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It Started That Night
Virna DePaul









Lily pulled violently away. “You don’t get it, do you? I trusted you and this is what happens. You accuse my father of murder.”

She lurched to her feet and opened the door.

“Where are you going?”

“I want you to leave.” She darted around him, then pushed him, managing to shove him back several steps.

“Lily, please. Listen to me—” She ran out the door with John close behind her.

I know you love me, he thought, just as a heavy weight slammed against the backs of John’s knees. They buckled. He landed on the ground with a muffled curse, catching himself with his hands. A series of punches caught him in the face. His lip split open. With a guttural yell, he heaved off his attacker and sent him flying several feet away. His thoughts went to Lily. Were there more? Did they have her?


Dear Reader,

My second Mills & Boon


Intrigue is centered around one tragic night that changes the lives of my hero and heroine—but not forever. One family suffers a horrible loss, a young girl’s budding love is shattered and a young man’s hopes are dashed, yet in the end things are made right. Not because of a miracle, but because two people are willing to face their fears, seek the truth and trust in each other.

In real life, tragedy doesn’t always give way to happier times. Those who hurt others aren’t always caught. Those who suffer aren’t always made whole again. Yet even in a world filled with fear and darkness, one truth shines bright—love is powerful. It heals but it also gives strength. It’s what enables humanity to press on despite the challenges we face and, with hope in our hearts, to believe that something better waits for us.

I hope you enjoy Lily and John’s story and that it empowers you to keep moving toward your own Happily Ever After, whatever that may be.

Wishing you much love and happiness,

Virna DePaul




About the Author


VIRNA DEPAUL was an English major in college and, despite a passion for Shakespeare, Broadway musicals and romance novels, somehow ended up with a law degree. For ten years, she was a criminal prosecutor for the state of California. Now she’s thrilled to be writing stories about complex individuals (fully human or not) who are willing to overcome incredible odds for love.




It Started

That Night

Virna DePaul







www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)


Since I began this story it has undergone numerous

changes. To everyone who helped it come to fruition,

thank you!



Hugs to Holly and Matrice for all your support!

And as always, love to my boys,

who are my brightest light.




Prologue


August 28

8:45 p.m.

Sacramento, CA

John Tyler sat in front of his house as the sounds of the party inside drifted toward him. He closed his eyes, trying to find comfort in the darkness. Instead, he felt trapped, unable to forget Tina Cantrell’s parting words.

“Lily’s a good girl. Too good for you. If you care about her at all, send her home and stay the hell away from her.”

John opened his eyes and faced the truth.

Lily’s mother was right.

Sixteen to his twenty, Lily had her whole life ahead of her and their friendship had already caused a rift between her and her parents, one that had only widened once her father had left. John didn’t want to be the cause of further sorrow for her. Despite how he felt about her—despite the fact he wanted more and so did she—it couldn’t happen. His leaving town tomorrow would be a fresh start for both of them. He didn’t even know what he was going to do for money, but he had a friend in Seattle he could crash with for—

He heard footsteps. For a moment, he wondered if Lily’s mom had returned, but then she came into view.

Lily. Sweet Lily, his sister Carmen’s best friend. Even though he’d been forewarned, the shock of seeing her here, now, almost brought him to his knees.

The house lights cast her in a dim, almost surreal glow. His eyes immediately took in her loose hair, and the simple black dress that cinched her unbelievably tiny waist and revealed her pale arms and legs. She’d rimmed her eyes in black makeup that made their faintly exotic tilt even more mysterious. Her mouth was tinted red.

Lord, she was beautiful. He’d known she had a crush on him, but neither one of them had ever acknowledged it. He’d wanted to. Sometimes he’d felt desperate to take her love and give her his in return. But thankfully he’d never done so. She was still innocent, unsullied by his choices and reputation.

He jerked his chin at her and clenched his fists. “A little late for you to be out, isn’t it? Carmen’s not—”

Lily ran toward him and threw her arms around his neck. Automatically, he wrapped his arms around her to steady them both.

“I’m not here for Carmen.” Her body trembled and he realized she was crying. He frowned when he thought he smelled alcohol on her. Frowned harder when he saw what appeared to be red marks and scratches on her neck and a purple mark on her pale cheek. Raising his hand, he touched it gently.

“What’s this?”

She lifted her chin but didn’t answer. Leaning down to examine her eyes, he softly inhaled; the scent of alcohol faded, replaced by the fruity scent of her shampoo. But her pupils were dilated, indicating she was under the influence of something. Then again, she was also upset, which could explain—

“I have to tell you before you leave,” she whispered. “I love you.”

John dropped his hands and straightened. Panic and temptation warred within him. Knowing he needed to make her leave for both their sakes, he patted her shoulder. “I love you, too, small fry. You know that. You’re family.”

She frowned, clinging to him when he tried to pull away. “I don’t need more family. I can’t handle the one I have.”

“Lily—”

Moving quickly, she placed her hand on the back of his head and pulled his lips down to hers.

Her body, so small and fragile, pressed against him.

Her lips clung to his, soft and sweet.

And for one second—just one—his lips responded.

He jerked away and staggered back. She’d already lost her father to another woman. He couldn’t risk alienating her from her mother, too. “Go home, Lily.”

The confusion on her face was unmistakable.

“I—I love you—”

“What’s this about, Lily?” He pretended to search the darkness. “Did you and your parents plan this?”

If she’d looked confused before, now she looked stunned. “What?”

“Your father the cop. Are you trying to set me up? He didn’t get me on drug charges, so why not try for statutory rape?”

She just stared at him.

He grabbed her arms. “Are you?”

She pushed futilely against his hold. “N-no,” she said. “I’m alone. I just needed you to know how I feel.”

“Well now I know. And you know what? It doesn’t mean a damn thing.”

She swallowed audibly. “I—I don’t believe you,” she whispered, tilting up her chin. Looking like she was getting ready to fight him until he admitted he was lying.

Damn, she was amazing.

Desperately, he said, “That’s because you’re a kid.”

She paled. “Kid?” she whispered and backed up.

“Yeah. A kid.”

Hurt spread across her features and his stomach clenched. He forced himself to continue. “Here’s some advice. Lose the makeup. It makes you look trashy. And whoever taught you to kiss didn’t do a very good job.”

She froze and stared at him. “You can teach me—”

Shouts of laughter interrupted her. She looked over his shoulder, her eyes widening so much they practically swallowed her whole.

Whirling around, he saw his ex-girlfriend Stacy surrounded by her friends. All standing in the open doorway. All laughing at them. At Lily.

John gritted his teeth and struggled for calm, when all he wanted was to rip them apart. Instead, he walked toward Stacy with determined steps, grabbed her face, and kissed her hard. Her tongue eagerly surged against his, wet and agile, and she grasped his hair, her long fingernails cutting into his scalp in a way that had always been arousing.

He felt nothing. Nothing but desperation.

Tearing himself away, he saw the smug satisfaction in Stacy’s eyes. “Now why don’t you…” He turned toward Lily and stopped.

She was gone.




