WHEN EVE WAS BROUGHT INTO THE HOSPITAL, she had lacerations on her stomach, her upper thigh, her back, and her shoulder.” Dr. Ben Tyler leaned forward as he glanced first at Eve, then back toward Gabe, who didn’t like the way the doctor’s gaze seemed to linger a bit too long on Eve. Or the way it warmed every time it touched her. “She had suffered a concussion, and she was unconscious for almost three days before she opened her eyes.”
Eve’s body was tense. The doctor had agreed to talk with Gabe, but only if Eve stayed in the room.
“And who brought her in?” Gabe asked.
The doctor’s face tensed. “She was found at a rest stop, just outside of Atlanta. A mother and her young daughter discovered Eve. She was . . . sprawled on the floor of the bathroom.”
Eve flinched. Gabe almost reached for her hand. Almost.
Instead, the doctor stood, walked around his desk and put a comforting hand on her shoulder. The doctor was about Gabe’s age, mid-thirties, with blond hair and dark eyes. Those eyes were lingering on Eve again.
Watch the bedside manner, Doc.
Gabe cleared his throat, okay he gave a rough growl, and the doc’s gaze jerked back to him. Gabe asked, “So no one knew how Eve wound up at that rest stop?”
“I think the police talked with the security guards there. Interviewed some truckers, but . . .” The doc’s hand tightened on her shoulder. “No one was able to discover anything for certain. Eve was found around four A.M. The place was pretty much deserted then.”
So she’d just fallen out of the sky and wound up at a rest stop? Hell, no, there had to be more to that story. Maybe Wade would be able to find out exactly how she’d gotten there. The guy was already talking with his contacts at the Atlanta PD. Soon, he and Gabe would know everything about Eve’s “discovery” at that rest stop.
“I don’t remember anything about that place,” Eve said. “I wish I—” She stopped and shook her head. There were shadows under her eyes. Shadows that hadn’t been there yesterday. Had nightmares kept her up? Something else?
“You operated on Eve when she was brought in,” Gabe said slowly, watching for a reaction on the doctor’s face.
Dr. Tyler nodded. “I’m just glad I was here to help her.”
Gabe would be glad when the guy got his hands off Eve. The guy’s bedside manner was far too cozy. Intimate.
“Did she say anything in the O.R.?” Gabe pressed. “I know some patients can talk when the drugs hit them—” He broke off when he saw the brief flicker of the doctor’s eyes. She had spoken. “What did she say?” Gabe pushed.
Dr. Tyler glanced back down at Eve. “Uh . . . it’s probably nothing . . . it seemed so odd . . . just gibberish . . .”
Eve tilted back her head and stared up at him. “What did I say?”
He swallowed. “You said . . . ‘I won. Tell the bastard . . . I won.’ ”
Wasn’t that interesting? “Anything else, Doctor?”
Dr. Tyler dropped his hand from Eve—fucking finally—and moved back a few steps. “Everything else is in my report. The location of the wounds. The number of stitches. The—”
“Amnesia?” Gabe inserted smoothly. “Because that’s the main issue, right? The fact that Eve can’t remember a single thing about her life.”
This time the dress that she wore was a little too loose, but the dark green just made her eyes seem to sparkle even more. Her shoes were the same. Black heels. Slightly scuffed. Clinging tightly to her arched feet.
“The term is ‘dissociative amnesia.’ ” Hell. Now the guy was sounding pompous. Just the kind of shit attitude that Gabe wasn’t in the mood to deal with right then. “It’s common after an injury to the brain—”
He’d already done some research on amnesia that morning, and he’d spoken with Sarah—the lady knew all about the brain’s mysteries. “It’s not common to lose a whole life.”
The doctor frowned. “Ah, no, it isn’t.” He wasn’t sounding quite so pompous then.
“Was her injury that severe?” Gabe had to ask the question. The woman had no money. Nothing that she could claim.
So why not try to be someone else? Maybe Eve was running from something or someone, and by faking memory loss, she thought that she could escape from her past.
He wouldn’t trust her. As a rule, he only trusted his LOST team members. Everyone else . . . well, he knew to be cautious.
He’d been burned before. Both during his time as a civilian and when he’d been a SEAL. Sometimes, pretty faces were the best at hiding lies.
And sending innocents to their deaths.
