After leaving behind the pungent scent of the autopsy suite, Alexa welcomed the muggy air outside, even with the light mist falling. She knew from prior experience that the smells would permeate her clothes, her hair. The motel the Mounties were using was in Enfield, relatively close to the dump site and less than an hour’s drive from the Halifax morgue. Although she’d only recently witnessed the inside of the victim’s brain, and the damage the drill had done there, she was grateful for the sandwiches they picked up on the way to the motel. She’d turned down the snacks offered on the plane ride here. Her stomach had been a tangle of nerves, a sensation that returned every time Ethan’s ice-blue gaze settled on her.

As she’d watched the scenery pass by her window on the way to the motel, Alexa had been struck anew by the geographical similarities between Nova Scotia and her home in Virginia. They had vivid green countryside, rolling hills, mountains and beaches in common. But this trip didn’t feel like a homecoming. She had few good memories about her life here.

They ate in the room the two men were using as a workspace. Both beds had been moved out of the room and two long tables had been moved in, atop which was a jumble of file folders and two laptops. A whiteboard sat behind it, to which photos and diagrams had been affixed with magnets.

“We disseminated Simard’s ID this morning through CPIC, Canadian Police Information Center, to all law enforcement agencies in the province,” Ethan told her as he dug in the bag for a sandwich. “Simard’s only next of kin was an elderly aunt. Since she’s been notified, I also released his ID to the media, asking people to call a tip line if they recognize the victim. We need to establish a timeline for when he arrived in Nova Scotia to pin down how and when he met up with the unknown subject.”

Alexa raised her brows, waiting for him to find his order before appropriating her sandwich and taking the remaining one to Nyle. “Discovering where Simard was kidnapped might help us zero in on the UNSUB’s location, as well.”

“Yeah. Simard’s financials haven’t come in yet.” Ethan took another bite of the sandwich, swallowing before adding, “Credit-card records might make the search simpler.”

Nyle ate in front of his computer, while scrolling through the day’s emails.

Ethan finished first, wolfing down his sandwich while sending text messages with impressive one-handed dexterity. By the time he’d put down his cell, three-pointed his wrapper in the trash can, and turned to Alexa, she was only halfway done with her meal.

“I don’t know how far you got through that file on the plane,” he started.

“Are you offering a recap?” She picked up her napkin to dab at her lips. “Please, go ahead.” Last night had been spent in a meeting with Raiker after he’d tapped her for this assignment, and then bustling home to pack a bag. The files she’d looked at on the plane had included an overview of the crimes and more in-depth information about the ones that had occurred more recently in New Brunswick, but they were by no means complete. And honesty forced her to admit that she’d been unusually distracted on the journey. She had few pleasant memories of her time in Nova Scotia, and Ethan figured in most of those she did have. It would have been difficult enough just returning to the province. Mentally preparing herself for facing him the next day, working side by side with him on this case had been like staring at the headlight of the oncoming locomotive of her past.

There was little Raiker didn’t know about his employees, so the meeting with him, as he’d probed her readiness for this case had been almost as grueling as seeing Ethan again. She’d managed to convince her boss that the past had no hold on her. There’d been moments since her arrival when that conviction had been sorely tested. She suspected Raiker knew that, too. He was still the foremost profiler in the States. The man was a human lie detector. Little could be hidden from him.

“…span of thirteen years he’s killed fourteen victims, three of them in the last couple weeks.” With a jolt, she redirected her focus on Ethan. “There was a three-year hiatus, so that was eleven in ten years until recently.”

“Just over one a year until now.” She thought about that for a moment. “If he’s making up for the time away, perhaps he’s now finished for a while. I’m sure you’ve checked prison records on recent releases. Passports and visa information for visitors to the country in the last few…” Recognizing the glint in his eye, she swallowed the rest of her words. “I was just thinking out loud.”

“Inquiries are in progress. If I may continue?” His exaggerated politeness was more telling than a growl. She decided it would be wiser to finish her meal as he spoke. She picked up the remainder of her sandwich. Bit delicately into it.