Chapter 1


Fifteen years later …

Lily Cantrell opened her front door and stared at the man who had his hand raised to knock again. He was tall, dark-haired and wore a yellow button-down shirt and jacket with jeans. His shoulders were broad and his eyes were still the most beautiful shade of blue she’d ever seen. Despite the years that had separated them, he’d been the only man she’d ever loved, even after he’d rejected her so ruthlessly. Even after…

“Hello, small fry,” John said, his voice deeper than she remembered. “It’s good to see you again.”

The years had perfected his masculine frame. He’d gotten bigger. Broader. The strong angles of his cheeks and jaw provided a rugged framework for the dark slash of his eyebrows above his pale blue eyes, and the prominent thrust of his nose and the sensual line of his wide mouth proclaimed him to be a bit of a barbarian. Fine lines gathered at the corner of his eyes, telling her without a doubt the boy she’d loved had grown into a man to be reckoned with.

John pushed back his hair in a familiar gesture that twisted her insides with longing and pain.

“You going to invite me in, Lily?”

Invite him in?

Instinctively she raised a hand to her cheek. Fifteen years ago, her mother had slapped her for the first and only time. All because Lily had insisted on going to see him, this man, the boy her mother had warned was too old for her and would only end up hurting her. She’d been right, but Lily never had a chance to tell her so. She’d never had a chance to say she was sorry for the terrible things she’d said. And she’d never had a chance to say goodbye.

Before any of that could happen, her mother had died. Now, days before the man responsible was to be executed, John suddenly showed up?

Her first instinct was to slam the door. To hide. To run. But she couldn’t.

She wouldn’t.

She’d acted like an ungrateful, selfish child once and soon afterward her mother had been murdered. She wouldn’t disgrace her mother’s memory any more than she had. She wouldn’t run from this man now.

She stepped out onto the porch, shutting the front door behind her. “What do you want, John?”

He didn’t smile, but she could swear his eyes did. “Good to see you, too, Lily. Can I come in?”

She shook her head. “Answer my question.”

“I’d really like to talk about it inside—”

“And I’d really like you to tell me why you’re here before I call the cops.”

“No need. They’re already here.” He pulled out a thick black leather flasher wallet and showed her a shiny badge and accompanying picture ID.

“You’re a cop?” She couldn’t disguise the shock in her voice. He’d been the ultimate bad boy. Accused of doing drugs and worse.

“I’m a detective with El Dorado County Sheriff’s Department.”

“El Dorado County? But why—” Realization made her eyes widen. “Is this about the execution?” The execution of her mother’s murderer wasn’t something Lily was taking any pleasure in. In fact, with the dreams having started up again, she’d been trying not to think about the execution at all. She just prayed that afterward she and her family would find some measure of peace, peace that had been eluding them. Her work with her art-therapy patients helped a lot, but—

John’s jaw tightened. “I’m not here to cause trouble. This doesn’t have to be a battle between us, Lily.”

He’s changed. Still intense, but more controlled. Confident. He didn’t need to play the bad boy anymore. He was prime alpha male, sure of himself, not caring what others thought about him.

Well, she’d grown up, too. “This is about the execution, isn’t it?”

He blinked and cleared his throat. “Talking to the victim’s family isn’t unusual during the last stages of the appeal process. Chris Hardesty’s claiming innocence, so—”

“I don’t understand.” The calm façade she’d adopted cracked slightly. “Who cares what he’s saying now. You have the evidence. You have the trial transcripts. His confession. Why are you reopening my mother’s case?”

“We’re not reopening the case, Lily, but the Attorney General’s Office wants me to follow up on some leads. There’s been a series of murders in El Dorado, murders I’ve been investigating, and the modus operandi for all of them are similar to your mother’s. At first we thought they were copycat murders, spurred on by news coverage of the approaching execution, and they probably are, but …”

When he hesitated, her heart beat in a furious rhythm, pounding in her ears. His words left room for doubt and for a second it shivered through her.

No. No matter what I dream, the evidence shows Hardesty killed Mom. But if these murders were similar, that meant …

“Someone’s been stabbed?”

He didn’t say anything and a wave of dizziness hit her.

“Look, I’m not saying Hardesty’s innocent. Just that it needs further investigating. Hardesty says—”

A laugh burst from her, raw and ugly. It horrified her. Made her sound like she was on the verge of hysteria. She knew exactly how convincing Hardesty was. “The police investigated. I don’t know why you people are doing this.”

He narrowed his eyes and shifted the bag on his shoulder, a black satchel she noticed for the very first time. “You people?”

“Yes. Hardesty and his attorneys. The D.A. Now you. All you do is cater to the criminals. In the meantime, forget about the victims—”

John shook his head. “I never forgot about you. And somehow I don’t think you forgot about me, either.”

The innuendo in his voice shocked her. So did the tugging in her stomach. She remembered telling him she loved him. She remembered kissing him at his party—the party to which she hadn’t been invited. And she remembered what he’d said in response.

Here’s some advice. Lose the makeup. It makes you look trashy. And whoever taught you to kiss didn’t do a very good job.

The memory still hurt and she clung to that pain with all her might.

Yes, remember how he hurt you. Remember what happened that night.

“Did—did you know I get letters from them just about every week?” she asked. “Begging me to visit him in prison so he can convince me of his innocence. And the D.A., he hasn’t even—”

Anger lit the flame in his eyes to a bonfire. “His attorneys had no right to ask that of you.” He stepped closer. “Stay away from them, Lily.”

Involuntarily, she crossed her arms and stepped back until she hit the front door. “I don’t need your advice.”

“I’m giving it to you anyway. I let you down before, but I swear, I’ll help you through this. Trust me.”

“Why? What’s in this for you?”

“Nothing. I gave up what I wanted a long time ago.”

Her pulse quickened. “What do you mean?”

“You have to know it wasn’t easy for me to turn you away that night. In fact, it was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.”

Feeling sucker punched, she couldn’t believe he’d actually brought that night up. Humiliation filled her as she remembered what she’d said to him. How she’d clung to him, devastated that he was leaving town, begging him to wait for her. The way his friends had laughed at her.

“I threw myself at you. You mocked me. You kissed Stacy in front of me!”

He advanced on her so fast she couldn’t have run even if she’d had room. Bracing his arms on the door on either side of her, he leaned down until she could smell his spicy cologne and sun-kissed skin.

She suddenly had the feeling he was fighting to keep his hands off her. She shivered in fear and unwanted desire.

“You were sixteen! Even if I wasn’t too old for you, your father thought I was a petty thug. You already hated him because he’d left your mother. I was causing nothing but problems for you. What did you want me to do?”

Love me! she almost shouted. Like I loved you. But she choked back the words, dropping her voice to a harsh whisper. “All I want is for you to leave us alone. Leave me alone. Assign someone else to the case. You can work the recent murders without having to interact with me or my family.”

