Lara stood and slipped into her coat. “Simplicity is always a good thing.”

  Nate drove, following the directions of the navigation system after Lara had entered the address. Travis Hall had written to her several times. Sent gifts. She had a P.O. box so to her knowledge he didn’t have her home address.

  But she hadn’t known Jeffrey Medford had her address either until it was too late.

  Collinwood Court, Antioch

  Travis Hall had cashed in on the up and coming neighborhood, buying the worst house on the block and starting a rehab. He’d written a song with which a big-time country singer had fallen in love. Lara was thrilled for him.

  He was finally on the road to the career he’d always wanted.

  “Wow. Man.” Hall shook his head. “I can’t believe you’re sitting in my living room.”

  Lara smiled. “It’s nice to finally meet the man behind all the insightful comments.”

  It wasn’t precisely an untruth. As much as Hall liked music, he was obsessed with all things murder. Not judging. Lara certainly had no room to talk.

  Hall glanced at Nate. “And with an FBI agent no less. She talks about her friend in the FBI often.” Hall gestured from Nate to Lara. “You two got something going on?”

  “We’re friends,” Lara said. “Good friends.”

  Hall lifted his chin in one of those yeah-I-get-it moves. His eyes widened suddenly. “I’m still rattled by the big news. Did you have any idea your genealogy results were going to reveal a connection to the Butcher? Jesus. That’s crazy and sort of cool at the same time.”

  “I had no idea.” Lara drew in a deep breath. “Definitely crazy. Maybe not so cool.”

  Hall shrugged. “You know what I mean, in a crime blog sort of way. Today’s blog had like a million hits.”

  One million, twenty-eight to be exact. Any other time she would have been thrilled. Not so much given the circumstances.

  “We’re compiling a list,” Nate spoke up, “of followers who have been with Lara the longest. You’re at the top of that list.”

  Hall’s expression shifted to one of pride. “Yeah. She’s my favorite blogger. I talk about you,” he said to Lara, “all the time to my friends.”

  Lara felt entirely uncomfortable with the reason they were here. “Travis,” she said using his first name, “have you ever spoken to anyone who mentioned physically following me or text messaging me?”

  Hall sat forward; his forearms came to rest on his knees. “Oh God, please tell me you don’t have another stalker. I still freak out every time I think about that Medford jerk. Everyone who loves you was terrified during that whole mess.”

  This was a dead end. She didn’t need to hear anything else.

  “We’re not sure,” Nate spoke again. “That’s why we’re here. We need to be sure. Check in with all Lara’s most dedicated followers.”

  Hall’s face fell. “No.” He looked from Nate to Lara. “You don’t seriously think I would…” He shook his head. “I would never do anything to scare you. Ever. You’re like my idol. Smart. Gorgeous. Determined. I admire you, but I’m not a creep.”

  Lara summoned a smile. “I never believed you were, but it’s important that we speak to anyone close to me. I’m certain you understand.”

  “Oh yeah.” He nodded adamantly. “Ask me anything.” He laughed. “I spend all my time with friends writing or performing and watching other folks perform. About the only time I’m alone is when I’m sleeping and, if I’m lucky, not even then.” He lowered his voice. “Tanya—that’s the girl who came home with me last night—is still asleep in the bedroom.”

  “Is that her car parked on the street?” Nate asked.

  Hall nodded. “Look, I know I can say some pretty rad stuff online, but I’m a cool guy. No criminal record. Not even a parking ticket. I like my life calm. Serenity feeds my creativity.”

  Lara had heard more than enough. She stood. “Thank you, Travis. I really appreciate you helping us out.”

  He pushed to his feet and thrust out his hand. “Thank you for this in-person visit. It’s super cool.” He shrugged. “Can I get a pic with us together?”

  “Sure.” Lara moved toward him as he pulled out his cell. She smiled and offered, “I can say I knew you before you were famous.”

  He laughed as he held the phone up for a selfie of the two of them together. “You’re the famous one, Lara.” His arm went around her shoulders as he snapped the pic.

  “Thank you again.” She scooted away from him. “Keep me posted on how your career takes off.”

  Travis Hall saw them to the door. Lara waited until she and Nate were outside in his rental car before she said, “He’s harmless.”

  “Probably,” Nate said with less confidence.

  Lara leaned deeper into the seat, exhaustion setting in. “If they’re through at my mom’s house, I’d like to search for that journal.” Assuming Wynwood wasn’t lying.

  “I’ll make the call.”

  Lara closed her eyes, allowed the sound of his voice as he spoke on the phone to chase away her worries for a few minutes.

  Why on earth did you never tell me about this, Mom?

  Summerfield Drive

  “What am I missing?”

  Nate wished he could answer the question for her. They had been at this for three hours and they’d found nothing.

  Lara had moved through her mother’s belongings, searching inside anything and everything. If the journal was here, it was well hidden.

  “I think,” Nate said gently, “you’re exhausted and you need to call it a night.”

  She surveyed the room—her mother’s bedroom. “We’ve looked everywhere. It’s just not here.”

  “There’s a good chance Wynwood was lying. Playing a game. I got the impression he likes messing with people.” If Nate found out he’d lied, he would share his unhappiness with the man.