“We’ve determined the offender approaches them from behind and is left-handed, based on the angle of the blows that initially incapacitate the victim and the side he chooses to inject them.” Ethan prowled the space with long lithe strides, his activity a marked contrast to Nyle’s loose-limbed slouch in the folding chair. “Until Simard, there’d been no discernible manner of death. We’d settled on possible asphyxiation. Or an undetectable drug that would stop the heart, using the same injection site as that used for administering the Scopolamine.”

“Potassium would do the trick.” Nyle’s voice sounded remarkably cheerful. His gaze never left his computer screen.

She chewed pensively. Swallowed. “Those options say remarkably different things about your killer.” Stopped to shoot him a guilty look. But he didn’t seem irritated this time.

“How so?”

Twenty years and two degrees had imbued her with the confidence and experience she’d lacked in her youth. But having Ethan’s intense pale-blue gaze on her brought a flush to her system that she’d been certain only yesterday that she’d outgrown. “You mentioned the torture was a new addition to the three most recent victims. Before that, other than the blow to the head, the others didn’t show signs of untoward violence.”

“No. And I see where you’re going with this.” He leaned a shoulder against the wall, his laser regard still trained on her. “There’s a contrast between the brutality of the initial assault and the relative ease of suffocating the victim. But asphyxiation can be plenty brutal. Placing a pillow over one’s face might take minutes, but if, say, he secured a plastic bag to the victim’s head and waiting for the oxygen to be depleted it would take far longer and be much more unpleasant.”

Because he was watching so closely Alexa suppressed the shudder that skated through her at the thought. “Still a sadistic death, yes.” But something else was niggling at her, skating at the edges of her consciousness before dancing away again. “How long have you been assigned to this case?”

“I joined the task force five years ago.”

“Don’t let him go all modest on you,” Nyle shot her grin over his shoulder. “The team came up empty-handed under the last lead investigator’s sojourn. When The Tailor became active again, the new commissioner went with a new lead, plucking Sergeant Manning here from IHIT in Ottawa.”

Alexa’s brows skimmed upward. IHIT was Canada’s elite homicide team. Ethan must have risen through the ranks of the RCMP to command a certain level of respect, despite his age. He’d be thirty-eight now. A year older than her. She didn’t recall him ever mentioning an interest in police work. Of course, her occupation was a far cry from her beginnings as a biology undergrad, too.

Belatedly, she seized on the rest of Nyle’s words. “The Tailor?”

Ethan looked pained, whether at the other man’s compliment or her question she couldn’t be sure. “The media loves their hooks. The detail about sewing the mouths of the victims shut leaked after the second victim was found.”

“But not the reason why?”

“No, the insertion of the dragonfly has been kept quiet. Some of the victims have been engaged in criminal activities. Prostitution rings, organized crime…but others were just the opposite. We’ve got a doctor, a housewife, the mayor of a small town and almost zero overlap between any of them. He’s struck in nearly every province in the country and one territory.”

A vastly ambitious hunting ground, Alexa thought, finishing her sandwich and folding the wrapper into a neat square. “Did the other victims live near the dumpsites where they were found, or were they transported?”

He looked as though she’d surprised him with the question. “So far, all identified victims lived within an hour of where their bodies were discovered. Simard is an outlier. A Montreal resident found in Nova Scotia. We’re still waiting for an ID on one of the victims recently found in New Brunswick.”

“Male?” At his nod, Alexa continued, “And another one not in RAFIAS?” The lack of a hit in the national fingerprint system meant he’d never been arrested like many of the other victims.

“Hard to tell. His hands were burned so badly there was no way to pull a print from them.”

She recalled the photo from the file she’d looked at on the plane. “The UNSUB obviously wasn’t trying to prevent identification since he’s never bothered with the other victims.” She mulled the information over. “The file said the injuries didn’t cause his death. And the other man found in New Brunswick…Albert Norton. He had the number twenty-eight carved into his back.” She considered—and dismissed—the idea of a copycat killer. Ethan seemed certain the details about the dragonfly had never been made public. And the dragonfly was too specific to believe a second person would also use it.

She creased the wrapper in her hand with a thumbnail. Victim selection and offender motivation went hand in hand. Right now, both were puzzling. “Is he striking at random, with the intent to cover the entire country? Maybe to strike fear into each area. That might be about wielding power. No one is safe.” She was thinking out loud.