The flare of anger in his eyes dissipated. He pushed away from her and shook his head, pity flooding his eyes. “I’m not going to do that. I can help. This isn’t just about your mother anymore. It’s about you. Two of the three girls look—”

“I don’t want to hear it.” She looked at the ground and felt the fight leave her body. She’d beg him if she had to. She raised her gaze to his and forced herself not to look away. “Please, John. I fought with my mother that night. And then afterward, when I found her—she was lying there—killed by a man I—I’d befriended—”

Her voice broke and she struggled to breathe.

“Your mother’s death wasn’t your fault, Lily. And it wasn’t mine. But this isn’t going to just go away. And neither am I.”

Propping her hands on her hips, she thrust out her jaw, the words coming out before she could stop them. “My father’s a judge now. I’m sure he can arrange to have this reassigned to someone who didn’t know the victim or the witnesses.”

John’s eyes narrowed and his smile made her shiver. He dropped his bag with a thump and once again moved toward her. “I don’t like being threatened, Lily. And I’m sure your father wouldn’t do something so foolish. Let the experts do what needs to be done, small fry.”

She tried to shove him away, but he grasped her wrists, easily holding her hands against his chest. Her fingers flexed, wanting to sink deeper into his taut muscles. Wanting to pull him closer.

Whimpering, she pulled away and he released her. Jaw clenched tight, he glanced down a split second before his horror-filled eyes met her own.

She looked at the bloody images. Her mother. Her beautiful mother. Nausea rushed straight into her throat.

John cursed. “I’m so sorry, Lily—”

Backing away from him and shaking her head, she whispered, “Why are you doing this?” She fumbled for the doorknob behind her.

“Lily—”

Finally, she got the door open, stumbled inside, then stared at him one last time.

“I just want to help, small fry.”

“Then leave me alone.” With bone-shattering control, she closed the door and engaged the lock with a quiet click.

John swiped his hands over his face in frustration. Damn, that had gone even worse than he’d expected. He shoved the photos and papers that had fallen back into his satchel. Standing, hands on his hips, he stared at Lily’s front door, cursed, then made his way to his car. Once inside, he simply stared some more at Lily’s house.

He hated it.

The small blue-shingled A-frame with black shutters fit in well with the cozy downtown Sacramento neighborhood. Older but not outdated. Paint holding up well. Certainly nothing extravagant. But it had a generic green lawn. No flowers. No decorations. No welcome mat. It was simple and quiet.

It reminded him of Ravenswood, the rehabilitation clinic she’d been admitted to after her mother’s murder, the place he’d visited her only once before her agonized screams had chased him away, resolved never to come back. And it wasn’t at all what he’d imagined for her.

Even at sixteen, Lily Cantrell had been complex. Colorful. Unpredictable. Dark, soulful eyes. A crease in her left cheek that never quite developed into a dimple when she smiled. A quick laugh and quicker temper.

She’d been more complex than her staid, generic home revealed. She still was.

And she was more beautiful than ever.

Her face was a mix of her father’s Anglo background and her mother’s Asian roots, pale skin with freckles and slightly slanted eyes. She still had shiny dark hair and a petite frame, but she’d gained enough weight to give her luscious breasts and hips where before she’d had none.

Her mouth seemed different, too. Less innocent. More sinful. Soft and full.

Rolling his shoulders, he closed his eyes. He’d hoped the passage of time and his current assignment would create some kind of natural barrier against any lingering feelings they had for one another, good or bad. He should have known it wouldn’t happen.

He’d always felt a strong connection to Lily. She’d been the ultimate good girl and he the neighborhood bad boy, but they’d been drawn to one another, first by the friendship between their mothers, then by the sheer pleasure of each other’s company. Eventually, he’d trusted her in a way he hadn’t even trusted his own family. Years ago, when his girlfriend Stacy Mitchell had accused him of dealing drugs, he’d told Lily the reason she’d done it—to hide the fact that she’d been doing it herself. That her father hit her and her uncle had done far worse. Wanting to protect Stacy despite what she’d done, he’d cautioned Lily not to tell anyone. She’d believed him and refused to give up their friendship, causing enormous strife between her and her parents.

Lily’s relationship with her cop father had suffered the most, leaving Lily particularly vulnerable when Chris Hardesty, a homeless man who had started hanging around at a nearby park, befriended her. Eventually, it was that friendship that had led Hardesty to Lily’s mother, Tina.

John reached for his cell phone and dialed the office number of Deputy Attorney General Lucas Thorn.

“Hi,” he said when the man answered. “This is John. I just saw Lily Cantrell and she wasn’t happy about it. Don’t be surprised if you get a call from Judge Cantrell fairly soon.”

“Damn. I was hoping she’d cooperate. Doesn’t she get we’re trying to speed Hardesty’s execution along, not stall it?”

John frowned at Thorn’s choice of words. He wasn’t trying to speed anything along, just trying to make sure both The Razor and Tina’s murderer were brought to justice, regardless of whether they were the same person or not. He knew Thorn wanted the same thing—he was probably just frustrated that the governor was taking Hardesty’s claims about The Razor seriously. “Did you tell the governor that a patch of Sandy LaMonte’s hair had been shaven, too, just like the girls before her?”

Thorn sighed on the other line. “I did. He doesn’t see it as a significant deviation from how Tina died. She was stabbed just like Tina. And as you already pointed out yourself, LaMonte looks even more like Tina than the victims before her.”

More like Tina. And more like Lily, John thought. Which was the only reason he was here. Once again, he stared at Lily’s door, as if doing so would give him another glimpse of the young girl who’d turned into a beautiful albeit mistrustful woman.

Had he been wrong to believe Lily’s life was in danger? Or had he simply used his fear to justify seeing her, when he’d sworn long ago to leave her in peace?

But it was Thorn who’d asked John to look into Tina Cantrell’s case. Thorn who hoped John’s findings would mollify the governor and rule out any connection with The Razor. And contrary to jumping at the opportunity, John had even expressed reluctance at first.

“But I knew the Cantrell family. We were neighbors. Our mothers were friends,” he’d said.

Only Thorn hadn’t seen that as a problem. It was a long time ago, and he trusted John to look at the evidence objectively. Besides, Thorn reminded him, looking into Tina’s murder was just a formality. It wasn’t as if anyone actually believed Hardesty was innocent.

Still, John hadn’t wanted to dig up old memories or the pain that came with them. Plus, looking into the case meant probably having to interview Tina’s family, including Lily. Better to let a stranger handle it, right?

But then something had struck him….

Inside his car, he reached into his satchel and shuffled through the photos until he had the right one, the one of The Razor’s latest victim, LaMonte.

Like the other victims, neither her purse nor the jewelry she was wearing had been disturbed. And she looked startlingly like Tina Cantrell and her daughter, Lily.

The Razor’s other victims had been dark-haired and petite, too, something he’d registered, of course, but it wasn’t until he’d put all the photos side by side that he saw just how much each subsequent victim looked more and more the way Lily had at sixteen.

It had to be coincidence. After all, if The Razor had killed Tina, why had he waited so long to kill again? Granted, they couldn’t know for sure he hadn’t killed other girls in other locations, but still …

In the end, logic hadn’t mattered. In that moment, he’d feared Lily was in danger. He still did.

