Springfield, Illinois

Mastiff Security Headquarters

Durango leaned against the wall and watched Calder move slowly down one length of the room and then slowly up the other. He was studying the evidence Durango had gathered on the Harrison Strangler over the years, pictures, documents, and notes he’d stolen from the original investigation by the Chicago Police Department, and other notes he’d put together after Sarah’s death. There was a lot, but it didn’t add up to much.

The original investigation had pointed to a hacker who lived in a dingy basement apartment. It had seemed perfect. He hacked a boutique that was the only connection between the original victims. None of them attended the same schools, none went to the same church, none shopped at the same grocery store. Hell, not all of them lived in the same section of the city. But they all shopped at, or had their name added to the customer list of, a little boutique downtown that sold women’s intimates. He went down the list, checking off women who didn’t fit his criteria, killing the ones who did almost in order. It was creepy the way he went about it. Methodical.

But the day after his arrest, the suspect was found dead in his cell, his last words written for Durango. He claimed not to be the killer. And, as if to prove it, Sarah was murdered in the same exact method, down to the mirrors covered with her t-shirts and paintings taken down from the wall.

But if he had the wrong guy the first time around, how did the killer get his hands on the kill list?

“Could they have been working together?”

Calder gave voice to the obvious question. Durango shrugged. “Most serial killers work alone.”

“Yes, but this guy had the list, and the real killer was marking names off it.” Calder turned to look at Durango. “What other reason did the hacker have for taking that particular list?”

“We never even proved that he was the one who hacked the list. We simply traced it to his computer. We would have done more research on it, but his death and my arrest kind of stopped that investigation.”

“We should check into it.”

Durango nodded. “It’s a good place to start.”

“Maybe check out his associates. You wouldn’t happen to have access to his computer anymore, would you?”

“It should be in lockup in Chicago still.”

“Axel might have friends up there. I can ask around.”

Durango pushed away from the door and crossed to the picture of the first victim, Natalie. “I always assumed there was some sort of personal connection between the killer and this girl. Natalie. She was a college student, premed, engaged to her high school sweetheart, also a premed student. From everything I heard, she was an angel, never did anything to hurt a soul.”

“Maybe she inadvertently broke some guy’s heart.”

“That was my thought. I interviewed all the men in her life—classmates and professors, friends and family—but no one fits. I think, perhaps, it was someone she met casually, someone she didn’t realize she’d slighted. I went to this bar she used to hang out in, talked to the bartender a few times, but I didn’t get much from it. Maybe you’d have better luck.”

“It’s been seven years.”

“I know. But people have long memories when it comes to this sort of thing.”

Calder moved up behind Durango to study the pictures of the victims. Durango had found a picture of Kyle and one of Detective Hyde that he’d added to the collection. Calder touched his finger to the one of Kyle and shook his head.

“She doesn’t quite fit.”

“What makes you say that?”

“She’s not exactly blond, and she doesn’t have the same sort of look as the others.” He stepped back, studying each of the photographs in turn. “They all have a certain look to them, a pretty, intelligent look. They’re all ambitious in one way or another, all confident. And all straight.”

“Except Kyle.”

“He couldn’t have known her sexual preference, I suppose. But there’s something else about her, the color of her hair, the false innocence.” Calder shook his head. “Her hair’s too dark to fit his type. And she doesn’t look like a confident woman, not in the same way as the others.”

“Kyle was the most confident woman I knew.”

“Because you knew her. But if you met her on the street, is that the impression you’d get of her?”

He thought about it for a second, then shook his head. “No, I don’t suppose so.”

“She doesn’t fit the pattern unless the killer had another reason for killing her.”

“Like the fact that she was my partner?”

Calder inclined his head slightly. “Or, perhaps, the killer knew her.”

“Why do you say that?”

He shook his head. “I don’t know. A hunch.”

Durango crossed his arms over his chest. “That would suggest the killer was someone in my life, someone who followed me here from Chicago. But there’s no one who fits that bill.”

“You’re not friends with anyone from your past?”

“When you go on trial for killing your fiancée, a woman who had many friends in law enforcement, you quickly lose every friend you ever had.”

Calder grunted but didn’t have anything else to say. He continued to study the cork boards, his arms crossed over his chest as though to keep him from touching anything. Then he began to nod.

“I think I know where I want to start. I’ll go talk to Axel, let him know.”

“Where will you start?”

Calder hesitated. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to be too close to the investigation. No offense.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re too close.”

Durango studied his face for a long second. “Do you think I’m guilty?”

“I don’t think anything right now. But if things begin to go badly, I don’t want you getting caught in the crosshairs.”

“That’s my line.”

Calder shrugged. “You asked me to take a look at this, and that’s what I’m doing. Trust me when I say it would be best for you to keep your distance.”

“Okay.”

Durango watched him go, a sinking feeling in his chest warning him that this might not go well. He locked up Kyle’s old office and sauntered down to his. There was real work that needed doing. And not having an assistant—again—left more for him to do.

Durango rounded the corner to his office and stopped, a little surprised to find Gracie sitting at his assistant’s desk. She was staring down at something on the desktop, concentrating hard as she scribbled notes. He watched for a moment, enjoying the sight of her more than he wanted to admit to himself. The more he found himself looking at her, the more beautiful he believed she was. Gracie had worked for them almost from the beginning, coming to join the office when it was still just Durango, Kyle, Axel, and a few other operatives. He’d always seen her as the mousy, frightened girl who snuck around corners at the most unexpected moments. But that opinion had changed without him noticing.