Nyle finally tore his attention away from the computer and straddled his chair to face them. “We’ve considered that,” he put in. “Because we can find almost no connections between the victims, the task force has long thought the offender might be someone who travels regularly. A salesman, a long-distance trucker, something like that. Years ago, they even got lists from trucking companies of employees who made long runs and tried to match them to the locations of the murders. Nothing came of it. As for salesmen,” he shrugged, “no way to track that, so it’s another unknown. And this case is chock-full of them.” There was an unfamiliar grim expression on his wide, normally genial face.

“All of the bodies are found near ponds, marshes, rivers or lakes. No ocean shoreline.”

“Of course.” She nodded at Ethan’s remark as she got up to cross to the trash to drop her wrapper in it. “And he takes some care with the dumpsites, doesn’t he? From the most recent crime scene photo, it appears he selected a placid area of the river, avoiding nearby rapids or the Bay of Fundy tides.”

“It’s more isolated,” Ethan pointed out, finally putting the cell down to look at her.

“There’s that. But he also wouldn’t want the body disturbed by rising tides. He’s gone to a great deal of trouble with it. He wants you to find the dragonfly. He likely sews the lips of the victims shut to make sure his calling card isn’t disturbed until the body is discovered.” Yes, that would be important to him, Alexa mused. To take credit for the kill, or to taunt police, perhaps. “He leaves victims in areas near bodies of water where dragonflies are normally found. Except,” she corrected herself as she made her way back to her chair at the desk pushed into the corner of the room, “you wouldn’t find this particular dragonfly there because they’re not indigenous to this part of the world.”

“So why is that?” Ethan demanded. “What’s he telling us by leaving it with his victims?”

The question had nagged at her since first hearing about the case. “It could be any number of things,” she admitted, tucking back a strand of hair that escaped from the knot she’d fixed it in that morning. She saw Ethan track the action with his gaze and her fingers faltered. This collaboration wasn’t going to work if his every look threatened to yank her twenty years in the past. It took a moment to regain her focus. “Maybe he’s telling us where he’s from.”

“That lead was exhaustively examined at the beginning of the case. It didn’t go anywhere.”

She nodded, not at all bothered by Ethan’s curt tone. “The Rhyothemis fuliginosa is beautiful. Exotic. The offender could be saying he’s exotic, too. Different from anyone you might have tracked before. Or he’s beautifying his victims. Dragonflies are symbols of transformation and rebirth. He might be saying that he’s giving his victims new life.”

“By killing them?”

Alexa inclined her head at Nyle’s question. “It’s a mistake to try to consider a serial offender’s motive through a rational lens. Often, it only makes sense to them. Canada has slightly more lenient policies about importing insect samples than does the States, but it’s heavily regulated and importation leaves a paper trail. Which I’m sure you’ve already looked into.” She didn’t wait for Ethan’s nod before going on. “That leaves smuggling, which would easy enough, given the size of the cargo and maybe that’s how he began. But now, he’s probably either breeding the dragonflies or getting them from someone who is. There didn’t appear to be any preservative substance on the sample at the morgue, although it will take more testing to be certain. It’s been dead only a few days.” She glanced at Ethan’s face and guessed, “You already knew that.”

“They brought in a forensic entomologist from a university several years ago who ran tests and told us the same thing. It was his guess that the offender believed he was transforming the victims in some way, as you said.” Ethan stopped pacing long enough to slip out of his suit coat. He folded it and draped it over a chair before he began prowling the room again. “We have no descriptions of the killer. No witnesses. We’ve guessed he might be slight, shorter than average. He makes up for that disadvantage by attacking the victims from behind. At one time, we even considered with that manner of attack, the presumed methods of killing might mean we’re looking for a woman.”

“Except she’d still have to get the drugged victim to a vehicle and haul a body to the water…” The bothersome detail that had escaped her earlier finally snapped into place and she said slowly, “Or maybe it isn’t about transformation at all.”

She saw the look the two men exchanged as she surged from her chair, the act of moving helping to shift her thoughts into place. “Do you know what the fiercest predator on the planet is?”

“Uh…a lion? Maybe a cheetah. They’re faster, right?”

Unlike Nyle, Ethan didn’t hazard a guess. Just watched her with that pale unfathomable gaze. She strode across the room and back again, certainty growing with each step. “It’s a dragonfly.”

