Part 2 (1/2)

Lucas might be dead, but he was still Michael's brother.

Dasynda Crandall saw the guy sitting at the far end of counter and summed him up with a fairly quick glance as she crossed the cafe. Built, handsome, and something about the look in his eyes added not to be messed with to her list.

He made her back itch, but she couldn't exactly say she felt something off about him. Not that she could really trust her instincts much any more. Her first guess would be that this was a decent guy for the most part, even if he did look a little too big and a little too scary to set the mind at ease.

But Daisy's instincts just plain sucked, as far as she was concerned. She had a d.a.m.ned killer in her town and she wasn't getting so much as an inkling on who it was.

Her instincts had always served her well, but they had four bodies now, and no clue about the killer. Daisy was frustrated beyond all belief. Why in the h.e.l.l had murders started after she had taken office?

This was why she had left the Louisville Metro Police Department. The instincts she had lived her life by seemed to be failing her. Women she had known all her life were being killed and Daisy didn't even know where to start.

She watched the stranger from the mirror that had hung over Elsa's cash register for a good twenty years. Even though Elsa had finally given up the fifties and the beehive hairdo, she still kept that mirror and checked her cardinal red coiffure rather regularly. Daisy watched as the man glanced to his right on a regular basis. Like he would if he was talking to somebody.

But his lips never moved. And there was n.o.body there. The food on his plate didn't seem to interest him much, but she did see him finally eat some of it. He had some of Elsa's world famous pot roast on that sandwich, but he might as well have been chewing bark for all the enjoyment he showed as he took yet another bite.

Forcing her attention back to her own food, she started to eat. To think. She didn't want to think about the killer. Thinking about it reminded her just how incompetent she had become. But she hadn't ever been one to run from her problems and she sure as h.e.l.l couldn't run from this one.

There had to be something somewhere. No killer could come and go without a trace like this.

But what in the h.e.l.l was going on in her town?

The image of Tanya's body danced before her eyes and her stomach pitched. Tanya hadn't just been killed. She had been tortured. Raped repeatedly. Strangled so brutally it had d.a.m.ned near crushed her throat. When death had finally come, it had come slowly, her blood trickling out so she was aware of exactly what was coming. Her death had been slow and horrific.

Daisy's fondest wish in life was to mete out that same brutal death to the man who had killed Tanya. Dropping the sandwich, she shoved the plate away and propped her arms on the counter.

”I'm going to find you,” she whispered harshly. ”Just wait.”

Chapter Two.

Somebody was having fantasies at that moment.

Oh, he was going to have fun with her. The young ones were always the best. She didn't know him-he would miss out on that initial shock, the denial, when they came swimming up out of sleep and saw him for the first time. He did enjoy seeing that look on their face. Enjoyed listening to them beg and plead...why are you doing this to me? Then they'd try to bargain. I have kids-babies. They need me. You know they need me.

Yeah, that was fun. But a young girl was even more fun. Pretty little runaway had no idea what she had gotten into when she climbed into his car. As he took his time tying her up, he smiled and ran his hand through her platinum blonde hair from time to time. He had her restrained at the wrists, the elbows, the ankle and knee, legs spread wide, straining the crotch of her cotton jersey pants.

The hair was silky, soft, straight as could be. She wasn't a real blonde-he'd already checked. The wispy little curls between her legs were a dark brown. But the blonde locks did look good on her.

As her eyes finally started to flutter open, he rested a hand on her belly and crouched down by her side. He propped his chin on the bed so that his face was next to hers. He wanted to be the first thing she saw when she came to.

Appropriate, since he planned on being the last thing she ever saw as well.

First there was confusion. The nerves and anxiety. As she started trying to move her arms and legs, she realized she was tied down, and that was when the fun began. As the terror entered her eyes, a pleased smile spread across his face. ”Morning, sweetheart. Didn't anybody ever tell you not to go hitchhiking?”

She opened her mouth to scream and he just laughed.

”n.o.body close enough to hear you, sweetie. They never heard the others. They won't hear you,” he told her, leaning close so that his nose brushed against hers.

She recoiled into the mattress and screamed, the sound high and terrified. Pleased, he sat back on his heels to listen and watch.

Mike felt the cool brush of the woman's body against his own as he hugged her. He never knew what to say to them, never understood if what he did was the right thing. But so far, this time, it seemed to be the right thing.

”I'll try to help her,” he said.

She smiled up at him.

”Who is he?” he asked quietly. ”Can you tell me?”

That was when she retreated. The minute he mentioned the man who had killed her, the ghost faded away. Fear crowded her mind and she fled.

Shoving a hand through his hair, he spun away, kicking a rock. Lucas was watching him from a distance. ”She's young.” Anger colored his voice, turned it into a thunderous crash that boomed through his mind as he spoke to Michael.

Sourly, Mike muttered, ”Too many of them are.”

”You can't keep doing this, Mikey. Looking for killers, talking to ghosts.” Lucas looked at Mike, his eyes concerned, his mouth turned down in a familiar scowl. Mike had heard this song and dance before and it would end the same way it always did. Stopping wasn't an option.

Just like leaving wasn't an option for Lucas.

”Then why don't you give me a break-you talk to me nonstop.”

Lucas grinned. ”I'm an exception. We're family.”

Slanting him an evil look, Mike started to prowl the grounds. He'd seen the yellow police tape but he'd also seen too many cases where small things had been missed. He needed something small-something the killer had brushed up against could lead him right to the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

It wouldn't take much. h.e.l.l, a rock that the killer had kicked as he dumped the body. Mike could lift a psychic impression as easily as a crime scene unit lifted fingerprints. But nearly an hour later-he had to admit, the whole place was virtually null. The killer had been very, very careful.

There wasn't a single thing that Mike could see to trace him.

At least not here. There would be something, though. There always was. All Mike had to do was wait. He just hoped it happened before another woman was killed.

Daisy had to stifle the urge to snarl in pure frustration as the last possible lead she had on the killer who had killed four women in her town came up empty. Nothing. Yes, Kelsey Morrow told her, she had seen a car that night before she called him. But it was so dark...and she couldn't tell a Trans Am from a Camry, Kelsey relayed mournfully. She thought it was a four door-maybe. And the color was dark. But dark blue, dark green, gray...black...

d.a.m.n it. Daisy suspected it could have been a Pinto painted with black and white pinstripes, and Kelsey wouldn't have remembered. It could have been a vintage Mustang convertible in pristine condition, and Kelsey wouldn't have noticed.

Why, on earth, did the one woman who had seen the probable killer have to be Kelsey?

She was a sweet enough girl, and Daisy loved her dearly-after all, they were stepsisters.

But Kelsey was an airhead. Talking to her made Daisy as dizzy as a whirlwind. Daisy tugged on her braid in a gesture born of nervous habit as she muttered to herself, lowering her gaze back to the papers, reports and pictures spread out in front of her.

An hour later, she had poured through the scant file on Tanya Dourant and she came back to the conclusion that she had already reached.

Taken from her home, late at night, no signs of struggle in the house-and on the one night that her husband had been out bowling like he did every Wednesday.

She had known her killer.