Even after all the separation and regret, he wasn’t going to walk away. Even if it meant having to face her and their past, he wasn’t taking any chances. Lily had implied he was trying to hurt her and her family, but all he wanted to do was make sure they were safe, her most of all.

Fifteen years ago, she’d offered her love to him and he’d done what he’d thought was best. But in doing so, he’d hurt her. Terribly. Keeping her safe now was the least he could do.

Thorn’s comment about speeding along Hardesty’s execution once again echoed in his mind. It had just been a poor choice of words, John told himself. Thorn’s caseload had gotten intense in the past few months, which had to have contributed to his breakup with Carmen. It still pissed John off, especially when he saw how badly Carmen was taking the breakup, but he knew Thorn was hurting, too. It was obvious any time Carmen’s name came up. Plus, he’d worked with Thorn for years. He trusted him. He was a good guy.

Too bad Lily no longer trusted him.




Chapter 2


It was barely past dawn when John strode up to the El Dorado County Sheriff’s Satellite Office. Despite the prominent flagpole with the state and national flags in front, the squat tan building looked like a strip-mall dental office. Still, he loved working here, only about an hour north from where he’d grown up. The South Lake Tahoe scenery was idyllic—lush green trees, sparkling water, and snow-capped mountains. The pace was slow. The people relatively peaceful. It was a constant challenge that so many acted immune to the dangers of larger cities.

The murder of local girl Sandy LaMonte and the others before her proved they weren’t.

Going through the police reports in Tina Cantrell’s case hadn’t weakened his belief in Hardesty’s guilt. As Thorn kept telling him, the evidence against Hardesty was solid. But John also couldn’t shake the feeling that he was missing something. Something having to do with Lily’s hostility yesterday—even as understandable as it was—as well as her father’s subsequent refusal to talk to him.

He hesitated before entering his office and thought about Lily. It didn’t take long before his erection strained against the fly of his pants. John took a shaky breath.

It had been the same reaction he’d had yesterday. It was like he was twenty years old again and he couldn’t keep his body from wanting her no matter how unwise the response. Back then, he’d pushed her away when she’d come to him. And now? Now he expected her and her family to … what? Forgive him? Understand? Cooperate?

He snorted. Right. What a mess.

With a sigh, he finally went inside. He greeted the receptionist and then went into the back office that he shared with the office’s three deputies.

“Hi, John.” Deputy Tom Murdoch appeared in the doorway just as John sat down behind his desk.

He motioned Murdoch inside. “Hey. Anything helpful from LaMonte’s parents?”

Murdock shook his head. “She had a habit of hitchhiking from their home in Incline Village. Who knows where he picked her up. Here are their statements.”

John took the folder and opened it. Yesterday, sitting in his car outside Lily’s house, he’d studied a close-up photo of LaMonte’s face. This photo focused on her stab wounds. On film, LaMonte’s injuries seemed even more severe than they had in person at the crime scene, which was the opposite of what one would expect. But without her face as a distraction, without the nerves and adrenaline and compassion that had rattled through him at the crime scene, all John had to focus on were her torn flesh and blood.

The photos themselves seemed inhumane. Cold. As cold as the man who’d done this. He set the file aside. Hopefully, the guy had left plenty of evidence behind.

“What about the jacket we found?”

“Doesn’t look like it belonged to her, but it’s being tested along with the evidence collected from her body. The coroner found a credit card she’d tucked into her sweater pocket.”

John remembered the thin gold chain around LaMonte’s neck and the small earrings in her ears. Was it ethics or simply disinterest that had kept her killer from taking them and the credit card? He hadn’t taken anything from his other victims either, even though Diane Lopez had at least fifty bucks still on her and Shannon Petersen had half-carat diamonds in her ears.

“The coroner confirmed sexual assault,” Murdoch said. “Took a vaginal swab and other evidence from the body.”

“It’ll match the others.” John sighed. “So we’re back to square one. We’ve got his DNA, but no one to connect it to.”

“What about DNA evidence from the Tina Cantrell case?”

“Never done. Back then, it wasn’t required and Hardesty confessed so why waste the time or money.”

“Is having the evidence tested the next step?”

“For some reason, the defense hasn’t asked for it. And the prosecution’s position is it’s not needed, so Thorn’s certainly not going to.” In fact, Thorn had been adamant on that point. As he’d pointed out, “It’s costly, unwarranted, and could potentially just complicate things. If another person’s DNA is found on her body, it doesn’t prove Hardesty didn’t kill her. It just gives the defense another opportunity to delay the execution while they talk about a phantom suspect.”

But he’d left out one crucial fact, one he was smart enough to know. Another person’s DNA could show Hardesty hadn’t been working alone. He might have had an accomplice. An accomplice who was at this very moment on the loose—the man they’d dubbed The Razor. Soon, John was going to talk to Chris Hardesty about that possibility.

“Right now,” John continued, “Thorn just wants me to look over the evidence we already have and explore any possible holes. To appease the governor so the execution goes forward as planned.”

“And what if Hardesty’s telling the truth? What if The Razor really killed Tina Cantrell?”

John stared at Murdoch but didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to.

If it turned out the same man killed Sandy LaMonte, the two other girls, and Tina Cantrell, then the media would have a field day. He could see the headlines now:

Innocent Death Row Inmate Barely Escapes With His Life.

“Hopefully it won’t come to that,” John said. “Listen, Murdoch. I appreciate you working the extra hours on this. As soon as we eliminate the theory that the same man killed Tina Cantrell and Sandy LaMonte, Hardesty’s claims of innocence are going to have zero credibility. But I trust you to keep focus on what’s important. No matter what happens with the Cantrell case, we still have to find the animal who’s killing these girls.”

“Sure,” Murdoch said, then hesitated. “How young do you think the next one’s going to be?”

Grimly, John opened the file and flipped through the photos until he found one depicting LaMonte’s face. He knew Murdoch was thinking of his own teenage girls. “I don’t know.” The Razor’s first victim had been twenty-five. His second, twenty. LaMonte, eighteen. Were their decreasing ages significant? Was Tina’s? She’d been forty when she’d been killed.

Murdoch paused on his way out. “Oh, the A.G. stopped by about ten minutes ago looking for you. Something about Tina’s daughter slapping a guy at the murder scene fifteen years ago. He wants to talk to you about it right away.”

John closed his eyes and raked his hand through his hair. “Great,” he drawled.

When he opened his eyes, Murdoch stared at him. “I take it this isn’t good news?”

John laughed humorously. “No. It isn’t.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m the guy she slapped.”

August 29

12:45 a.m.

Sacramento, CA

John’s little apartment was trashed. The smell of pizza and beer and other things made him dizzy, and all he wanted was for the last few stragglers to leave. Especially his ex-girlfriend, Stacy.

Tormented by the hurt look on Lily’s face before she’d run away from him, John nudged Stacy toward her roommate. “But I don’t wanna go, Johnny. I wanna shtay here with you.”

Patting her arm, he passed her into her roommate’s arms along with twenty bucks. “The cab’s waiting. Here’s enough for the fare and tip.”

“Hey! Where’s the party?”