Ethan snorted. “A bug.”

“You’d be surprised at just how vicious insects can be. In enclosures dragonflies are known to capture ninety to ninety-five percent of all their prey. They have the best vision on Earth. They’re doubly effective as a great white and four times more so than a lion,” she said with a nod in Nyle’s direction. “They can see every angle except for behind them.” She stopped behind Ethan. “And theirs is an ambush predation. They come up behind their prey and—” She reached out to gently touch him on the back of the head. Then snatched her hand away, her fingertips tingling from their gentle brush against his hair. “It never sees them coming.”

Ethan turned his head to stare at her. “Blitzkrieg attacks,” he muttered.

“Like the killer,” she agreed. She took a step away to increase the distance between them. Then another. “Maybe you’re right about his physical description. Similar to the dragonfly, he’s been dismissed. Underestimated. People don’t look beyond the surface to suspect what he’s capable of. Until it’s too late.”

“An interesting theory.” There was no inflection in Ethan’s voice, but she could tell he was considering her words.

“The dragonfly is about him. The second insect is about the victim.”

“So what’s a bat bug tell us about Simard?”

“Something important the offender wants us to know about the man. I need pictures of the insects you took from the last two victims’ mouths. I assume the samples are at the crime lab.”

Ethan nodded. “All evidence goes to Ottawa.”

Driven to get to work, she gathered up the laptop and briefcase she’d brought with her. Stopped and looked at Ethan. “Have my bags been delivered?”

“They should be in your room.”

Nyle scrambled to find the file folder with the photos. “Here are the images.” He rose and walked over to hand her the file in question, which she took before heading to the door. Her mind was already on her next task. The insect samples could prove invaluable in fine-tuning the latest victim selection. She frowned as she reached the door, and juggled the items in her hands as she reached for the knob. A false conclusion, however, could send them in a completely wrong direction. It was here that the scientist in her often struggled with the criminologist. She preferred basing her conclusion on solid—

“You’ll need this.”

Ethan’s voice interrupted her thoughts. Halfway out the door, she turned. He’d followed her, holding her room card. Sheepishly, she took it from him. “Of course.” He let her get to the hallway before stopping her again. “Alexa?”

She glanced back at him.

A smile was lurking at the corners of his mouth. “Your room is directly across the hall.”

“Oh.” Thoughts scattered, all she could do was stare at him. He’d once worn smiles more easily, she recalled dimly. He’d used them to tease her out of her seriousness. They’d been a beacon in her otherwise dark existence—until they’d extinguished completely when their shared grief threatened to swallow them whole.

The memory carved a hollow in her stomach. She turned and made her way toward her room, wishing she didn’t feel as though she was running away from something.

Again.

* * *

“She left in a hurry.”

Nyle’s observation had Ethan turning away from the closed door he was still staring at. “Her mind gets two steps ahead when she has hold of an idea.” He headed for the seat at the desk she’d vacated. He had phone calls to make to the team he’d left in New Brunswick so he could catch up on the results of the investigation they’d left behind. He still had to update his superior on the team, Captain Campbell at RCMP headquarters tonight and set priorities for the daily briefing that would take place with the task force members tomorrow morning. “It can make her seem absent-minded, but she’s crazy smart.”

“I’d say that’s a masterful understatement. I researched her after I called home last night. Figured you’d have done the same after Campbell contacted you with the news she’d be joining us.”

Ethan’s shoulders tightened at Nyle’s words. When he’d gotten word from the brass yesterday, researching the expert consultant had been the last thing on his mind. Dealing with the news that there’d be neither more resources nor more personnel for the case, he’d spent hours after he and Nyle had parted drawing up priorities for the investigation and juggling them between the task force team members and local police.

Would it have helped if he’d checked out Dr. Hayden last night? He dug in his pocket for his cell. Maybe he’d have been better prepared for the shock of seeing her today. His gut clenched. But maybe not. There was really no way to adequately prepare for coming face to face with the biggest regret of his life.

“She’s got double PhDs and board certifications in entomology and forensic psychology, you know that? That’s amazing at her age. She’s got to be brilliant. But you knew her, you said. You’d know all about that.” Ethan felt Nyle’s gaze on him as he read through the responses to his earlier text messages. “Were you guys in school together?”

