WADE MONROE PACED IN FRONT OF THE morgue. He’d always hated that place, but back in his homicide days, he’d sure spent plenty of hours down there.
He’d done his best to give justice to the dead. Some days, he’d succeeded in that job. Other days, he hadn’t.
The morgue’s door swung open, and Dr. Gus Bane stood in the doorway. Gus’s skin was a light coffee, and the gray grizzle of stubble lined his jaw. He frowned at Wade. “You’re not supposed to be darkening my door these days.”
Wade shrugged. “And you’re supposed to be retired and living down in Florida.” A grim smile curved his lips. “So I guess neither of us wound up where we were supposed to be.”
Gus grunted. “Wife left me. Gotta pay alimony now.”
“She found out about the mistress, huh?”
Gus glared.
“Easy. I brought a peace offering.” Wade lifted his bag. “Still got that sweet tooth?”
Gus snatched the doughnuts. “They better have chocolate on them.”
“Always.” Wade followed the guy into the morgue. The place was icy, and the smell—it always made him feel a little sick to his stomach.
Gus carefully put his bag down on his overflowing desk. “What do you want, Monroe?”
“A homeless man was brought in this morning. Stab victim. He was—”
“Pauley McIntyre.” Gus’s brows lowered. “Ms. Georgia was in here earlier. She identified him for us.”
There was some familiarity in the coroner’s voice. “Uh, Ms. Georgia?” Wade pushed.
“She runs the shelter on Lortimer.”
“And you know her because . . . ?” He waited for Gus to answer.
Gus just stared back at him. Right. The guy didn’t spend all his time with the stiffs in the morgue. If the rumors were true, Gus was supposed to be one serious ladies’ man.
Hence the divorce. And the alimony payments.
When the silence stretched a beat too long, Wade said, “I need to know about his case.”
“Not much to know.” Gus headed into the back, where the bodies were kept. Wade locked his shoulders and followed him. “Two stab wounds. One to the heart. One to the gut.”
“He went fast?”
“Fast enough. The man sure didn’t suffer long.”
They were in front of the freezer—well, that’s how Wade had always thought of the place. A series of big, heavy lockers lined the right wall. Bodies were in those lockers. As Wade watched, Gus bent and pulled one of them open. More cold air slipped out, and so did a body that had been bagged and tagged.
“I heard it was a robbery,” Wade murmured.
“That’s what the detectives upstairs are saying.” Gus’s voice held no inflection. “But seeing as how he was wearing boots with holes in them and threadbare clothes, I’m not so sure that theory works.”
Wade held his stare.
“But I just determine COD,” Gus told him. Cause of death. “The cops run the investigation.”
Wade understood exactly what Gus was saying and what he wasn’t. “He’s a homeless man—”
“And not the rich businessman who was killed in that hit and run last week. Guess who’s going to get front page coverage for a while, and who’ll get sent straight on to the cemetery.”
Right, Wade thought. That was another reason why he had left the PD. “It wasn’t a robbery.”
Gus shook his head. “This guy who did it knew what he was doing. There were no hesitation wounds, and Pauley—he didn’t even have time to fight back.”
Hell. “He was ex-military—”
“And I would say he was taken down in less than a minute. No one even reported hearing him scream.”
Wade looked down at that zipped body bag.
“And the wound to the gut,” Gus’s voice roughened, “the killer twisted the knife.”
Shit. “Maximum pain.” Even if the guy did go quickly, he hadn’t gone easily.
“Cases like this don’t keep public attention long. On the news one day, gone the next.” Gus sighed. When Wade looked at him, he realized Gus’s gaze had turned distant. “I’ve seen so many dead cross my table. I’ve wondered about the lives they had before the end. Wondered if they were happy. Wondered if they fought to live a bit longer.” He shook his head. “This man didn’t have the chance to fight.”
Every detail he learned about Pauley McIntyre’s murder had Wade feeling more and more uneasy. If a guy didn’t have anything to take, why rob him? And the kill—so professional . . .
At the same shelter where Gabe’s girl was staying.
Yeah, this shit didn’t feel right, and Wade knew better than to ignore his instincts.
“Thanks, Gus.” He turned away.
“I can unzip the body, if you want to see him.”
Hell, no, he didn’t want that. Wade had always hated the bodies. He headed for the door. “Enjoy the doughnuts.”
“I will.” A pause that stretched until Wade was almost out of that too cold place. “And . . . Wade?”
He glanced back.
Gus’s face was somber. “Find his killer. Everyone deserves justice.”
Damn straight they did.
He hurried into the hallway, pulled out his phone and had Gabe on the line in less than thirty seconds. “I think we have a problem . . .” he began.
A big one.
