Water slid down his bare chest. He’d tried hard to do this her way. To stay off her toes. Just a couple of hours ago he’d promised to give her a wide berth. And then she pulled this kind of crap.

  Shaking his head, he turned and walked back into the house. He locked the door and then followed her damp trail on the wood floor all the way to the hall bath. She’d dragged a couple of towels from the linen closet.

  She tossed one at him. “Sorry I woke you up.”

  He scrubbed the terry cloth over his wet hair. “Not half as sorry as I am that you set foot out that door alone. You’re not making this easy, Addy.”

  She didn’t bother debating his statement. Her fingers worked the towel over her hair, squeezing those long blond tresses. His gaze dropped to where the jersey clung to her hips, then traveled up to her breasts. His throat thickened.

  His gaze collided with hers in the mirror. “You,” she pointed at his chest, “are dripping.”

  He looked down. Yep. Drops of water slithered down his skin and soaked into the waistband of his sweatpants. He scrubbed the towel over his chest and arms, then lifted his attention back to her reflection. “I’m not dripping half as much as you are.”

  Water trickled from the hem of the jersey and splattered on the tile floor around her feet.

  She looked down and laughed. “Shit. I’m making a hell of a mess.”

  A laugh rumbled from his chest. “Just a little bit.”

  Her eyes met his once more. “I had the dream.”

  “Oh yeah?” He’d figured as much. Knots formed in his gut, clenched with the misery he saw in those blue eyes.

  She nodded. “It was different this time. I could hear voices. My dad...I guess...and another voice. A man or boy. Sounded young.”

  “Your dad?” Maybe being back here was playing havoc with her emotions. What the hell was he thinking? There was no maybe about it. They were both on edge. Raw-nerved.

  “He kept saying “here’s daddy’s little princess.” Her gaze searched his. “He never called me ‘princess.’ I was his angel. Daddy called me his angel.”

  Princess. Wyatt’s insides twisted with the worry that didn’t completely fade even when he slept. “It’s the case,” he assured her, “that’s all. Your subconscious is scrambling the past with the present.”

  She inclined her head, seemed to think about something before saying more. “But the voice was wrong. Not my dad’s.” She shook her head. “I didn’t recognize it.”

  “How about I make some coffee? Warm us up?”

  She ignored his question, seemed lost in her thoughts. “And the boy—the other voice—that was truly bizarre.”

  “How so?”

  “He kept saying, just die...just die.”

  Those precise words hadn’t been in any of the letters sent by the perp. Wyatt dropped his towel on the floor and swiped his feet, then ushered it across the tile in her direction. “Slide that under your feet so you don’t slip. Tile’s slick as hell when it’s wet.” He backed up a step, mostly to put some distance between them. This was, he felt fairly certain, one of those moments when she needed her space. “I’ll make the coffee.” The dream had really rattled her. But it wasn’t just the dream. It was that and this case.

  Addy wanted to present this situation as just another investigation, but it was deeply personal. This perp had picked her out, just as he had Prescott and Arnold. And he was coming for Addy. It was only a matter of time. That had to be getting to her.

  It was sure as hell getting to him. He wasn’t backing out of the cramped bathroom and into the hall because he thought she needed space...he needed it. He had to get his head on straight before she noticed and definitely before he said or did something he would regret.

  “Wyatt.”

  He hesitated. “Yeah?”

  “Can I sleep with you tonight?”

  The urge to scoop her into his arms and carry her to his bed then and there hit him hard. “Sure.”

  He could handle having her sleep in his bed. It would be a little awkward but he would manage.

  Who the hell was he kidding? On a difficulty scale of one to ten...this was a definite twenty.

  If he survived it would be a miracle.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  6:40 a.m.

  Adeline moaned softly. The sound roused her from that sweet zone somewhere between asleep and awake. Something heavy lay across her back. She told her eyes to open but they refused. This felt so good. Warm and familiar. Her breasts were crushed against that firm warmth.