“She was homeschooled.” He’d realized too late that his knowledge of Alexa’s life before their brief marriage was sketchy. Their chemistry had been too sudden, too overwhelming to allow room for much else. But he’d come to understand that she’d glossed over the areas of her life where the shadows dwelled. He’d had a lot of years to wonder what sort of damage that darkness had inflicted.

Seeing Nyle’s expectant expression, he realized it was time to end this conversation. “I’ve got to check in with McManus.” He’d left the other man as point in New Brunswick. “Anything come through on the lab tests today?”

“Tox screen on both New Brunswick victims. Scopolamine, just like we figured.”

Ethan nodded, unsurprised. Five years ago, they’d wasted a lot of man-hours chasing leads on where the killer was getting the drug. They’d come up with nothing. Scopolamine wasn’t a controlled substance. There were too many illicit avenues available on the street and the dark web to track anyone bent on buying the drug. They’d met with a similar failure following up on the source of the thread used for the mouths. It was mass-produced and widely available, although they had determined the same type was used in each crime. So far, the killer had been smart and lucky. But Ethan was going to do his damnedest to make sure the man’s good fortune ran out sooner, rather than later. And he wasn’t going to let anything divert him from that end. Not even the woman he’d once promised to honor and cherish for the rest of their lives.

Especially not her.

* * *

A hammering on the door jolted Alexa from the report she was typing on her laptop. Frowning, she got up and crossed the room. As she was about to unsecure the safety chain, however, a sliver of caution chased away the remnants of the work fog engulfing her. She checked the peephole in the door first. A micro-sized Ethan Manning filled it.

She took a moment to haul in a breath. If she’d indulged in a fantasy that she could consult on this case without ever having a single conversation with Ethan, alone, that fantasy was about to be shattered. Alexa unlatched the chain and pulled open the door. She made a point of looking at Ethan’s hands. “Where’d you hide the battering ram?”

“Funny.” He brushed by her as he entered the room, leaving her to shut the door behind him. “I saw the light under your door. I’ve been knocking for five minutes. Was starting to think you were unconscious.”

“As you can see, I’m…” she began. And then stopped when he turned. Stared at her. “What?”

After a long moment, he cleared his throat. Looked away. “Your glasses. You must have been working.”

Her brows raised. He was acting as strangely as she’d ever seen him. “Yes. I like to put my thoughts down in writing, because I’m—”

“Hopelessly visual,” he finished. One corner of his mouth kicked up. “Yeah. I remember.”

Her heart kicked faster as his expression lightened briefly. The tilt of his lips barely qualified as a smile; there and gone so quickly she might have imagined it. So, there was no reason—none at all—for the unsteadiness of her pulse.

“I’ve identified the insects left with the last two victims.” Work. She seized on the distraction with a sense of relief. She crossed to the desk where she’d been sitting when he’d interrupted her and scrolled to the beginning of her notes on the computer screen. “Your unidentified New Brunswick victim had a Melanophila Acuminata in the glassine bag. Common name is fire bug or black fire beetle.”

“Is it exotic, too?” He remained where he was just inside the door, as if rooted in place.

“Not really. It’s indigenous to North America, Cuba, Europe and Asia.”

Frustration flickered in his expression. “It doesn’t sound like we’re going to get a lead from the insect samples. At least not one that we can trace.”

“Well, perhaps not directly,” she admitted, slipping her reading glasses from her nose and folding them neatly. “As you said earlier, you’d exhausted the dragonflies as a lead years ago. And if none of the secondary samples were live samples, he could have gotten them from any number of collectors, or, more likely on the Internet. It’d be the most anonymous way to attain them.” She saw the agreement on his face. A face that was leaner than she recalled. Harder. His hair was cropped short, darker now without the sun-streaked strands it used to have. The color was more of a contrast to his icy blue eyes. Ethan had been lithe and rangy as a teen, with an athletic build that had served him well in his obsession with sports. He’d grown into his wide shoulders, filling out in a way that hinted at hard muscle below the muted dark gray suit he still wore.

“What else?”

She blinked once and attempted to lasso her wayward thoughts. “Ah…the second victim was left with Acanthaspis petax, a member of the Reduviidae family. It’s a type of assassin bug, and found in Africa and Malaysia.”