“I WANT TO go with you.” Eve glared at Gabe as he grabbed his keys and headed for the penthouse door. He’d taken her back to the penthouse, and she’d managed to pull herself together, and now that she was back in fighting form, well, fighting was exactly what she wanted to do. “If you’re going to the shelter, take me with you.”
At the door of the penthouse, he turned toward her. “You really want to go out there and see the spot your friend died? See his blood still staining the ground?”
Eve flinched but said, “I want to help. Pauley deserves my help.” She hurried toward him.
His hands closed around her shoulders. “It might not be safe, okay? Shit, I need to find out what’s happening. It’s too big a coincidence that a guy at your shelter was killed—killed by someone who is too well acquainted with using a knife.”
The scar on her neck seemed to burn.
“You’re safe here. I want you to stay here. Wade and I are going to canvas the area around the shelter and see if we can find anyone who might have seen something last night.”
“Didn’t the police already check—”
“We’re going to check again.” His voice was grim and his gaze was steady. “And I want you to stay here.”
It was because she’d broken down and started crying at LOST. Now he thought she was weak. “I’m not,” she muttered.
His brows rose.
“I’m not weak.”
“Uh, I don’t remember saying you were.” His left hand lifted. Curled around her chin. “In fact, weak is the last word that comes to mind when I think of you.”
His words surprised her, and, damn him, he used that surprise to his advantage as he quickly stepped back. “Stay inside, and I’ll be back soon.”
“Gabe—”
But he was already gone.
HE WATCHED GABE Spencer leave, driving his Jag far too fast. The man should be more careful. Fast drivers often had deadly accidents.
He stared up at Gabe’s building. He already knew the man had a penthouse at the very top of that place. The guy liked to look down at the city. It was a pity he didn’t seem to realize that dark parts of the city could look back up at him.
When Gabe had left, Eve hadn’t been with him.
Are you up there, Eve? Are you waiting for me?
He needed to eliminate the threat she posed. He’d already messed up by taking out that homeless bastard. That kill hadn’t been planned, and the aftermath of that death had left him feeling raw, unsettled.
I need to kill her.
Everything was falling apart around him. Chaos. He couldn’t have chaos. He needed his order. Order would only be restored when she was dead.
He’d known about her for months, ever since he’d seen that first image in the paper. But Eve hadn’t known about him. He felt safe, and it had been amusing to realize that she was out there, a total blank slate. There’d been no rush to eliminate Eve. Not when she had no fucking clue who he was.
And to see the mighty fall, as she had . . . fall to live on the very streets. It had seemed fitting. Death would have been too fast then, and he’d felt she should live a bit longer, in her pathetic, confused misery.
Then he learned about her visit to LOST.
You can’t stir up the past, Eve. Your past is dead and buried. Soon, you will be, too.
He whistled as he headed across the street. The doorman at the building had just slipped away. Perfect, perfect timing.
Now . . . to just get to Eve . . .
EVE PACED. AND she paced some more. Gabe had given her a phone, one that was placed on the table just a few feet from her. She’d protested when he gave it to her. Something else I need to pay him back for! But he’d insisted she needed to always have a phone close to her, for safety.
She should have felt safe right then. Up high above the city, in Gabe’s penthouse . . . “Fortress,” she muttered. But she didn’t feel safe. She just kept thinking about Pauley, over and over again. And—
The doorknob rattled.
Eve stopped her pacing. She glanced toward the door. That sound had been so faint. Maybe she’d imagined it.
She crept toward it.
And as she stared at the doorknob, she saw it turn.
No, impossible.
It was turning.
“Gabe?” She called out his name instinctively even as she grabbed for the phone on the table. Her fingers locked tightly around it.
There was another lock on the door. Higher, thicker. And . . .
It was turning, too.
She ran to the door. Put her eye to the peephole. It’s just Gabe. It’s just Gabe. He forgot something. It’s just—
She saw a man wearing a black ski mask in the hallway. She screamed, and the fingers of her left hand flew out and she flipped the lock back in place. The top lock. The bottom lock.
For an instant there was stillness and silence as her scream died away. And then the locks started to turn again.
GABE’S PHONE RANG just as he reached the shelter. He glanced down at the screen, frowning when he saw Eve’s name flash across it. He swiped his index finger over the phone. “Eve, I’ll be back in—”
“Someone’s trying to get inside!” Her voice was loud, frantic.
“What?”
“A—A man in a ski mask. He’s at the door.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. He ran back to his car. Gunned the engine and shot out of there. The call fed through his Bluetooth system, and the too loud and desperate sound of her breathing filled the Jag. “Hit the button for the alarm, Eve. Hit the panic button, now.”
“I did! Nothing’s happening!”
Had the bastard somehow disabled his alarm?
“Gabe, I’m scared, I—”
Then he heard the crash. And Eve’s scream.
EVE HAD HAULED a chair in front of the door and shoved it under the doorknob, but the chair hadn’t done any good. The guy had just kicked in the door and sent the chair flying across the room.