Three men John vaguely recognized jogged up the walkway. Gritting his teeth, he blocked the doorway. “Sorry,” he said, although his tone telegraphed the opposite sentiment. “Party’s over.”

One of the men punched another in the chest. “I told you we shouldn’t have stopped.”

His friend rubbed his arm. “Like you didn’t want to know why there were cop cars swarming down the block!”

It was unsettling how fast John thought of Lily. He lunged and grabbed the guy’s shirt. “What are you talking about?” Eyes wide, the guy jerked his thumb in the direction of Lily’s street. “We—we saw some cop cars in front of a house. A murder, it sounded like. The neighbors said the Cantrells lived there.”

John released him with a shove and started running. He ran as if his life was in danger. He ran faster than he’d ever run in his life.

Heart pumping, John’s legs wobbled every time his feet hit concrete. He pushed himself to go faster, ignoring the terror stiffening his muscles and hitching his breath.

She’s fine. He doesn’t know what he’s talking about. She’s fine.

But when he turned the corner to her street, he knew Lily wasn’t fine. Three police cars were parked haphazardly in front of the house. An ambulance. A white van imprinted with the word Coroner in large, block letters. Yellow tape bordered the front walk, keeping out the crowd that had gathered there.

Guilt flooded through him. If he hadn’t messed with her feelings, she wouldn’t have run off. Had he put her in danger? Had she been hurt because of him? John stumbled, moving forward, pushing through the crowd and shouting Lily’s name.

A uniformed cop grabbed at his arm, but he jerked away and dodged around him.

Relief washed over him when he saw her. She was sitting on the front stoop, her eyes dull and vacant, her body painfully frail under an oversize long-sleeved shirt and sweats. “Lily!”

She didn’t look up at his call, but the cop standing next to her did. He rushed forward and planted himself on the sidewalk, blocking John’s view of Lily.

“I’m sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all, “but you need to leave.”

John craned his neck and caught sight of Lily’s father standing just inside the doorway. Their eyes locked and John instinctively flinched. Fear. Grief. Anguish. There were no words to describe the other man’s torment. Blood stained the foyer’s white walls.

“Lily!” He tried to push past the cop standing in his way only to be shoved back.

“Knock it off, or I’m going to have to take you in.”

Mindless with worry, John tried to dodge to the left, grunting when the cop got him in a choke hold. “Lily,” he gasped, needing to know. “Is she hurt?”

The cop shook John’s head like a maraca. “She’s not hurt. But she’s in shock. Now ease up, man. You are going to back off. Do we understand each other?”

John’s panic subsided just a hair. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Okay.”

Slowly, the cop loosened his grip. “What’s your name?”

“My name is John Tyler. We’re—we’re friends.”

Before the cop could respond, an EMT jostled by them and guided Lily to her feet. He led her down the walkway toward the ambulance, passing within two feet of John.

Lily walked slowly, almost robotically. She stared straight ahead. Didn’t acknowledge him in any way.

All John could think about was her declaration of love and the way he’d thrown it back at her earlier that evening. “Lily,” he murmured.

She stopped.

John held his breath, waiting for her to speak. Scream. Cry. Anything.

Tentatively, he reached out and touched her face, surprised when the cop didn’t stop him.

“Lily. It’s John. Are you okay?”

He saw a flare of recognition in her eyes just before she reached out and slapped him. Staggering back, John felt someone grab his arm to steady him.

Grief flashed in Lily’s eyes. And then there was nothing.

The EMT walked her to the ambulance and helped her in. Her father quickly followed. John watched the ambulance drive away, then collapsed to his knees. In his peripheral vision, he once more saw blood. Then he threw up.

“John!”

John’s head snapped back at the sound of Murdoch’s raised voice.

“Dude, you can’t just drop a bomb like that and not explain. You were there when Tina Cantrell was killed? And her daughter slapped you? Why?”

It was the last thing John wanted to talk about—hell, he’d just mentally relived it and his heart was aching—but Murdoch was working the investigation, too, and he had a right to know.

“Lily, Tina Cantrell’s daughter, and my sister, Carmen, were best friends growing up. The night of the murder was my last night in town. My ex-girlfriend planned a going-away party for me so I canceled dinner plans I’d made with Lily and Carmen weeks before. It hurt Lily. A lot.”

“And she slugged you.”

Yes, but not because of the canceled dinner. Because she’d defied her mother to come to him and he’d pushed her away.

And because she had blamed him.

Some part of her had blamed him for her mother’s death, just like she blamed herself.

“Did Thorn know—”

“He knows my family and Lily’s family were neighbors. That our parents were friends. As to the fact Lily slapped me that night …” John shrugged. “It was in the police report, which Thorn has. But I never told him myself.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because it wasn’t relevant.” He’d thought about it a lot. It was a gray issue, but not a true conflict. Lily, after all, wasn’t a suspect in the case. “Chris Hardesty has already been convicted for Tina’s murder. To the extent he’s challenging that conviction, it’s just a last-ditch effort to stop the execution. I’m only looking into the case to eliminate the notion that someone else killed Tina and is now killing these girls.”

“But what if Hardesty’s exonerated? What if the investigation begins to focus on Lily’s father? Or Lily herself?”

Laughing, John shook his head. “You can’t be serious. The father, maybe. Even though he was a cop, he and Tina were estranged, so he’s still a P.O.I. in my opinion. Lily? Ridiculous. If you saw her, you’d see what I mean. And even if some evidence turns up to implicate her, we weren’t lovers. She was a kid who had a crush on me. Thorn would handle questioning her, not me.”

“Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out.” But Murdoch, his disapproval self-evident, still didn’t leave.

Scowling, John growled, “You got something to say to me, Murdoch?”

“It just seems like you’re working really hard to justify working on this case.”

“Justify? I’ve been working The Razor murders for almost a year. I’m not letting him get away from me now.”

“I can take over—”

“Don’t piss me off, Murdoch. I have a job to do, and I’ll do it. I want this guy. I want him bad. And I’m gonna get him. There’s no evidence The Razor killed Tina. But if I find something indicating otherwise, I won’t ignore it.”

“You’re a good cop. I’m not saying otherwise. But—”

“Look, I’ve got to call Thorn. Keep me posted, okay?” He looked down at the file, deliberately dismissing the other man. After a second, Murdoch stiffly said, “Sure,” then left.

John looked at the phone and thought about calling Thorn, but he wanted to talk to Lily before he did. He also wanted to follow up with some witnesses. The cops who’d reported to the murder scene. And the man who’d been dating Lily’s mother fifteen years ago, the man Lily had often referred to as “the gym rat.” Park, he reminded himself.

The guy’s name had been Mason Park.

He wouldn’t want to mess up and call him “gym rat” to his face, even if Lily could appreciate it.

Remembering Murdoch’s concerns about a conflict, John snorted. There was no chance in hell Lily had anything to do with her mother’s death. Anyone who said otherwise was just plain stupid.




Chapter 3


Lily was running.

Running from her mother, who’d slapped her.

Running from John, who’d hurt her.

Running but going nowhere.