He stared at her. “I figured you’d go into science someday. But the bug thing…still having a hard time wrapping my head around it.”

Questions about her profession were far safer than the emotional quicksand of their past. Alexa seized on the topic gratefully. “I was in biology as an undergrad at Georgetown. One summer I got an internship at the body farm in Knoxville. I worked with the entomology team.” She gave a small shrug. “I was hooked.” Before then she’d always imagined herself working in a lab setting when she finished school. Perhaps teaching eventually. But her first introduction to forensics dictated a natural career course that eventually paired science and criminology.

“I’ve been working on something else.” She turned to her laptop and pressed the print command. A moment later, the portable printer next to the computer began to buzz then spit out paper. “I believe the samples left with the victims tell us something about why they were selected. Insect behavior can be as fascinating as that of humans.” Alexa’s lips curved at his expression of distaste. “And insects predate people, so that says something about their ability to adapt and evolve. Take the African bat bug that was left with Simard. It’s one of the insect families that practices traumatic insemination.”

He looked warily intrigued. “Sounds painful.”

“And often deadly. The female has a sexual tract, but it’s rarely used. The male stabs the female through the abdomen with his needle-like genitalia, causing a wound that can cause infection and death.” She tried to temper the enthusiasm in her voice. Not everyone was as fascinated as she was about her work. “Males will also mate with other males in the same way. Females adapted by developing a set of external grooves that guides the males to their genitalia. Males evolved similarly, except the grooves lead to the least critical area of their body, where they are most likely to survive a wound.”

He remained silent for a moment. Then, “You’re a bit scary.”

Alexa grinned, and gathered the pages of her report, dug in the computer case for a paper clip and fastened them together before crossing the room to hand them to him. “The thing that clicked for me was Simard’s criminal sheet. You said he filmed pornographic movies. Was suspected of making snuff films. Maybe we want to tug on that string a bit more. Violent sex that ends in death…the offender may have targeted him because of his pastimes.”

He propped a shoulder against the door, began flipping through the papers in his hand. “Now would be as good a time as any to tell you I don’t deal well with maybes.”

“In science, we call it a hypothesis. Our investigation will prove or disprove it.” Seeing the objection on his face, she hurried on. “I can take over that end of things.”

Ethan looked unconvinced. “What about the other samples we found?”

“The unidentified victim in New Brunswick was the one left with the black fire beetle. They mate inside smoldering trees, like in forest fires.” She paused a beat. “His hands were badly burned. The link between the type of torture he underwent and the secondary insect is unmistakable.” She saw by the arrested expression on Ethan’s face that he’d grasped the significance.

“So according to your idea that the victims are selected according to their pasts, our John Doe is what…an arsonist?”

Alexa lifted a shoulder. “Something to do with fire, possibly. Fireman. Arson investigator. Or maybe he was in the insurance field. But our unknown subject believes that the unidentified man, like the other victims, is deserving of his death. I think that’s what the second insect and the torture tells us. It’s part of the victimology.”

“What about the second New Brunswick victim?” Ethan asked, folding his arms across his chest. Despite his pose, he didn’t seem to be rejecting her theory outright. “Albert Norton.”

A wave of exhaustion hit her then and she backed up a few steps to sit on the side of the bed. She snuck a look at the clock on the bedside table. She’d only slept about four hours last night. Fatigue hadn’t been a problem while she was working, but now she could feel a crash coming on.

She nodded toward the report he still held. “The insect sample taken from his mouth was an Arilus cristatus, or wheel bug, of the Reduviidae or assassin bug family.”

His gaze snapped to hers. “Assassin bug?”

“They’re carnivorous predators. Great for the gardens because they feed on common pests that harm plants. Norton had the number twenty-eight carved into his back. Does he have a record?”

“Nothing that stuck, but he’s been hauled in twice in the last decade for questioning in homicide investigations.”

A thrill of adrenaline zipped up her spine. “That bears more looking into.”

“No shit.” He rubbed the back of his neck. Stopped mid-action to look at her. “Of the three insect samples left with the victims, only one isn’t common to this area. The one left with Simard. I’m guessing you think that’s important.”