“Ah . . . brain injuries can be tricky to—”
Gabe raised a hand. “She had a concussion. It’s in your big stack of files. You did MRIs, CT scans . . . all the works. So just tell me, did the injury cause her amnesia?”
Dr. Tyler’s gaze hardened as a tight anger seemed to boil beneath his carefully controlled surface. “I can’t make that diagnosis with absolute certainty. Not with the severity of her case and her . . . other injuries. It’s quite possible that a . . .” Now his gaze slid to Eve once more, and the anger bled away. “It’s possible that an . . . intense experience may have triggered Eve’s amnesia.”
Intense experience? Like say . . . an attack by a serial killer?
“Eve was attacked,” the guy said flatly. “Someone spent a great deal of time hurting her. Her body was covered in bruises. Three fingers on her right hand were broken.”
From the corner of his eye Gabe saw Eve flex her right hand.
“There is no doubt in my mind that she suffered a traumatic event, and, though I’m no psychiatrist—”
Good thing he had one on his team.
“—it could be possible that Eve’s amnesia is a defense mechanism. Maybe she just doesn’t want to remember what happened to her.”
Eve surged to her feet. “You’re wrong, Ben.”
Ben? Not Dr. Tyler? Too cozy. And oddly damn annoying.
“I want to remember what happened to me. I want to remember it more than anything else.” She exhaled on a hard breath and her shoulders trembled. “But I can’t.” Then she turned and marched from the room.
Gabe didn’t follow her. Not at first. There were other questions that he still needed to ask the good doctor. “No one ever appeared to claim her?”
The other man’s focus was on the door. Still staring after Eve. A muscle flexed in the doc’s jaw. “No.”
“Her picture was released to the paper.” His research had already turned up that story. “You’re telling me that not one single person came forward then?”
“Not one single person,” Ben said, voice flat. He started to head for the door.
Gabe moved into his path. “Are there other injuries I need to know about?”
“Read the files. I—”
“You seem awfully . . . involved in Eve’s case.” And he could understand the temptation. A woman like Eve. Sexy. Vulnerable.
The doc had fallen under her spell.
I won’t fall.
“I don’t like your implication,” Ben snapped immediately as his cheeks reddened. “She’s my patient. My responsibility.”
“Not anymore she’s not.” The words were blunt. “From now on she’s mine.”
Ben’s gaze burned into his own. “Now who sounds involved?”
Gabe shrugged. “Eve’s hired me to help her. That’s what I’m going to do.”
The doctor crossed his arms over his chest. “Eve has no money. How could she hire you to do anything?”
“Don’t you worry about our payment plan,” Gabe murmured. The doc might be a problem. There was no ring on the guy’s finger, and the man had been spending a whole lot of time with Eve. Getting a little too close with the patient? “Now tell me,” Gabe said, getting back to the part that mattered, “are there other injuries?”
Understanding dawned on the doc’s face. “You want to know if she was . . . sexually assaulted.”
Gabe just waited.
“Not that we could determine.”
His breath eased out.
“We had police here with us when she was brought in, but there was no evidence left behind to link with her attacker. Even her open wounds looked as if they’d been washed.” The doc’s lips tightened, then he added, “Actually, she . . . she smelled like saltwater when she came in. If I didn’t know better, I would have thought she’d just been pulled out of the ocean. Her hair was even still wet.”
Gabe absorbed this information, then gave a slow nod. “Thank you, Dr. Tyler. My team will be in touch.” He turned away and reached for the door.
“Eve’s been released from my care.” The words were low. “Technically, she’s not my patient anymore. Anything between us . . . there’s nothing wrong with a relationship.”
Gabe knew his shoulders had tensed. The doc shouldn’t have pushed right then. Glancing back, Gabe leveled a hard stare at the guy. “She’s not your patient. She’s my client.” And you need to stay the fuck away from her.
But the doc wasn’t backing down. The fellow took a step toward him. “If Eve wants me, if she needs a—a friend, I’ll be there for her.”
“You don’t want a friend,” Gabe fired, annoyed. “You’re looking for a bedmate. Keep looking,” he advised. “This woman . . . she’s not for you.”
He grabbed for the doorknob.
“Is she for you?”
The doc really wanted an ass-kicking. Pity he was supposed to be above that now. Having a corporate image could be such a pain in the ass some days. Gritting his teeth, Gabe managed to say, “Thanks for the help, Doc. Now stay the hell out of my way.”