He stood there, appearing to fill the doorway. He was in black from his head to his boots, and as she stared at him, her scream still seeming to echo around her, he pulled out a knife from a sheath at his side.
“No,” Eve whispered.
“Yes . . .” His hiss of sound.
She knew Gabe’s penthouse was the only one on that top floor, so there wasn’t anyone to hear her screams. There wasn’t anyone there to help her.
I was supposed to be safe here.
He was stalking toward her, and she was just standing there.
The hell I am.
Eve snapped out of her stupor and grabbed for the nearest lamp. She hurled it at him then. It hit him in the chest, but he didn’t stop advancing.
She jumped over the couch. Grabbed another lamp and threw it. Her arm was surprisingly good, and the lamp pummeled into him.
He’d followed her movements, just as she’d hoped. And now that he wasn’t blocking the door . . .
Eve ran for it. He snarled and reached out for her, his fingers tangling in her hair. She screamed again as she kicked back at him, slamming hard with her foot.
Pauley taught me that move, you bastard! On one of their long nights, when neither had been able to sleep.
The attacker’s hold loosened and he swore.
She grabbed the chair he’d sent flying when he burst into the penthouse, lifted it up and whirled back toward him. As hard as she could, Eve shoved that chair at him. The chair legs hit him in the chest and he grunted.
“Stay away from me!” Eve yelled. She could see his eyes. They were dark, muddy, furious.
“Never . . .” That same low rasp that sent chills racing over her. An unnatural rasp.
He knocked the chair out of his way and swiped out with the knife. The blade missed her arm by an inch as it sank into the door frame. Eve stumbled back and ran into the hallway.
The elevator was at the end of that hall. If she could get to it, she’d be safe. Ten feet away. That was all. It looked as if it were just ten feet away.
He tackled her.
They hit the floor together. He was behind her and she was scrambling on her stomach, trying to get away from him.
But he wasn’t letting her go.
“Beg . . .” he whispered.
Beg to die. Beg to . . .
“No!” Eve yelled, and twisted beneath him. She tried to claw for his eyes because those were all she could see. Those dark, dark eyes.
Those eyes are wrong.
“Beg . . .”
“WAYNE, GET UP to my penthouse now,” Gabe snarled to the doorman as he drove hell fast. “My . . . guest is being attacked. Get up there!”
“Sir? D-Do I need to call the police?”
“I’m calling them. You get to her. Get to her!”
Wayne slammed down the phone. As soon as the line was clear, Gabe gave instructions for his phone system to call 911. He needed Wayne to get upstairs to Eve. Because by the time the cops got there, it could be too late.
It can’t be too late.
“Nine-one-one, what is the nature of your emergency?”
He stomped down on the gas pedal and shot through a yellow light. “A woman is being attacked! She needs help, now.”
SHE SHOVED HER nails toward his eyes. Her fingers slipped through those eye holes on his mask as she attacked.
But he reared away from her, and he drove his fist into her side.
Eve cried out but she also managed to get her knee up. She drove it into his groin as hard as she could.
“Bitch!”
“Bastard!” she shouted back, and then punched him. Punched him so hard that her whole hand hurt. He’d fallen back, holding his groin, and she used that instant to dive for the knife he’d dropped.
They both leapt to their feet at the same time, only she was the one holding the knife.
Her breath heaved out as they faced off.
Then he laughed. The sound was low, insidious. Familiar?
Terror seemed to choke her in that instant because the walls of that hallway vanished. The gleaming marble floor disappeared.
She could have sworn that her feet were sinking into sand, and she thought she heard the rush of waves against a shore.
“Stay away from me,” Eve whispered as she backed up a step.
“Never.”
Something dinged behind her, and Eve jerked. She looked back over her shoulder. The elevator! The doors were sliding open.
She turned and ran for that elevator, ran as fast as she could toward the man she saw standing there, with bright red hair and scared eyes, wearing the same blue uniform she’d seen another doorman wearing earlier.
She slammed into him and they both stumbled back. He tried to steady her so they wouldn’t both fall, and then the doorman looked over her shoulder. He screamed.
Eve whirled around, the knife still in her right hand. With her left, she frantically pushed the button to close the elevator doors.
The man in the ski mask was walking toward her. Not running. Just . . . walking. Like one of those crazy guys from some sort of slasher flick.
When did I even see one of those? That ridiculous, random thought blasted through her head just as—
Just as he whispered, “I’ll see you again, Jessica . . .”
Then the elevator doors closed.
GABE BROUGHT HIS Jag to a screeching stop. He jumped from the vehicle and ran toward his building. Several police cruisers were already there, their bright lights illuminating the scene in a swirl of blue. Some people from his building were outside, clustered together in groups, talking softly.
He didn’t give a damn about those people.