Suddenly, she stopped. She saw two figures wrestling, each trying to gain control over the other but neither succeeding. The dance continued for minutes. Hours. Days. The entire time, she watched, unable to move, unable to scream. Although she couldn’t distinguish one from the other, couldn’t see more than shadows, she knew who the figures were. A dark-haired woman, dressed in blue silk and heels. And a grizzled dirty man with tangled white hair and vacant blue eyes. The homeless man she’d talked with at the park.

Her mother and Hardesty. Dancing. Yelling. Fighting.

She saw a sharp steel blade, already stained red, sink into flesh, then make a wet, sucking sound as it retracted. Again and again the motion repeated itself, the sucking sounds becomingshrill screams that ended each time the knife withdrew and began once more when it hit its mark.

Then things quieted. The knife and the blood disappeared. Two figures became three. Then four. Then five.

She clearly saw her mother, huddled on the ground. A tall shadow of a man—somehow she knew it was a man—lifted her mother into his arms and carried her away. Her mother reached out to her, pleading with her. “You don’t know, Lily. You don’t understand. He’s not the man you think he is.”

Light flashed and Lily tried to run, but her feet were glued to the ground with blood. Her stomach heaved and she fought the urge to throw up.

A man grabbed her arm on each side.

The first was Hardesty.

The second was her father.

“You’ll be rewarded for your kindness,” Hardesty said. “You’ll be rewarded.”

“It’s all your fault, Lily,” her father moaned. “Remember. It’s all your fault.”

Lily jerked awake, stifling the scream climbing her throat. Sweat drenched her clothes, chilling her. She immediately raised her hand to her face. It was flushed but dry. She turned onto her side and curled back into a ball.

Even in sleep she couldn’t cry. Couldn’t let out the grief inside her. Like a malignant growth that had become a part of its host, excising it would bring death as surely as the disease itself. She needed to hold on to the grief to survive. To keep her from making the same mistakes.

Only why were her dreams back, worse than before? What did Hardesty’s words mean? And was her father’s presence alongside Hardesty a twisted form of self-punishment or a hint of something else? Some repressed memory?

But that was ridiculous.

Seeing John was playing with her head, that was all. How could it not? The guy was threatening the closure she and her family needed. The closure her mother deserved. And as powerful as her attraction had been to him in the past, she couldn’t ignore the way her body had responded to his closeness. When he’d caged her in and towered over her, every nerve in her body had gone ballistic.

It was some kind of chemical reaction, and she wasn’t a young girl to be carried away by hormones. Not anymore. Hardesty was guilty and she’d fight John and the D.A. and the governor himself if they tried arguing otherwise.

Forcing herself to her feet, Lily walked to the kitchen and filled a glass of water from the sink. She drank in desperate swallows, even as she caught sight of the blinking red light on her answering machine. Needing to compose herself, she’d turned the ringer off after John had left. Slowly, she walked over to it, and pushed the Play button.

Her brother-in-law’s voice came on and she sighed with relief that the message wasn’t from John or one of Hardesty’s attorneys.

“Hey, Lily, this is Aaron. Damn. I was hoping you’d be home. Listen, Ivy and Ashley have been fighting like crazy and I’m getting frustrated.”

Frowning, Lily put down her glass. Aaron sounded frantic even though Lily’s sister, Ivy, had always tended to butt heads with her daughter, fourteen-year-old Ashley. Even Lily’s father and stepmother, Barb, had stepped in, spending more time with the girl in an effort to give her and Ivy breathing room.

“I know you two—I mean, I know you’re busy, but I thought you could come over for dinner tomorrow night? Ashley’s going to a dance and I’m driving her, so you’d have time to talk alone. Ivy could really use someone right now and I know you’d want to help her. You have such a big heart, Lily.”

You’ll be rewarded for your kindness, Hardesty’s voice whispered in her mind.

Lily instinctively covered her ears. She bit her lip but heard her panicked whimper anyway. Slowly, she lowered her hands.

“—can call me at work. The number’s—”

Lily lunged and pressed the Stop button. She knew the number and she wasn’t a fool. Aaron’s message had to be some kind of sign. Despite how her sister had pulled away from her after their mother’s death, Ivy needed her. And Lily needed her, too.

Seeing John had shaken her to the depths of her soul, and not simply because of the investigation.

She was too afraid of the memories.

Too afraid of the panic coming out of nowhere.

Too afraid of suffocating in the darkness when she lay in bed, trying to hold off sleep but knowing eventually the dreams would claim her.

Most of all, she was afraid of how John had made her feel. He’d shattered the control she’d fought so long to achieve. Made her feel things she hadn’t felt for years.

Lust. Longing. Recklessness.

Those feelings scared her most of all.

Even though it wasn’t quite 7 a.m., Lily knew Aaron would already be at his law office. She picked up the phone and dialed his number.

“Aaron Bancroft.”

“Hi,” she said, feeling more grounded just hearing Aaron’s voice. “It’s Lily.”

“Hey, Lily! You got my message?”

“I did.”

“And?”

“And it’s perfect timing. I’d love to come to dinner. Have you already asked Ivy—”

“That’s awesome, Lily!”

Lily chewed her lip. “But are you sure it’s going to be all right with Ivy?”

Aaron gave a strained laugh. “Come on, Lily. You’re family. You know you’re welcome to come over any time. Ivy’ll welcome the company.”

If she felt better, she might have called him on his blatant lie. “Still, I’ll call her. After work—”

Once again, he interrupted her, an impatient edge to his voice. “Don’t piss me off, Lily. Please.”

She felt her brows lift. She’d known Aaron since before her parents split up. He’d never used that grim voice with her before. “But—” She hesitated, remembering his atypical request for help. Even if Ivy didn’t welcome her with open arms, Aaron and Ashley would. “Okay. Thank you. And—well—my father and Barb, they won’t be there, will they?” Despite how she’d threatened John with going to her father, she didn’t think she could handle seeing her dad. Not when she was already feeling so shaky from seeing John.

“No. But he misses you, Lily. You might want to give him a call.”

Hearing the slight reproach in Aaron’s voice, Lily didn’t bother to respond. She knew it was unfair, but she couldn’t change how she felt—she’d never forgiven her father for leaving them for another woman. Or for failing to save her mother.

And she’d never forgiven herself.

Wearily, Lily sat on her couch. She smoothed her finger over the binding of one chenille pillow. She forced her voice to sound cheery. “See you tomorrow night.” She pulled the phone away from her ear just as Aaron spoke again.

“Ivy feels helpless—like she’s losing her daughter. You being here will help.”

There was nothing Lily could say. She was the last person to give parenting advice, but she’d try almost anything to feel close to her family again.

Don’t hope too much, Lily. Don’t let yourself be hurt again. A pleasant dinner wasn’t going to erase fifteen years of tension and distance.

Lily showered and dressed for work, but didn’t bother with breakfast. She’d grab something on the way. At the door, she studied the picture hanging on the wall. It was of the four of them—her father and mother, her sister and herself. Arms around each other. Smiling. Happy. Reaching out, Lily traced the shape of her mother’s face.