Before he gave into the urge to say or do anything else, Gabe opened the door and stalked outside. Eve turned toward him, her face pale, her blond hair sliding over her shoulders.
She glanced at him, then over Gabe’s shoulder. The doc hadn’t followed him out. Good.
Gabe took Eve’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Her heels clicked on the floor. “I hate the smell of this place,” she whispered.
Yeah, he’d spent more than enough time recovering in the VA hospital after his last mission with the SEALs. He could understand. To him, hospitals smelled like death and weakness.
Her gaze met his. “Did that . . . help you?”
Yes. But instead of replying, he said, “There’s someone that I want you to talk with.” Eve seemed to be double-timing it in order to keep up with his steps, so he slowed down.
“Who?” she asked, as her fingers curled around his hand.
He glanced down at her hand. Small, so delicate next to his much bigger, darker fingers. “Someone who will be able to tell me if you’re lying.”
“You . . . you think I’m playing you?” She didn’t sound hurt, though, just curious.
Gabe shrugged.
“If you think that, why are you here with me?” She stopped suddenly in the middle of the hallway. Two orderlies had to swerve around them.
He faced her. “I’m here because I don’t know what the truth is.” His lips lifted in what he knew would be a mocking smile. “It’s a quirk of mine. When I see a puzzle, I have to solve it.”
“Is that what I am to you?” A faint furrow appeared between her brows. “Some kind of puzzle that you want to figure out?”
He didn’t know what she was, yet. He only knew that he was drawn to her. That he wanted to help her. If her story turned out to be true . . .
“You’re my client,” Gabe said, the words soft as he leaned in toward her. From the corner of his eye he’d noticed that Dr. Tyler had just stepped out of his office. The guy was watching them. Gabe put his hand on her shoulder. “For now, that’s the only thing that either of us needs to focus on.”
For now . . . but later, later the game could change.
He led her down the hallway and out of the hospital. Away from the scent of death. A scent that stirred no memories for her, but reminded him too painfully of all that he’d lost.
ANOTHER DOCTOR. SURE, the lady in front of her—the woman with the wide, dark chocolate eyes and light gold skin—wasn’t wearing a white lab coat, but Eve still recognized her for what she was. After spending so much time in a hospital, it had become too easy for her to weed out the doctors.
“Eve, I’d like for you to meet Sarah Jacobs,” Gabe said, waving toward the other woman. Sarah stood, offering her hand. The lady was about Eve’s height, but with short black hair.
Sarah’s gaze was assessing as it slid over her features. “Nice to meet you, Eve,” she murmured. Her palm was cool, soft.
Eve forced herself to smile in return. They were back at LOST, in Gabe’s office, and Eve knew an interrogation was about to begin. “I’ve done this before,” she said, feeling like she had to warn the other woman.
Sarah’s brows rose. “Excuse me?”
“You’re a—a shrink, right?”
Sarah gave a little nod.
Eve’s gaze slid to Gabe. He was watching her so intently. Poor guy. He was about to be disappointed. “I’ve talked with three shrinks already. You’re just going to tell me that I’m blocking some traumatic event.” Her hand lifted and her fingers smoothed over the scar on her neck. That move was becoming a habit for her. “But I didn’t need to be told that bit, I figured out the traumatic event part just fine on my own.” When you woke up to find yourself covered in stitches, concussed, and with a broken hand, figuring out that you’d been traumatized was fairly easy.
Sarah’s lips curled in what Eve knew was probably supposed to be a reassuring smile. It didn’t reassure Eve. “I’m not here to diagnose you,” Sarah said softly. “I’m just here to talk.”
Lie. But Eve would play the game. Gabe thought that she was pretending. Well, she’d show him just how wrong he was. She glanced around the room. Saw the two chairs that had been moved to the side. She headed for the nearest one and sat down quickly. “Is he . . . is he going to watch?”
Silence.
Eve raised her eyes to meet Gabe’s once more.
“Do you have a problem with me being in here?” he asked. His voice was such a low hard rumble. Every time she heard him speak, part of her tensed. Not because of fear but because of something else . . . something she didn’t want to think about too much, not then. Not yet.
But Sarah carefully cleared her throat and said, “She may be able to speak more freely if—”
“I want you here.” Eve cut across Sarah’s words. “I don’t have anything to hide from you.” She tried to calm her racing heartbeat with a few slow breaths. “I want you to help me, not to constantly be thinking that I’m lying to you.”