Her gold hair was long, thick, tangled from a day of brushing her fingers through it and wrapping it around her fingers. Her glasses were heavy and unflattering, hiding perfect brown eyes with the most amazing flecks of green and gold in them. And those clothes, the long skirts and layers of sweater and blouse, creating bulk that he now suspected didn’t exist.

She was beautiful; she simply lacked the confidence to accept that about herself.

“You don’t have to do that.”

She looked up, clearly startled as she pressed a hand to the center of her chest. “I thought you were gone!”

“No. I was just having a meeting down the hall.”

She took a deep breath, calming herself. “I was just organizing your schedule for tomorrow.”

“Have you found a new assistant?”

“I have a few interviews lined up for tomorrow.”

He studied her a moment longer, watched as her eyes fell to the top of the desk before peeking at him over the top rim of her glasses. He wanted to smile, wanted to tell her just how beautiful he thought she was. He wanted to pull her into his office and finish what they’d begun the other day. But logic reigned now that hormones had gone back to accepted levels. He knew that was the last thing he should do.

But he needed to let her know that he understood that.

“Could we have a moment in my office?”

She blushed, but she immediately got up and led the way. He caught her shooting a glance over at the couch where they’d been locked in passion before they were interrupted, but then her gaze shifted, and she settled on the edge of one of the two chairs set before his desk. Durango took the other; his knees close enough to hers that they nearly touched.

“I wanted to talk about the other day.”

She shook her head. “It’s not necessary. I know I was out of line. I should never have said—”

“That’s not what I meant.” He leaned forward a little, tilting his head so that he could see her face even when she tried to look down. “I meant about the . . .” He gestured toward the couch with his head. “I took advantage of the moment, and I shouldn’t have done that.”

“No,” she said softly. “You didn’t take advantage.”

“I just don’t want things to be weird between us now. I need you to understand that now is a bad time for me to get involved with someone. All of this stuff that’s going on because of Kyle and Detective Hyde—”

“I understand.”

“I don’t want to hurt you, Gracie. But I can’t draw you into this mess I’m in.”

“It’s fine.”

He sat back, his eyes moving over her as he once again found himself amazed by just how beautiful she was. Regret was like a bout with food poisoning, making his guts cramp. He never expected to care about another woman. Not after Sarah. And he didn’t know if the way he felt for Gracie was anything like that. But he’d like to find out.

With this mess hanging over his head, though, he didn’t think it would be wise to be that kind of selfish. Gracie deserved so much better than him.

She stood.

“If that’s all—”

She stopped as she turned to leave, tension bolting through the length of her. Durango stood and was not surprised, but also not terribly thrilled, to see what had caused her tension.

Detective John Fedor was standing in the doorway to his office.

“I don’t know how you keep doing it, Masters,” he said, his words a little slurred, his stance a little unsteady, “but I will prove it’s you.”

“What are you talking about?”

Fedor gestured over his shoulder at nothing, stumbling forward as the movement made his unsteady hold on his balance even rockier. “Your fucking assistant! You couldn’t kill someone a little less connected to you? Are you just trying to make us look like damn fools?”

Gracie glanced over her shoulder at Durango, then rushed around his desk and typed into his keyboard. A second later, she turned the monitor around to reveal a news article that announced the murder of Heidi Warby, an employee of Mastiff Security.

Fuck!

“I don’t know what you think you are,” Fedor continued. “You’re not some sort of god. I will find the proof we’re lacking, and I will make sure you go to fucking prison! When the DNA comes back on Hyde . . .” He shook his head as he made his way into the office, but he was staggering so hard that he fell onto his side. Durango went to him, tried to help him up, but he slapped Durango’s hands away. “Don’t fucking need help from you!”

“You’re drunk, Fedor.”

“Yeah? Maybe that’s because you killed my partner, and my captain took me off the damn case. He says I’m too close to it. But I know it’s you, you fucking asshole! I will prove it!”

“You do that, Fedor. Maybe it will finally put us all out of our misery.”

Fedor didn’t respond to that. Now that he was flat on the floor, sleep took over. He was passed out before Durango had even finished speaking.

“We should get him home.”

“I’ll take care of it. You should go.”

Durango shook his head. “You can’t move him on your own.”

“And you shouldn’t be seen alone with him. You’ve got enough tongues wagging around here.”

He knew she was right, but he didn’t like it. “Let me call Axel. He’ll—”

“Go home, Durango. Please.”

He could see the fear in her eyes. For her, he’d do what she’d asked. He went to her, took her face between his hands. “Thank you,” he whispered before pressing his lips to her forehead. “But please be careful.”

She nodded. When she looked up at him, there was something in her eyes that physically hurt him. He wanted to make it disappear, wanted to say the words that would replace that darkness with the light he’d seen so many times before whenever she looked at him.

He hated this, hated this situation. When was it going to end?

His fear, however, was that it wouldn’t. This was never going to end until he ended it himself. And that was unthinkable.

He left, feeling less than a man, wishing everything was different than it was.