She remembered the gruesome dream, how sharp the knife had looked, how loud the screams had been, how she could almost feel the gush of blood escape from her mother’s body and onto her clothes and the floor.

It was her greatest heartache. She couldn’t think of her mother, couldn’t look at her picture, without imagining her being hurt. Without feeling guilt for hurting her, as well.

The same thing happened whenever she saw or thought of John.

Resolutely, she straightened her shoulders and did what she always did when leaving the house. She kissed her fingertips, touched them to her mother’s image, then said, “Be back soon,” before heading outside.




Chapter 4


The large room at the Mercy Rehabilitation Clinic was meant for serious activity. The red-and-yellow checkered vinyl floor and cheery yellow walls had been sealed to withstand spilled paint, markers, clay, glue and plaster of Paris. Aside from Lily and Fiona, however, the room was deserted and quiet. Lily smiled at the little girl, who’d been dropped off for her weekly appointment by her new foster parents. Fiona looked positively radiant, even if she still hadn’t said a word. No surprise since she hadn’t talked since the accident.

“I’m making another exception for you, Lily. But I can’t make it a habit. Please understand that.”

Lily brought her attention back to the woman on the phone. “I know, Dr. Tyler. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t so important.”

“Our prior agreement still stands. I can’t talk to you about John or Carmen. I’m not even sure I—”

Before Dr. Tyler could change her mind about meeting her, Lily said, “Thank you, Dr. Tyler. I’ll see you soon.” Lily hung up the phone and stared at it.

She couldn’t believe she’d actually called John’s mother for a therapy appointment, but she had no one else to go to. The dreams were getting worse and she needed to talk to someone—a professional—about what they might mean. And John’s mother was a licensed therapist, one who’d helped her after her mother’s murder, so she already knew all the relevant facts about her history and her mother’s case.

“Someone’s here to see you.”

Lily’s body jerked and she let out a frightened scream. One of the on-duty nurses frowned at her.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you. You okay?”

Lily forced a laugh and raised a hand to cover her racing heart. “I’m fine,” she said. She glanced at Fiona again. “We were just concentrating, weren’t we, Fiona?”

The little girl smiled but didn’t answer. She went back to her drawing, her little tongue poking out of her mouth.

Lily shifted her gaze to the boy standing in the hallway. Albert Sanchez quickly looked away, feigning interest in the worn linoleum floor. Conflicting emotions momentarily held her paralyzed.

Albert had been discharged from the hospital less than three weeks ago, five months after he’d staggered into the emergency room with complaints of “intense headaches.” Turned out he’d had a bullet in his skull. Although it hadn’t taken his life, the bullet had damaged his speech and his coordination. Lily had worked with him for months, surprised by his unwavering enthusiasm for anything artistic. She’d developed a genuine affection for the boy and he’d seemed to get increasingly comfortable with her. But once he’d been discharged, he hadn’t returned.

Until today.

He was a thief and a gang member. When he’d been brought in, he’d been accompanied by a group of older boys who wore their attitude and hostility as easily as their baggy, low-waisted jeans and gang colors.

His dark hair covered his skull again, and the number fourteen tattooed on his temple, the one that marked him as a NorteГ±o, stood out starkly against his pale skin. Unlike his friends, his face was clear of the tear-shaped tattoo that symbolized a gang-related kill.

He has a good heart, she reminded herself. He isn’t like those other boys. She turned to Fiona. “That’s beautiful, Fiona,” she said. “You keep working on that and I’ll be right back, okay?”

Fiona nodded. Lily pushed back her chair and walked over to Albert with a casual stroll that belied the tension she was feeling.

She propped her hand on her hip. Casual confidence, even if it was playacting. She didn’t wear her heart on her sleeve. Not anymore.

“So, long time no see,” she said in almost perfect Spanish.

He stuck his hands in his pockets and slouched. “You look busy.” He glanced at her paints before turning away.

“Hey,” she said, switching to English. “Don’t leave yet. I need someone to help me paint some tiles. And if you’re feeling good, why don’t you help me?”

He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t walk away, either.

“I saw you looking at my paints.” She grinned, feeling more at ease. “And I know you didn’t come just to see me. Or did you?” Her voice was light, trying to reestablish a rapport with him.

He turned his face slightly, and she saw the flush move up his neck and face. Once again, she wondered how this boy, who loved cheeseburgers, basketball and backgammon, had gotten involved with gangs. “I need an eagle for a mural in the pediatric ward,” she said, rushing to cover up her faux pas. “You think you’re up for painting one?”

He looked at the table and paints again. Gave a longsuffering sigh and shrugged. Despite being only fifteen, he towered above her and had arms that were thick with muscle. A boy trapped in a man’s body. In a man’s world. He took a seat next to Fiona and Lily joined him.

Lily worked with Fiona and Albert for over an hour, slipping into a comfortable silence.

“Lily.”

This time, Lily didn’t jerk at the intrusion of another person’s voice in the silence. And the frown on her face as she turned toward John’s voice was more in reaction to her lack of fear than his sudden appearance. Why was it that Nancy’s voice could startle her when John’s didn’t?

He stepped into the room and after a long look at Lily, turned his attention to Albert and Fiona. Almost instantly, Albert stood with a loud scrape of his chair and grabbed his backpack. “I’ve gotta go, Lily.”

“But why—” Lily started, sighing in exasperation when Albert gave Fiona a quick wave and rushed out the door. Angry now, she turned back to John. To her shock, Fiona had left her own seat and sidled up next to him.

He crouched down next to her. “Hey, sweetie. What have you got there?”

“Fiona—”

After shooting her a look that made her protest falter like a fumbled football, John smiled encouragingly at Fiona. She handed him a piece of paper.

He whistled. “What a great drawing. Is this your cat?”

Smiling, Fiona held up one finger.

“One of them?” He laughed when she nodded vigorously. “Very cool.”

Leaving the paper in his hand, Fiona skipped back to the table and started drawing again. Lily stared at her in shock. The little girl was rarely so friendly and she never shared her art with strangers. That she did so with John made Lily feel a strange pang in her chest.

“Who was that … boy? A patient of yours.”

Lily said nothing but didn’t miss the pause before he said “boy.” Like he’d wanted to say something else. Like he was criticizing who she chose to consort with—again. Just like he had all those years ago with Hardesty.

Rubbing the back of his neck, John jerked his chin at Fiona. “She’s a doll.”

She didn’t know why, but his words, more than his obvious disapproval of Albert, made her bristle. “Well, she’s blond, just like Stacy. I guess you’ve still got the touch.”

John stared at her, his fists clenched at his sides.

She mentally cursed her wayward tongue.

“So you don’t trust anyone anymore, Lily? Not even friends?”

She looked away. “I don’t have friends. I have my work. I have my family. That’s all I need.”

“Is that why you stopped writing Carmen?”

She bit her lip and closed her eyes at the mention of her best friend’s name. Former best friend.

“It took her a long time to get over that, you know. She misses you.”

“I never meant to hurt her.” To move on, Lily had needed to divorce herself from him completely. Since Carmen was John’s sister, that had seemed to require divorcing herself from Carmen, as well.