He inclined his head. “Then I guess that’s settled.”
Sarah sighed. “Guess so.” Then she was coming across the room and taking the chair next to Eve. Her stare swept over Eve’s features. “You should know that I spent the morning reading all of the medical reports on you. And I’m very sorry for all that you’ve suffered.”
Sarah seemed like a nice woman, but there were shadows in her eyes. A lingering darkness that put Eve on alert.
“Don’t worry,” Sarah said, and Eve knew the woman’s sharp stare had caught the tightening of her muscles, “I really just want to talk.”
For now.
“If we’re just talking . . .” Her voice sounded a little too high, so Eve took another deep, slow breath and grabbed onto her control with both fists. “ . . . then tell me . . . what is it that you do here at LOST?”
Gabe took a seat behind his desk. His leather chair creaked. “Sarah is the one who helps us to understand the criminals who abduct and kill . . .”
I can smell the ocean.
“And I also help figure out why those perpetrators selected their victims.” Sarah’s voice was mild, a soft contrast to Gabe’s harsh words.
Eve focused on her, trying to block Gabe, but he seemed to be dominating the room. Pulling her attention to him. “You think I’m one of the Lady Killer’s victims?”
“That’s what you think, isn’t it?” Sarah asked.
And Eve knew the shrink session had begun. Because every time she met with a psychiatrist, the shrinks didn’t answer her questions. They just turned the questions right back around on her. Pushed to learn all of her secrets. Pity she didn’t have any secrets to give them. If only.
“What do you want to know?” She was ready to cut through the bull. If Gabe wanted this interview to make sure that she was legit, fine. She’d do it. But she didn’t want to waste any more time. Let’s do this.
“We’re going to start simply,” Sarah said. “Tell me, do you know who the president of the United States is?”
Like the others hadn’t asked her that. “Since I saw him on the news last night, yes, I have a pretty good idea about the president’s identity.” Now, did she vote for him? No clue.
Sarah’s expression didn’t alter. “Why are you using the name Eve Gray?”
“Because I didn’t want to be Jane Doe?” The response sounded flippant to her own ears.
Sarah just stared back at her.
Do better. This lady is sharp. Eve cleared her throat and said, “Eve was the first woman, right? A blank slate? I picked her name because I was blank, too.”
“Blank . . . but you still know about the story of Eve.”
“Just like I still know that the sky is blue, the way I still know the pledge of allegiance, the way I can remember to count in French.” She shrugged. “The facts are there, spinning in my head, but I don’t have any personal memories.”
Sarah had a notepad in her lap. When had she grabbed that? And the woman was scribbling now. Eve straightened her shoulders as she tried to see into that notebook. She even craned her neck a bit, but . . . no dice.
“I’m going to say a few words . . . with each word, tell me the emotion that you immediately feel.”
Uh, sure.
“Home.”
Eve waited for an emotion. Nothing came.
Sarah lifted a brow.
“I don’t feel anything,” Eve whispered. Was she messing up?
“If you don’t feel an emotion, then does any association come to mind? If it does, just say it.”
Eve felt like she was failing a test. She bit her lower lip.
“Let’s try another one,” Sarah said. “Hospital.”
An emotion hit Eve this time. “Anger.”
Sarah’s pen scribbled quickly. “Knife.”
“F-Fear. Eve hated the stutter that slipped from her.
“Ocean.”
A scream built in her throat. “Death.”
Her eyes darted around the room, and Eve saw that Gabe was still watching her. His eyes were so bright and blue.
Her breaths were ragged. Why? Just a little word association game. This should have been a piece of cake. Give the responses that were expected, then move on to the next part of the interview.
“You’re going great, Eve,” Sarah murmured, “and I have a few more questions for you now.”
Wonderful. Not.
“How did you celebrate your sixteenth birthday?”
“I don’t remember.”
“How old were you the first time you kissed a boy?”
I haven’t kissed anyone. I don’t know what it’s like to feel lips pressed against my own. Her gaze was on Gabe, and her eyes dropped to his mouth. “I don’t know.” Her words were husky.
“How did the fingers on your right hand get broken?”
She flexed those fingers, still feeling the slight tightness there. “I don’t know. I guess—I guess whoever stabbed me broke them.” That made sense, right?
Sarah was still scribbling. Gabe was watching her like she was under some kind of microscope—I am—and she was starting to sweat.
“What’s your favorite piece of Impressionist art?”