  Her body tingled. She pressed her pelvis into something big and hard. Oh, now this was a good dream. She tilted her hips again. Sighed. Felt real good.

  The weight on her back shifted.

  Her eyes opened wide.

  It was dark.

  The smell of rain and warm flesh filled her nostrils. Her hand moved...glided along a muscled arm. Wyatt.

  She raised her head, analyzed the situation.

  She froze.

  Her body was draped along his like a sheet.

  If she moved—even breathed—he would wake up and...

  His arm, heavy on her back, tightened around her.

  She closed her eyes and bit down on her bottom lip. This was...not good.

  All she had to do was ease out of his—

  “Addy.”

  Her name was nothing more than a breath on his lips. She shivered at the sound. Desire detonated in every damned mutinous cell.

  “Morning,” she muttered.

  His body tensed as his own realization dawned.

  She told herself to say something or to just move. Couldn’t.

  His fingers tangled in her hair.

  She gasped.

  He drew her face down to his...their lips so close she could feel his warm breath on her face.

  “Say the word,” he murmured, “and I’ll stop but I have to do this.”

  He lifted his head just enough to ensure their lips met. The kiss was slow, slow, slow. She told herself to pull away. To say the word. To do anything but...

  Melt against him like butter on hot toast.

  Not gonna happen.

  Images of him standing in the rain...rivulets of water sliding down his chest as he reached out to her...the way those sweatpants hung low on his lean hips kept flashing in her brain. The feel of that powerful body under her now...all of it was just too much to resist.

  She banished the warning voice...pushed away the propriety vying for her attention. Right now she wanted to feel...all of him.

  He tugged her jersey upward. She reared back and pulled it the rest of the way off then tossed it to the floor. His mouth found hers once more. Those lips...God, she had missed his lips. Full and firm and always hungry for more. He left a trail of kisses along her jaw, down her throat. Her body responded to his every touch.

  She wanted him. All of him.

  Now.

  They made love, lost themselves in the sensations.

  Later, spent, she lay against him. His arms felt so good around her. Safe.

  Home.

  The word echoed inside her. She tensed.

  As if sensing the change in her, he rolled her onto her back. Cradled her face in his hands and kissed her hard. Not slow and sweet like before. This was desperate, turbulent.

  When he finally drew back, he murmured, “I’ve missed you, Addy.”

  The words sent confusion and fear roaring through her.

  She wasn’t supposed to feel this anymore.

  She wasn’t supposed to be here.

  How long would it take this time to exorcise Wyatt Henderson?

  You’re next.

  Then again, if the perp had his way, she wouldn’t have to worry about the future at all.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Jackson County Sheriff’s Office 10:00 a.m.

  Wyatt turned the floor over to Detective Sullenger to recap for the benefit of Detective Ferguson of Hattiesburg PD and Detective Cummings from Wiggins.

  “The two victims share a few characteristics,” Sullenger began. “Both in their thirties, blond hair, blue eyes. Petite, though Arnold is a couple inches taller than Prescott. Other than being career-oriented women, that’s where the similarities end.”

  “Detective Cooper,” Wyatt added, “fits that somewhat ambiguous profile and, according to the messages she has received from the perp, she is his current focus.”

  At the other end of the table, Addy met Wyatt’s gaze but quickly looked away. He was pretty sure she’d purposely chosen to sit as far away from him as possible. What they’d shared this morning only appeared to have put more distance between them. As soon as they’d rolled out of bed, she’d mentally taken several giant steps back.

  Something they would both have to deal with eventually whether she wanted to or not.

  “And that’s it?” Detective Cummings said, obviously frustrated. “Two women are missing and there’s no evidence. No nothing. Two crime scenes, a dozen cops and techs, and this is it?”

  The two letters sent by the perp to Arnold had been discovered in a drawer in her bedroom. There was no way to know when or how she had received them. Her husband hadn’t seen the letters. Forensics had confirmed the letters were a match to both the ones Prescott had received as well as those sent to Addy.