  “I know but he sounded so convincing.” She ran her fingers through the mass of red curls that brushed her shoulders. He itched to do the same thing.

  “We could have a late dinner and make a list of places we haven’t looked.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “I haven’t had the opportunity to show off my culinary skills in the kitchen.”

  “That sounds great. Wine will make it perfect.” She surveyed the room again. “Lots and lots of wine.”

  Lara shut off the light as they left the room. Nate checked the back door to ensure it remained locked. When he returned to the living room, Lara was already tugging on her coat. His cell vibrated. He pulled it from his pocket and checked the screen.

  At Lara’s expectant expression he said, “It’s Keaton.”

  “Could he have results already?” she asked hopefully.

  “Not likely, but we’ll see.” He accepted the call, setting the phone to speaker. “Hey, Keaton, I’ve got you on speaker so Lara can hear the news too. I can’t imagine you have the DNA results already.”

  “No DNA,” Keaton confirmed. “But I do have an answer for you.”

  Nate braced himself. “All right, let’s have it.”

  “The lab didn’t need to do the DNA. The blood type from the specimen on the razor you turned in was different from the one we have on file.”

  “You’re saying there’s no way,” Lara said, “our guy was at those two Butcher crime scenes.”

  “I can’t tell you if he was there,” Keaton said, “but I can confirm without doubt that the genetic evidence recovered from those two scenes did not belong to the person whose genetic material was on that water bottle or on the toothbrush or razor blade.”

  “Thanks, Keaton. I appreciate it.”

  Nate ended the call. He really had hoped Wynwood was the one.

  But it wasn’t him.

  “I guess we’re back at square one,” Lara suggested.

  Nate shouldered into his coat. “Maybe not all the way back to one. More like three.”

  On the porch, he locked the door. A soft chime warned that Lara had received a text message. Over the past forty-eight or so hours he’d become well versed in the various notification sounds her phone emitted. She received more text messages, emails and social media notifications than anyone he knew.

  With nothing but a dim porch lamp backlighting her form, the screen of her phone provided enough illumination for him to see the concern or maybe surprise on her face.

  “What is it?” He moved to her side to see what had given her pause.

  I liked hearing your voice today.

  The text was from a blocked caller.

  “It’s him.” Lara’s voice sounded hollow…weary.

  Nate scanned the dark yard and street beyond. “We should go.”

  Lara started typing a response.

  “Let’s go to the car,” Nate urged.

  She hit send.

  You lied about the journal.

  Nate ushered her down the steps and to the car. When she was safely tucked inside, he surveyed the driveway, the street, as he hurried around to the driver’s side.

  The chime of another text sounded in the silence as he slid behind the wheel.

  Did I?

  “Tell him it doesn’t matter,” Nate said as he backed out of the driveway. “You have what you need.”

  She tapped in the message as Nate drove.

  Doesn’t matter. I have what I need.

  “You’re thinking,” she said to Nate, “if this is Wynwood he’ll know by now that I took his toothbrush and razor or that you took his water bottle.”

  “I doubt he noticed the water bottle since I switched mine with his. Hopefully he will have looked for his toothbrush by now. I imagine he checked the bathroom as soon as we left.”

  By the time Nate reached the intersection at the end of the block, a new text notification sounded.

  He slowed to a stop as Lara checked the screen. Without speaking, she turned it in his direction.

  Now who’s lying?

  Chapter Twelve

  “Now, now. Is it so bad?”

  The moaning continued. He couldn’t tolerate the sound. It gutted him. How was it possible that he could still feel such remorse? Not once in all these years had he regretted a single step…save one.

  But that one had been necessary, and it still pained him deeply. And infuriated him. The birds had gone silent as if they too were mourning.

  “Stop!” he roared.

  The two of them stared at each other, the clashing of gazes a volatile mix of hatred and yearning. Anticipation and regret.

  This—all of it—would be gone soon. He surveyed the many cages that hung around the room. Their time, too, was limited. He would have no need for them in the future. Perhaps he would allow the tiny, fierce beasts to gut each other.

  How would it be, he mused, to live alone…without any of this? Perhaps he would find a new companion. A new hobby.

  “She is so very pretty,” he murmured, unable to help himself. He couldn’t resist rubbing it in, so to speak. “Even lovelier in person. Her voice is clear and pure. I’m certain you could hear her. And her eyes.” He hummed a satisfied sound. “Her eyes are so beautiful. Like the sea.”

  The moaning and sobbing began again in earnest.

  He shouldn’t have said so much. Now he’d have no choice but to give comfort. Otherwise there would be no sleep for either of them tonight. He remembered well all those nights where the sobbing and howling in agony went on for hours and hours. He still found it strange that humans fought so hard to deny defeat even when their fate was so very clear.

  Withdrawing the key from his pocket, he moved to the door that separated them. He’d built this wall of steel bars himself. Welded each piece under the close scrutiny of his companion. Beyond the imprisoning wall were all the essentials. A pair of prison style bunk beds hung on one wall. A shower and toilet. A sink and books for reading. There was a slot in the iron bars for pushing through the food tray. All had been carefully chosen and installed for their visitors.