“I do. He could have chosen a bat bug—or a bedbug for that matter—that’s found locally. Like the torture, the selection of a more exotic insect singles Simard out. Something about the man was especially noteworthy to the offender. Or the UNSUB feels Simard is particularly heinous in some way.” Pressing a hand against her mouth for a moment to stifle a yawn, Alexa said sheepishly, “Sorry. The long day is catching up with me.”

“Then you’d better call it a night. I just stopped in to tell you that we have a briefing with Captain Campbell and the other members of the task force at seven-thirty. I hope that’s not too early for you.” It was plain from his tone that the statement was a formality.

“Of course not.”

Ethan looked unconvinced. “You realize I’m talking a.m.”

Her lips curved and she got up to cross to the desk, laying her reading glasses on it. “Believe it or not, I’ve come to terms with my violent dislike of mornings. We’ve learned to co-exist.”

“Be packed, because we’ll check out tomorrow. After the briefing, we’ll be heading to Halifax to the divisional RCMP headquarters. Now that we’re finishing up with the Simard crime scene, it will be simpler to set up there with their resources closer to hand. The transportation manifests have come in and are waiting for us. I don’t have to tell you, that’s going to be a tedious task.”

She winced a little. Just the prospect of poring over reams of passenger lists from airlines, cruises, trains, buses, and the ferry looking for Simard’s name was more than a little daunting. “All right. Can we swing by the body dumpsite before we leave?” It wasn’t often that she was called to a case in time to see a crime scene first hand. Usually she had to rely on photos to familiarize herself with the site.

Alexa half-expected him to refuse. She wouldn’t have insisted. It wasn’t crucial for her to visit the location in person. But since the secondary sites didn’t appear to be totally random, each would tell them something about the killer. And the ability to walk the ground the offender had, see what he’d seen, would be a rare opportunity for her prior to writing a profile.

But he surprised her by saying, “Forensic ident unit is finished with it, not that the rain left much for them to find. They also searched across the river for a few miles in case a boat was used, with similar results. Wouldn’t hurt to take another look at the embankment. In five or six of the scenes, we did find indentations in the ground that lead us to believe he uses some sort of two-wheeled dolly to cart the body to the dumpsite. Figure the rain took care of any tracks, but wouldn’t hurt to check again before I release the site. So, request granted.”

She smiled. “I’m ridiculously pleased by the prospect. Especially since it puts off the manifest chore a little longer.”

He didn’t return her smile. Just continued to gaze at her, long enough to have her shifting uncomfortably, her palms dampening. Awareness sprang to life, thrumming with a familiar electric spark. It’d always been like this between them, even when she was too young, too naïve to put a name to it. That chemistry should have expired, buried by a mountain of regret, shared anguish and pain. It shouldn’t be spitting and sparking to life anew.

“Why?” The word seemed wrenched from him, his tone so low she had to strain to hear. Nevertheless, it reverberated through her like a plucked harpsichord string. Why what? He wasn’t referring to her request, of that Alexa was certain. Why did she come? Or—more terrifying—was he referring to why she’d left?

Cowardly, she seized on the former. “I didn’t realize who I’d be working with on the case when I first agreed to the job.” But Raiker had known. The man made it his business to know everything about his employees, and their potential vulnerabilities. When he’d revealed Ethan’s involvement as senior investigator, it had been all she could do to avoid flinching beneath Raiker’s laser blue stare. But the man had sensed her immediate reaction. There was no hiding that sort of thing from the man who’d once been FBI’s most respected profiler. She’d had to convince him, as well as herself, that her past wouldn’t trip her up on this case.

Her first glimpse of Ethan had shaken that conviction to its core.

He still hadn’t moved. “It was a long time ago.” The words were meant as much for her as for him. “I told Raiker that I had no doubt the two of us could have a productive working relationship.” If anything, his gaze went chillier at her words.

“You’re right.” His expression had shuttered. He turned to open the door and headed through it. “It was a long time ago.”

* * *

Alexa lay still, staring up at the ceiling of the motel room. Despite her exhaustion, sleep was elusive, evaporating each time it ebbed just within reach. And she knew exactly who she had to thank for that.

She closed her eyes to keep her gaze from searching the alarm clock on the bedside table. It didn’t help to watch as the minutes awake slid into hours, and Alexa tried not to waste energy on fruitless behavior.