  Those knots of dread he’d been ignoring clenched hard in Wyatt’s gut. How could they have two victims and not a single shred of usable evidence?

  Womack nodded. “Unfortunately.” He picked up one of the numerous documents he’d brought to the conference table. “According to the cell carrier report your office faxed over, the call Penny Arnold received early yesterday morning came from the pay phone at a convenience store on Highway 29 just outside Wiggins.”

  “That’s right.” Cummings slid a pair of reading glasses into place and looked over a report from the file in front of him. “As far as we can tell there’s not a single connection between the two vics. Arnold’s husband is certain his wife didn’t know Prescott. He wasn’t even aware Prescott was missing.” Cummings lifted his gaze to those seated around the table once more. “His wife had been out of town, and with watching the kids, the laundry and meals, he said he’d had no time to catch up on the news.”

  “Was Penny afraid of the water?”

  Wyatt’s attention shot down the table to Addy. He hadn’t brought that up. He’d hoped to discuss that privately with Cummings, but the man hadn’t arrived until the rest of the group was already assembled.

  Cummings drew his eyebrows together in a frown. “That hasn’t come up in the interviews.” He looked from Addy to Wyatt. “Is that relevant somehow?”

  “Cherry Prescott,” Ferguson put in, “only a few weeks before her disappearance related certain fears to her closest friends. Fears she hadn’t experienced in the past. Drowning was one of them.”

  True to the family’s requests, Ferguson had veered away from specifics. They were way past protecting anyone’s image at this point. Wyatt clarified, “She’d started having dreams of drowning her daughter. We’ve considered the possibility that she disappeared in some sort of desperate attempt to protect her child.”

  Cummings looked totally bewildered now. “You’re saying there’s some chance she wasn’t a victim? That she just ran off? What about the letters?”

  “That is absolutely not what we’re saying.” Ferguson blasted the point. “We don’t believe that any more than you believe Ms. Arnold stayed in Phoenix an extra day to carry on an illicit affair. Even if there was some question, the letters undeniably connect the disappearances.”

  “In light of Arnold’s disappearance,” Wyatt intervened, “and the continued threat to Detective Cooper, the possibility that Prescott disappeared of her own accord is no longer a viable scenario.”

  “It was never,” Ferguson pressed, “a viable scenario.” Wyatt conceded to the detective’s assertion with a nod. This case made maintaining objectivity next to impossible. His gaze settled on Addy once more. No one understood that better than him.

  “I don’t see the relevance then,” Cummings tossed out. “What does Prescott’s fear of drowning have to do with anything?”

  Addy pushed back her chair and got up. She rounded the table and snatched the pack of cigarettes from Womack’s shirt pocket on her way out the door.

  “Carry on, Detective Sullenger.” Wyatt got up. He didn’t need to hear the rest of what they didn’t have. “I’ll be back in a moment.”

  “Here,” Womack called after him.

  Wyatt turned back to the table. His deputy pitched him a cigarette lighter. “She might need this.”

  The frustrated voices in the conference room followed him down the corridor. All present were sick with the idea that there was not a single piece of evidence that provided any hint whatsoever to the perp or his motive. Not a damned thing to lead them anywhere.

  How the hell were they supposed to stop this guy if they couldn’t find a damned link between the victims much less to him? A pained laugh erupted from his chest. Hell, they even knew the identity of the next victim and they still couldn’t do shit except wait for the bastard to act.

  Wyatt passed through the lobby, disgusted with the cheery Christmas decorations. There wasn’t a damned thing to be happy or festive about. He couldn’t remember having such a screwed-up holiday...not since the first one after she left.

  Then again, as bad as this one was, at least she was here.

  His chest tightened at the idea that she would be leaving again. There was nothing he could say or do to stop her.

  She had a life six and a half hours north of here.

  The distance felt like another universe away...for him it was exactly that.

  Addy stood on the sidewalk, the unlit cigarette dangling from her lips.

  He moved up beside her and offered the lighter. “Womack said you might need this.”