Where was— “Eve!”
He ran for the main door, but a uniformed cop jumped in his path.
“Sir,” the cop began, “you need to—”
“Gabe?”
Eve’s voice. Eve’s fucking perfect, beautiful voice. He whirled to the right and saw her and Wayne, the doorman, standing next to one of the police cruisers. Gabe rushed to her side and then yanked her into his arms. He held her tight, probably crushing her in his too hard grip, but he couldn’t ease his hold.
I was afraid I wouldn’t get to her in time. Not just afraid, fucking terrified.
“It was him,” Eve said, voice breaking. “It had to be him . . . the Lady Killer. He found me.” She was shaking in his arms. He wanted to pick her up, to take her back to his car and just get her the hell away from that place. Take her away from anyone and anything that threatened her.
Footsteps pounded behind him.
“Dammit, man,” Wade snapped. “Do you know how hard it is to keep up with your fast ass?”
He knew that Wade had followed him back from the shelter.
“Talk to the cops,” Gabe said without letting go of Eve. “Find out what they know.” Because Wade always had an in with the Atlanta PD.
“Will do,” Wade said, his voice softer now. “Is she all right?”
“Yes.” Eve pushed against Gabe’s chest. When she looked up at Gabe, there were no tears in her eyes and her expression was stark, determined. “She’s all right.”
Damn straight.
He wanted to kiss her right then.
“I’m not all right,” Wayne muttered, sounding seriously aggrieved. “There was a man in a ski mask up there! I thought we were going to die! But she had the knife . . .”
A knife?
“He got away,” Wayne exhaled heavily. “That crazy freak got away. The cops can’t find him, and I was on duty, so this is gonna be on me, and I—I need a damn drink.” Then Wayne headed off, apparently in search of that drink, only the cops caught him before he could and started questioning him.
“Uh, a knife?” Wade lingered next to Gabe’s side.
Eve gave a slow nod. “It was his. The man in the mask. When we were fighting, I—I managed to take it from him. The cops have it.”
And she’d thought she was weak? Hell, no. From the very first, he’d known she was a fighter.
If she’d escaped from the Lady Killer, she had to be a fighter.
“He called me Jessica.”
Gabe thought his heart stopped for a moment, then it was racing in a frantic, double-time rhythm. “You’re sure?”
She nodded. “Ask Wayne. He heard it, too. The man in the mask called me Jessica.”
Dammit.
“I told you, he was the Lady Killer.” Her head tilted back as she stared up at him. “He knows I survived, and he’s come back to kill me.”
“That won’t happen,” Gabe swore.
But her mouth curled in the saddest smile he’d ever seen. One that made his heart ache. “He said he’d see me again. He’s going to keep coming. He’s going to kill me.”
“No, he’s not.”
Her expression didn’t change.
There was so much fear in her eyes. He hated that fear.
“We’re going to stop him,” Gabe told her, needing her to believe him, wanting to make that fear vanish. “We’re going to hunt him down. He won’t hurt you or anyone else ever again.”
Her fear didn’t lessen, and Gabe knew that Eve didn’t believe him.
He’d prove the truth to her. He wasn’t going to just sit back and let the asshole out there control them. He was a hunter by nature, with deadly skills that had been fine-tuned courtesy of Uncle Sam.
If the Lady Killer really was the one after Eve, then he would stop him. He would stop anyone who ever tried to hurt her.
Gabe pulled her against his chest once more and held her.
SHE WAS STILL a fighter.
He watched from the shadows as the police questioned the building’s tenants. The doorman. Eve.
Only Eve isn’t your real name, is it?
Gabe Spencer was there, touching her too much. Standing too close. He knew the man was screwing her. Why else would she have been in his penthouse?
Gabe kept his body close to Eve’s at every moment. Possessive bastard. Eve didn’t belong to him.
She belongs to me.
Just as all of the others had been his. His to torture. His to treasure.
He’d barely gotten out of that building before the cops arrived. Eve’s flight down the elevator had given him just enough time to vanish. Good thing he’d disabled the cameras in the building when he’d taken the liberty of disabling Gabe Spencer’s entire security system.
He knew better than to make mistakes. Mistakes were sloppy.
He planned his attacks. Planned every detail.
So he just had to make a new plan for Eve. But . . .
But it wasn’t going to be fast.
He’d thought, at first, to just kill her. Yet as soon as she screamed for him, the past had surged back. Her scream was so hauntingly familiar.
My Jessica . . . still alive.
He didn’t believe in miracles. Didn’t believe in heaven or hell. Just believed in the power he possessed.
But something had brought Jessica back to him.
And a quick kill wasn’t in the cards for her. That was why he’d let her escape. He could have killed her, and Gabe would have returned to her broken body.
That’s not the way for her.
He’d lost Jessica once, he wouldn’t lose her again.