is just the name she’s using now.” A name they’d given her in the hospital? He’d have to check on that.
“You’re losing me, boss,” Victoria said, even as she peered at the paper. “What does this ‘maybe’ Eve want us to do?”
“That story’s about the Lady Killer case.” Dean had stiffened. “The FBI’s been tracking him for months. Ever since those bodies washed up after Hurricane Albert.”
Hurricane Albert had been a vicious storm that struck early in the season, blasting across the southern Gulf Coast.
“We’re going to find one of his victims? One that’s still missing?” Victoria asked, then gave a low whistle. “Talk about high profile.”
“We may have already found a victim.” Gabe pointed to the black and white picture in the newspaper.
The room got very, very quiet.
“Eve doesn’t remember anything before the third of June. According to her, she woke up in a hospital, with no memories whatsoever.”
“Sarah needs to be here,” Wade said, sitting a little straighter. “She could tell if the woman was faking or—”
“Eve Gray wants us to find out who she really is.”
Frowning, Victoria glanced up at him. “What does your mystery blonde have to do with the Lady Killer?”
“One of the Lady Killer’s suspected victims is Jessica Montgomery.” Twenty-six. Blond. Green eyes. Five-foot-six. Last seen down on the Alabama Gulf Coast—on Dauphin Island. “And Jessica Montgomery happens to look exactly like Eve Gray.”
“Define ‘exactly,’ ” Dean said as he began to lean forward.
“A dead-on match.” Gabe met Dean’s eyes. He knew the ex-FBI agent would understand the importance of this case more than the others. Dean had worked plenty of serial cases during his time at the Bureau. He knew how hard it could be to stop a serial. How unlikely it was that a victim could survive an attack, but if a victim did survive . . .
“If that’s her,” Dean’s voice was tight with tension, “then she could lead us to the Lady Killer. We could find him.”
“And to the other missing victims,” Victoria added, her fingers tapping on her chin. “She would have been at his kill scenes. She would have seen everything.”
Seen everything and then blocked it all from her mind?
“If she’s telling the truth,” Wade threw out. Because Wade would be the suspicious one. Pretty face or not, Eve wouldn’t just automatically be accepted by him. “You want me to start the check on her?”
Gabe nodded. “Tear into every detail of her time at St. Helen’s Hospital. Rip into her life.”
The new life that she had. The life that had begun just months ago.
The order was cruel, but it had to be done. Before they could start connecting any dots that might exist between Eve Gray and Jessica Montgomery, they had to find out as much information as they could about Eve’s “recovery” at St. Helen’s.
Gabe had seen enough families with broken hearts. He wasn’t just going to call up the Montgomerys and tell them that their missing daughter had been found.
His team would investigate Eve. Tear into her life. Learn her every secret. If she checked out, then they’d move forward.
And for Eve, that would be the time when the real danger began.
I hope you’re ready for what’s coming. Because if she truly had escaped a killer once, she might not be willing to put herself in the target zone again.
But if she turned out to be Jessica Montgomery, there wouldn’t be much of a choice for her. The media would find out about her survival. The FBI would rush in.
And the Lady Killer would know that she was still alive.
EVE WOKE, HER heart racing in her chest and sweat covering her body. She grabbed the thin blanket and clutched it tightly in her hand. On the cots beside her, the other women kept sleeping. Soft snores filled the air. Faint mutters as Sue Smith talked in her sleep. Sue always talked, asleep or awake. Those mutters should have reassured Eve. I’m not alone, others are here.
Eve’s gaze searched the darkness. She couldn’t remember her dream, never could. But that was just normal . . . since she couldn’t remember anything.
She rose from the cot, moving quickly. She always slept in her clothes. Sweatpants and a loose top. The men were down the hall, housed separately, but . . .
But they made her nervous. Most of them did, anyway. Just not Pauley.
She went to Pauley, because she knew that he’d be up, too. He never could sleep at night. He said the darkness reminded him too much of his time in battle.
She wasn’t sure where or when Pauley had battled or even if he’d actually been in a war, but Eve never questioned him. He didn’t question her story about having no past, so why should she question him?
Eve found him by the front door, in his usual guard position. He looked like a big dangerous shadow, but she knew he wouldn’t hurt her. Pauley was gentle on the inside, good, but . . . damaged. She knew that, too.
He spoke slowly. Moved slowly.
It didn’t matter. He was her friend.
“Someone’s watching, Ms. Eve.”
Pauley’s quiet voice had her smiling at first, but then, as his words registered, her smile froze. “Wh-What do you mean?”
“I can feel the eyes. Just like I felt ’em in battle. The enemy’s out there. He’s watching.”
She looked out of the window. Saw only streetlights. Darkness. “The doors are locked, right?” And they did have a security guard at the shelter. Except James spent most of his time sleeping. Pauley was a much better guard.
“Locked. Checked ’em all.” Pauley rocked forward onto the balls of his feet. “Four times.”
Her smile spread again. “Then I’m sure we’re safe. Especially with you on duty.” She said the words easily, but a chill still seemed to be icing her skin.
“Not safe. Watching.” He put his hands against the door and leaned forward. “I should go patrol.”
He was going to open the door. Go outside. “No!” The sharp order broke from her, and Eve wasn’t sure why. She grabbed Pauley’s big hand in hers and held tight. “Stand guard in here, with me.”
He gave a hard shake of his bald head. “Need to patrol. Patrol.”
But the darkness was scaring her. Watching. What if Pauley had seen someone out there?
Her left hand rose to her throat. Brushed lightly over the raised scar. A scream echoed in her mind. “Stay in here with me,” Eve whispered.
Pauley glanced down at her, frowning.
She could confess to him, as she couldn’t to anyone else. “I’m scared, Pauley,” she said. Scared because she’d just taken a very dangerous step with her life. Eve Gray had no past. So she had no enemies. Nothing to fear.
But Jessica Montgomery? That woman had been a victim. She’d been hurt. Attacked. Left for dead?
The authorities were sure that Jessica Montgomery had been abducted by the Lady Killer, a sadistic serial killer who was still on the loose. Still hunting.
Still looking for Jessica?
She knew her hand held too tightly to Pauley’s arm. “Stay inside,” she said again. It was too dark outside. And, like a child, she was very much afraid that . . .
Monsters waited in the dark.