  She shook her head. “I don’t want to smoke it. I just want to feel it in my mouth.”

  Nine years ago Addy had smoked. He’d been surprised that she didn’t now but asking about her decision to quit was out of the question. She’d made it loud and clear that she didn’t want to talk about the past or her current personal life. He seriously doubted this morning had changed her mind.

  He tucked the lighter into the pocket of his jeans. “You okay?”

  She cut him with a dagger-sharp glare. “Are you crazy?” She snatched the cigarette out of her mouth and waved it in the air. “Some asshole is abducting women without leaving the first clue. He could be anybody. Anywhere!” Her arms went up then dropped to her sides in a gesture of resignation. “We don’t know the first thing about him. The links between the victims are anorexic at best. The perp’s evidently getting off on playing this princess game. And he claims I’m next. Hell no, I’m not okay, Wyatt. That’s the dumbest damned question I’ve ever been asked.”

  He tried another tactic. “So you’re scared.”

  She sent another of those cutting looks. “I’m not scared!” She pawed at his pocket. “Gimme that damned lighter.”

  Sliding two fingers into his pocket, he fished out the lighter and handed it to her.

  She lit the tip of the cigarette, sucked in a long, deep drag of smoke. “I am not afraid.” Her voice croaked with the harsh chemicals filtering through her lungs. “I’m just frustrated that I can’t catch this bastard and bring those women home before he kills them.” She turned her face up to Wyatt’s. “Honestly,” she searched his eyes, “I wish he would make a play for me. At least then I could do something besides nothing.”

  “That’s it.” Fury mushroomed in his chest. “You should not be working this case.” He moved his head firmly side to side. “I must’ve been out of my mind to let you in this deep in the first place.”

  “Like you could’ve stopped me.” She tossed the cigarette to the pavement. “Those women will be dead very soon if they’re not already.”

  One dead princess . . .

  “I’m aware of that.” The rage drained away, leaving a sense of helplessness that no lawman ever wanted to feel.

  “I’m the only connection, remember?” she said, reminding him of his own words. “Letting him take me may be the only way we can break this case.”

  “No way.”

  She went toe to toe with him. “See.” Accusation flared in her eyes. “This isn’t supposed to be personal, Wyatt. This is an official investigation. I’m not a civilian. Going undercover to nail a perp is a routine operation.”

  “There’s a hell of a difference between going undercover and being nabbed by a man who in all likelihood is some sort of psycho. We have absolutely no reason to believe the vics are still alive. No way of knowing if either of them lived past the moment of attack. What the hell good could you do for the case if you’re dead, too?”

  “You need to watch more TV.” She pushed past him, then paused at the door. “I’m putting you on notice.” Her determined gaze backed up her words. “We had sex this morning. It changes nothing about the dynamics of this investigation. Don’t even think about going there.” She jerked the door open and went inside.

  What the hell was he going to do with her?

  * * *

  Adeline squared her shoulders and reentered the conference room. She moved to the seat she’d vacated but didn’t sit down. Instead, she surveyed the law enforcement personnel around the table. Wyatt waltzed in and Sullenger’s face beamed. Adeline resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

  “Here’s the deal,” Adeline began. “I don’t swim. I don’t do water sports of any kind. No boats. No nothing. I have nightmares about drowning.” She fixed her attention on Ferguson. “Cherry Prescott had recently started having nightmares about drowning her daughter.” Before the man could rationalize or dismiss that fact, Adeline pushed on. “She was so terrified of what she might do to her daughter that she refused to bathe her. I don’t know what this means.” Adeline turned her palms up. “I don’t believe in psychic connections or any of that shit. But this is real.” Her gaze bored into Ferguson’s. “Trust me, the fear Cherry felt—if it was anything like mine—is damned real.” Adeline shifted her gaze to Cummings. “Call the husband. Call her friends. Whoever you have to. Find out if Penny was afraid of the water. In the past or now. Whether we understand how it relates to this case or not, we need to know.”