Springfield, Illinois

Mastiff Security Headquarters

Durango stared at the evidence he’d organized and reorganized, his eyes burning with a need for sleep. He’d made a list of suspects and tore it up, starting over again and again. Names of known criminals he’d investigated more than five years ago when he first began investigating this case, names of cops who might have a reason to imitate the serial killer, names of business men, or citizens who’d never been arrested before but had one connection or another with the case. Husbands of the victims, boyfriends, brothers, friends, acquaintances. Anyone who could potentially be a suspect.

And it all kept coming to a dead end. There was no evidence that pointed to one particular person, no red herring he could point to that said this is definitely the guy.

It was frustrating as fucking hell!

He thought it should be easier since the suspect would have to have a connection to both Chicago and Springfield. But there were a surprisingly large group of people who had a connection to both cities, whether it be business or personal. Going by that criteria, Durango could point a finger at everyone from his former police captain to his own brother.

It might be easier to just turn himself in and serve his time. That would probably be quicker than trying to find the real culprit.

Durango stepped back from the cork board where the evidence was pinned and sighed, rubbing his eyes with the heels of his hands. He hadn’t slept more than an hour or two in weeks, this situation pushing him to find some sort of conclusion. Detective Fedor parked outside his condo every night, not speaking to him, not even approaching him, but watching. He was convinced that Durango had raped and murdered his partner. It didn’t matter that his father gave him an alibi for the time of death, or that he admitted to having a sexual relationship with her. He was still convinced and he wouldn’t back off until he could prove it.

Durango had to clear his name before someone else he cared about was murdered.

Speaking of which . . .

“Durango? It’s after midnight. You should go home.”

Gracie, squinting at him through her glasses, stood in the doorway with a perpetual stack of files held against her chest. She was a beauty, in her own way. Under those glasses and the frumpy clothes she tended to prefer, any man with eyes could see that she had lovely curves and the right sort of roundness to her face. The more time he spent with her, the more Durango could see that beauty.

He wished she’d stay away.

“Why are you still here?”

She shrugged. “Catching up on my work. I let a few things go to the wayside while I was helping your assistant.”

“Yeah, I meant to say thanks for that.”

“No problem.”

“This one might actually stick.”

She smiled, and he understood why. He had a hell of a time with assistants, bad enough that it was becoming a joke around the office. They thought he didn’t know, but he did.

“Go home, Gracie,” he said, crossing to her and slipping the files out of her arms. “You work too fucking hard for what I pay you.”

“You’re right about that,” she said, her smile widening. “But I like the work.”

“I don’t know why.”

“I like you. I liked Kyle.” A little sadness came into her eyes at the mention of Durango’s former partner. “And I like Axel.”

“Is he still in his office?”

She shook her head. “Abigail came and dragged him out a couple of hours ago. She said something about a cold dinner and even colder bed.”

Durango sighed, remembering a time when he had a woman who would come and drag him home from work, too. A woman who warmed his bed even when he was so obsessed with something that he didn’t bother to spend more than an hour or two lying beside her. He remembered how patient she was with him; how good she was to him. Better than he deserved, that was for sure.

And what did he do for her? He exposed her to the man who took her life.

He dropped Gracie’s files into a corner of the furniture-less room and gestured for her to go.

“You can’t have them until you go home and sleep for a few hours.”

“What about you?”

“I don’t need sleep. I need to figure this mess out.”

She glanced at the wall, flinching at the crime scene photographs he had on open display. He felt this urge to walk over and block the photographs from view, but there was something about the way she was looking at them that made him think for a second that she might actually be able to offer him a new perspective, a clear view. But then she turned away, a shudder moving through her slight shoulders.

“I’m going. But promise me you won’t stay much longer.”

“I promise.”

It was a promise he knew he wasn’t going to keep the second the words were out of his mouth, but he made it just the same. He watched her leave, a part of him wishing he had the freedom to spend a little time with her, to get to know her. She wasn’t the type of woman he was attracted to. His brother was convinced he had a type and Gracie definitely wasn’t it. But there was something about her that made him focus when she was around, that made him stop drinking when she pointed out what a fool he was being, that made him want to be a better person. Only one other woman had ever had that effect on him, and that had been his fiancée, Sarah. But Sarah got caught up in this case, was murdered by the Harrison Strangler. Durango wasn’t about to put Gracie in a position to be his next target.

Until he figured this out, until he uncovered the identity of the killer, he was handcuffed, no longer free to make connections with anyone who might become a victim. He couldn’t lose anyone else he cared about.

Durango turned back to the corkboard and went back to it, more determined than ever to figure this damn thing out.