Behavior like dwelling on the past. It was rearing its head again, grasping at her with gnarled fingers. Experience had taught her there was no good to be had reliving it. But her usual defenses were in shambles at the moment.

Memories drifted into her mind like smoke under a door. She couldn’t completely blame them on the conversation with Ethan. It was this place. Coming back to the province where she’d spent the unhappiest years of her life affected her more than she’d thought it would, despite her assertions otherwise to Raiker. Her boss had known better than she that her return would be fraught with emotional entanglements. Understanding his employees better than they knew themselves was one of his least beloved traits.

There was a small click each time the alarm clock flipped from one minute to the next. The sound was hypnotic. For some reason, it reminded her of the two books that made up her childhood. Before her mother had met Thomas Reisman. Click. Then after.

Turning to her other side in the bed, Alexa let the past crash over her. With the insight of adulthood, she could appreciate how difficult it had been for a single mother to raise a child on her own. There had never been a father in the picture. Their homes had been a series of apartments, each indistinguishable from the other. Cracked linoleum and counter tops. Uncertain heating systems. Refrigerators that only sporadically chilled the food. But her mom had made them home. There’d been laughter in those days, songs and games that had kept Alexa entertained and close to her mother’s side. The few pictures she had from then showed the weariness behind Rebecca Sellers’s smiles, but they were genuine enough.

That had all changed with Thomas Reisman.

Alexa shifted to her back again, tension creeping into her limbs. He’d been a deacon at their church when he’d begun paying attention to her mother, and Alexa had experienced a child’s level of resentment. The man had started coming to their apartment and soon there was less time for games and songs and more focus on their “spiritual growth.” Slowly, the man infiltrated every moment of her time with her mother. And one night when Rebecca sat Alexa down to explain, with a light of excitement in her expression, that she and Thomas had gotten married, that they were all moving to Nova Scotia where he’d have a church of his own, a knife of dread had twisted through Alexa.

In a couple of weeks, her mother had quit her job, packed up their meager belongings and they’d moved to Yarmouth. Then New Glasgow. Digby. None of the churches had been a good fit. The other pastors were jealous of Thomas. The churches were too liberal. Not focused enough on biblical teachings. The next would be better. When she was fourteen, they’d gone to Truro where Thomas had started his own church. With each successive move, life had gotten more restrictive for Alexa. Everything about her past had slowly been chipped away by the stranger her mother had married. Even her name.

Deep breathing calmed the worst of the tightness in her chest. It’d been Reisman’s idea to start calling her by her middle name. Grace. A solid, biblical name to live by. Her mother had agreed. She almost always agreed with Thomas, which had infuriated Alexa at the time. But she realized now that he’d been molding his wife as surely as he was her daughter. Slowly, day by day, Thomas Reisman erased the best part of Alexa’s childhood.

There would be no more public schools. Her mother would homeschool her with true Christian values. Punishments became more frequent. More severe for the tiniest infraction. They were most often directed at her mother, but Alexa had felt the brunt of Reisman’s belt, too.

Turn away from sin! Turn or burn! She could still hear the snap of the belt, the slicing agony as it had whipped against her skin, his words keeping pace with the rain of blows. And the worst had been her mother’s betrayal, sitting in the corner of the kitchen, head bowed during the beating, reading a jumble of passages aloud from the Bible.

The back of her eyes burned, but there were no tears. She’d forgiven her mother long ago. Rebecca had been a victim, too. She’d never made it past the tenth grade, and Alexa knew now that abusers preyed on those weaker than themselves. More malleable.

When Rebecca had proved no match for her daughter’s insatiable appetite for learning, Reisman had grudgingly agreed to allow Alexa to use the public library in the afternoons. It had become her escape, a tiny crack in the window to the world. Soon she was staying there until closing time most days. And that’s where she’d met Ethan.

A sliver of the tension slipped away. When he’d teased her name from her the first day they’d met, she’d never know what had compelled her to blurt out Alexa instead of Grace. Just hearing her first name spoken aloud had brought twin spears of relief and defiance. The door to her life before Reisman had been opened and she’d taken her first tiny step out of the shroud of darkness that had dropped over her life. There was no way she could have known then the brilliant joy Ethan would bring to her life.

Or that together they’d hurtle headlong toward unimaginable heartbreak.