“Monet’s A Corner of the Apartment,” Eve replied immediately. In her mind, she could suddenly see that art. So beautiful. A crystal clear image.
“What was the subject of that piece?”
“Monet’s son Jean,” Eve said at once. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the image in her mind. “I always thought he looked a little lost in that big room. His mother sits behind him, but it’s Jean that’s the focus of the painting. The colors Monet used push for a tranquil feel.” Her lips twisted. “It’s a look into Monet’s life.”
Sarah wasn’t scribbling now. She was gazing straight at Eve. “That’s some . . . rather specific knowledge that you possess.”
Now Eve was the one to frown. “I . . . didn’t . . .” How had she known all of that? And the image that had been in her mind . . . it hadn’t been a picture from the pages of a book. It had been the real art. As if she’d seen it somewhere before. A museum?
“It seems you know a bit about art,” Sarah added.
Yes, she did. Her heart was suddenly beating faster. None of the other shrinks had asked anything about art. “How did you know to ask me that?”
Sarah cleared her throat. “I have a few more questions . . .”
Eve leaned forward and caught Sarah’s hand, stopping the pen before it could scribble across the page. “I think . . . I think Gabe should leave now.” Because this wasn’t like the other interviews. Not anymore. She felt vulnerable, exposed, and having that intent gaze of his on her every second . . .
Too much.
She couldn’t maintain her control with him focusing on her like that. His stare was like a touch that she could feel against her skin.
“Why do you want him to leave now?” Sarah asked.
Of course, another question.
“Because he’s making me nervous.” The truth. “I thought it would be fine if he stayed in here with us, but I’m too . . . aware of him.” She could feel him. His eyes on her.
Gabe rose to his feet. His head inclined toward her, then he stalked for the door. “I’ll wait outside until you’re done, Sarah.”
Eve watched him leave, and when the door shut behind him, she finally eased out a low breath. Her hands flattened on her thighs.
“You’re very . . . attuned to him,” Sarah observed.
Eve wasn’t sure that attuned was the right word.
“Is that the way you are with all men?”
Eve flinched. Talk about a probing question. “No.” She met Sarah’s stare. “I actually . . . don’t like being too close to most men.” The men who stared at her with lust in their eyes. The men who had gazes that tracked over her body as if they were imagining her naked.
“Why not?”
“They want what I can’t give.” The awareness was instinctive to her.
“Sex?”
Eve swallowed. “That’s personal, I—”
“Believe me, things will get a lot more personal if you stay with the LOST team. You aren’t allowed to have secrets with us.” The words were a warning.
“I don’t have secrets,” Eve denied. How could she have secrets when she didn’t remember her life?
“Everyone has them.”
She certainly believed that Sarah did. She could see those secrets in Sarah’s eyes. “You’re good at your job, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
An actual answer. Eve hadn’t expected that. Surprise rippled through her.
“I’m good at understanding killers,” Sarah continued as she tilted her head to study Eve. “Maybe too good.”
Goose bumps rose on Eve’s arms. “How do you know the killers so well?”
What could have been pain flashed in Sarah’s eyes. “I guess you could say it’s in my blood.”
Eve had no idea what that was supposed to mean.
“Are you afraid of Gabe?” Sarah asked as her pen poised over that notepad.
And back to the questions. Sarah’s questions. “No.” Lie. Her lips pressed together for a moment, then she admitted, “Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because he makes me feel . . .” Eve wasn’t sure how to explain this. Not sure what to say, but . . . “He makes me feel like I want more.”
No, not more. Him. He stirred an awareness within her that she wasn’t sure she should be feeling. Need, lust . . . in the void of her life, did she even have room for those?
“And Gabe doesn’t remind you of anyone?”
Her breath came a little faster. “No.”
“When he touches you—”
“Gabe hasn’t—”
Sarah held up her hand. “I just mean casually. When his hand brushes against you or if he takes your arm, how does that make you feel?”
Alive.
“Eve?”
“I’m probably supposed to say it makes me feel safe, right?” That was what the LOST team was about. They were the good guys. Good guys equaled safety.
Sarah’s eyes held hers.
“I don’t feel safe when he touches me. I don’t ever feel safe.” Fear was the only companion she knew. “But when I’m near Gabe, I also don’t feel dead.”
Sarah put down her pen. “And do you feel . . . dead . . . a lot of the time?”