  These days it was only on the rarest of occasions that he dared to unlock the door.

  Tonight was one of those rare occasions and the necessity was one of his own making.

  He opened the door and stood back. “Come out. We’ll have dinner together. I have that wine you love so much.”

  This would make his companion happy. Or at least calm.

  His bare feet shuffled over the cold stone floor as he moved slowly forward. He swiped at his eyes, his hands shaking. There was no need for additional shackles. Age and confinement had caused his companion’s once firm, bulging muscles to sag into uselessness. He looked so very pale at times, almost translucent. Perhaps a higher dose of vitamin D was in order.

  Why bother? The time for this relationship to end was at hand.

  But not tonight. There were a few more essential steps yet to be completed.

  His companion’s abrupt stumble prompted an involuntary response to prevent the fall.

  A mistake.

  The burning in his gut came with such a shock he was unable to react quickly enough.

  Suddenly he was face down on the floor.

  Something crashed into his skull.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Miller’s Bend Road, Maple Ridge

  Tuesday, December 1, 7:00 a.m.

  Lara woke with a start.

  She couldn’t remember what time she’d finally collapsed into sleep. The wee hours of the morning. She’d tossed and turned for what felt like forever. Frustrated and exhausted she’d finally managed to fall into a fitful, restless sleep.

  And she’d dreamed. Dreamed of her childhood and her mother.

  When Lara was a child, she’d loved climbing trees. Her mother had spent much of her time terrified Lara would fall and break her arm or, worse, her neck. But she never had. Until she was thirteen and shifted her interest to boys, lip gloss and mascara, she’d spent loads of time in her favorite tree. At some point when Lara was about eight, her mother had hired a neighbor to build a treehouse. The little house embraced in the branches of that big old oak tree in their backyard, had given her mother a respite from her constant worry.

  For Lara, it had been her secret hideout. A place where she kept her favorite things.

  The place she’d almost forgotten about could be the place.

  Lara hurried to dress. The scent of fresh brewed coffee told her Nate was already in the kitchen and likely catching up on briefings and news.

  She selected her most comfortable jeans, an NYC sweatshirt she’d had for a decade and her favorite sneakers. After running the brush through her hair, she wrangled her wild tangle of curls into a ponytail. The concept of make-up made an appearance in her thoughts as she scrutinized her face, but she dismissed it.

  Nate had caught her without it Saturday morning and she hadn’t bothered since. It was the norm most days anyway. She worked from home so why go to all the fuss? Sweatshirts, leggings and all natural was her favorite way to spend the day. Anything beyond that was saved for necessary outings and the occasional media interview.

  She followed the scent of coffee to the kitchen where Nate stood staring out the window. She took a moment before announcing herself. He, too, wore jeans. A crewneck pullover crafted of something that looked soft and comfortable topped the faded-with-time jeans. She wondered if the view of the water soothed his soul the way it did hers.

  “Good morning.” She crossed to the coffeepot.

  He turned toward her and smiled. She really, really liked his smile.

  “Good morning.” He placed his mug on the counter. “I make a mean omelet if you’re interested.”

  “That sounds great.” Lara sipped the hot brew and made a sound of satisfaction. “I can help. If we’re lucky I may even have the necessary ingredients.”

  While she savored her coffee, she poked through the offerings in her fridge. “Eggs.” She passed the carton to Nate.

  “Cheese?” he asked as he placed the eggs on the counter.

  “White, yellow or both?”

  “Both.”

  She passed first one package then the other to him. Before closing the door, she selected peppers, green onions and olives. She loved olives on most everything.

  “No meat?” he asked.

  She surveyed the offerings on the shelf. “Turkey work for you?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She reached back into the fridge for the package of deli sliced turkey, tossed it on the counter and then grabbed the butter. The best omelets were made with butter.

  “Any news this morning?” she asked as she watched him move about her kitchen, gathering a bowl, whisk and sauté pan. Despite his penchant for burgers and fries, he seemed completely at home with cooking utensils in his hands. The scene was undeniably sexy. It was nice that every day they spent together brought further confirmation that this man was just as nice and charming as she had believed.

  “Nothing new.”

  It was possible the hopes the FBI had hung on this genetic connection wouldn’t see fruition. There hadn’t been a reaction from the Butcher as they’d obviously hoped. At least not directly from the Butcher—unless Wynwood turned out to be him. But the DNA had been a bust. “How long will the Bureau want to keep me under surveillance waiting for a reaction?”

  He glanced at her. “You tired of my company already?”

  “No.” She refilled her cup, primarily to avoid eye contact. Maybe he hadn’t noticed, but she was thoroughly enjoying his company. “Absolutely not. I was just curious about how they think the plan is coming along. They put the full details about my connection to the Butcher out there and nothing has really happened other than a media frenzy. Did they anticipate a delay in how he might respond?”

  She’d received that anonymous text message before the big leak that outed her identity. And a couple of others last night. Did the Butcher have someone inside the FBI that let him know what was coming? Would he wait them out? Hold back until the feds lost interest and then come after her? She suppressed a shiver.