“I feel like I’ve drowned.” Soft. “I feel like I walk through life like a ghost.”
“Until Gabe touches you . . .”
She fisted her hands in her lap. “I don’t want to be dead.” Her heartbeat was too fast. The drumming sounded too loud as it echoed in her ears. “Can you help me? Can you please give my life back to me?”
GABE POUNCED THE minute Sarah slipped from his office. “Well?”
Sarah glanced back over her shoulder. She’d pulled the office door shut, and Eve was sealed inside. “Let’s take a little walk.”
Gabe turned. Saw Wade heading toward them. Gabe motioned toward the door. “Make sure she doesn’t leave.”
“The blonde’s in there?” Wade saluted. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep her busy.”
Gabe grunted and followed Sarah back to her office. He’d thought Eve might be more relaxed if she talked with Sarah in a place she’d been before, but . . . hell, Eve had appeared so brittle during the interview that it looked as if she’d break apart any moment.
So much for helping her to relax.
Sarah pushed open her office door. “I have to do more research on her. This was just a preliminary session.”
He held up his hand. “Save me the spiel, Sarah. I know how the deal works. I’m not looking for a full profile on the woman right now. I just want to know . . . do you think the amnesia is real?”
“Based on the medical reports, the conversations I had with the other psychiatrists—”
She was about to drive him crazy. “Sarah.”
“I think it could be real.”
Could be?
“But some of her affect . . . it’s off.”
Now that revelation had his muscles locking.
“I felt like she was telling me what she thought she should be saying. Almost like she was following some kind of script.” Sarah shook her head, then rubbed the back of her neck. “The only time I felt like I was seeing the real woman was when she talked about you.”
They’d talked about him? Gabe wasn’t sure what to make of that revelation. Just how had he worked his way into the conversation?
“I think you may be a trigger for her.”
She sure seemed to trigger some primal responses in him.
“And you’re attracted to her, aren’t you?” Sarah pressed.
“Sarah, the woman is gorgeous.” Understatement. With those legs and curves, she was more like a walking wet dream. “I’m betting most men are attracted to her.” The doc at St. Helen’s sure had been. Jerkoff.
“But she’s not attracted to most men. She’s attracted to you.”
Now that news was interesting and arousing. But Gabe made himself say, “I don’t have sex with clients. The woman is—”
“Unusual. Not our typical case at all.”
Sarah sounded confused. Definitely not a typical situation for her.
Gabe crossed his arms and waited.
“By all accounts, Jessica Montgomery was a gifted artist.”
So the conversation had just taken a one eighty. He figured Sarah would bring things back around, eventually. She usually did. He just had to wait for her to connect her dots.
Sarah put her notepad on her desk. “Your Eve has a strong grasp of art history. I asked her a series of questions at various points during the interview—all related to art facts that I had to research before the session with her—and she easily answered them all.”
Interesting. He’d done his own research. “Jessica Montgomery received her master’s degree in art history from the University of Alabama,” he said. So if Eve actually was Jessica, that art knowledge would make sense.
“And Jessica Montgomery was right-handed,” Sarah said. “If you want to hurt an artist, well, I think breaking the hand she uses to paint would be a perfect way to start your torture.”
Gabe kept his expression blank. “The other four bodies that were recovered showed no signs of broken bones.”
“No, they didn’t.” Her voice held that faint, distracted air that she got when she was trying to slide into a killer’s mind.
“So why would Eve be different? If she were a victim of the Lady Killer—”
“The Lady Killer’s signature is torture. Control. His M.O. is that he stabs his victims, but the crime isn’t about the stabbing. It’s about hurting his victims. Establishing his control and dominance.” She rubbed her arms, as if fighting off a chill. “If Eve is one of his victims, then he went a step further with her. He let his attack get very personal.”
Gabe wasn’t liking this news. Not at all.
“The personal nature of that attack would suggest that she isn’t some random victim to him. She matters. He’ll view her differently, especially once he learns that she survived his attack.”
He wanted the simple truth. “Is she for real? Is her story—”
Sarah gave a slow nod. “I think it’s time we contact the Montgomery family. We can get their DNA and find out if Eve is their daughter or if she’s someone who is very, very good at lying.”
Good enough to fool even Sarah?
Because no one had ever fooled Sarah before. Not witnesses and not even cold-blooded serial killers. She got into all of their minds, and she didn’t stop until she’d learned every secret that they possessed.