“You trusted her once. You trusted me.”

Anger crowded out her guilt and sorrow. She hadn’t just trusted him. She’d loved him. With everything inside her. With her entire heart and soul. He’d taken what she’d offered and crushed it. “Yes, and that was my mistake. I don’t trust you now. I don’t like you. I don’t even want to look at you.”

“Bull.” He said it quietly, but emphatically.

She looked wildly at Fiona, who was oblivious to the drama unfolding around her, then said, “I’m at work! How dare you—”

After glancing toward Fiona himself, John shook his head. “You’re right. I’m sorry.” Lowering his voice to a whisper, he leaned toward her. “But one thing I’m certain of. You might not like me, Lily. But you’re still attracted to me.”

She tried to deny it, but the words stuttered to a halt in her throat. She couldn’t speak past the desire rippling through her, making her skin so sensitive the weight of her clothes became unbearable.

A shameful heat warmed her body. And a shameful realization—she’d felt more alive in the past few minutes than she had in God knows how long. “You’re insane.”

His eyes narrowed and swept her body, stopping on her nipples, which she could feel straining against the cotton of her shirt. “I don’t think so.”

He moved as if to touch her, but a nurse stepped into the room. She paused when she saw them. “Sorry! I just came to bring Fiona to her next appointment. You okay, Lily?”

Lily didn’t take her eyes off John. He turned, walked to the window, and propped an arm on the window frame to stare outside.

Trying to follow his lead, she looked at the nurse and smiled. “I’m fine. We’re discussing a private matter.”

The woman’s gaze drifted to John. Understanding flared in her eyes as she assumed John was a patient or the distraught parent of one. She got Fiona’s things together. Lily gave the girl a hug and promised to see her soon. The nurse closed the door as she left.

Lily took the offensive, trying something she hadn’t yet: reason. “Look, all I care about is making sure Hardesty pays for what he did. You’re not the only one who can ask questions. Maybe I’ll do some investigating on my own—”

He jerked around to face her. “And put yourself in danger again? It took Hardesty killing your mother before you realized what a danger he was the first time.”

The words hit her like a battering ram, causing her to stumble. Although she pressed her lips together, she couldn’t hold back a whimper of pain.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I don’t want to fight. I came here to apologize. You didn’t give me a chance … I didn’t mean for you to see those pictures. I mean—” He threaded his fingers through his hair in frustration. “I feel like an idiot.”

“Good,” she said, but her words were empty. Slowly, she sank into a chair and hung her head so her hair covered her face. Be fair for once, she told herself. This isn’t John’s fault. No matter how much his rejection had hurt, he’d never made any promises or declarations of love to mislead her. And he’d had no part in what happened afterward.

But here he was. A big, impossible-to-ignore reminder of her own foolishness.

She heard him move and raised her head. He was staring at one of the mosaics she’d made and hung on the wall, a cheery swirl of color creating a sunflower. He stroked his finger across the individual tiles. She shivered as if he’d touched her body. Pleasure rioted through her.

For several seconds, his gaze remained fixed on the mosaic. When he looked up, he studied her with the same intensity. “It fits—you being an art therapist.”

She rolled her eyes—self-preservation. “I’m so glad you approve.”

He sat beside her, undeterred when she cringed away. “I didn’t ask for this, Lily. Believe it or not, I don’t get off on hurting you. Now or in the past.”

Swallowing hard, she stared at him. His voice was tinged with real regret. And suddenly she was tired of blaming him when she’d had her part in what happened that night. “Look, I read your signals wrong. I thought I meant more to you then I did and it made me act stupid.” She shoved to her feet and hugged her arms to her chest. “In the end, it all meant nothing. For you, it never meant anything at all.”

“That’s not true.” He stood and lightly gripped her arms. “I wasn’t lying when I said it was hard turning you down. I was interested in you. More than I ever let on.”

She sucked in a breath and her chest brushed against his. Pleasure shot through her and she raised her hand to push him away. What would it feel like to pull him closer, just once?

“I still am.”

He stared at her lips, his eyes a fierce blue backlit by desire. The warmth coursing through her exploded into flames. She took a step back. “No,” she whispered, doubt rolling through her.

“Yes,” he countered.

She tried to turn her head, but he held her arm with one hand while he raised the other to cup her cheek. She gasped at how good his touch felt. Helplessly, she nuzzled closer, but he dropped both hands and stepped away.

She moaned, overcome with loss. He took another step back, his face stiff and unnaturally controlled. His fingers clenched and then relaxed. “But you’re a witness in this investigation. And that’s a line I can’t cross. You were so young then—”

“You damn tease! If I was a temptation, I was one easily cast aside. You already proved that. You didn’t need to do it again.”

Grabbing her wrists with an infuriated growl, he pulled her against him. Her breath whooshed out of her as every inch of her pressed against every inch of him. Chest. Thighs. And every sensitive place in between.

His mouth covered hers. Need exploded in a painful rush of sensation, scaring her. She couldn’t do this. Didn’t know how to show him everything she was feeling. She whimpered and pulled back, her breath as quick and shallow as his.

His hands loosened on her arms. He visibly struggled for control. Before he could completely let go, Lily grabbed his face and pulled him close.

John groaned when Lily’s lips softened under his. He feasted on them for several long minutes before pulling back to bury his face in her throat. “So long. I’ve wanted this for so long,” he managed to gasp out.

Her answering moan of need, tremulous and whisper soft, shivered into him until he felt it settle somewhere in his chest. Desperate, he took her mouth again. She tasted amazing. Sweet and innocent, just as she had years ago. But at the same time, the sweetness was tempered with spice. A ripe sexuality bore itself out in the parry and thrust of her tongue against his.

Lowering his hands to her hips, he arched her into his groin, relishing her broken gasps of pleasure and the way her hands pulled at his hair. His mouth opened wider and he pushed her against the door, flattening his palms against it and grinding his aching shaft against her until he was practically drilling her. Instead of stopping him, she arched into him, opening her legs wider.

He pulled back, breathing in air like a locomotive. He clenched his fists, stepped completely away, and walked to her art table. He braced himself on stiffened arms. Only when he felt fully in control did he turn to face her.

She’d moved from the door and sat on the battered thrift-store couch, her head tipped back and eyes closed. She must have heard him move, because she suddenly opened her eyes and sat up. She kept her face averted.

“I’m sorry.” John winced. “Again.”

Her mouth twisted bitterly. “Poor John. You take responsibility for everything, don’t you? But I’m a big girl.” She rose, dusted off her hands as if she could rid herself of him that easily, and shrugged. “Maybe I just wanted to know if you’d learned anything new since I last saw you.”

He wanted to take her up on her challenge. To crawl onto her body and press her into the soft cushions and satisfy her curiosity fully. But despite her taunting words, her eyes looked anything but confident.

“Bottom line, you know I care about you. I’m just trying to do my job.”

She opened her mouth but nothing came out.

“You want this investigation closed?”

This time, she didn’t hesitate. “Yes.”

“Then talk to me. Get your family to cooperate. Your father’s dodged every attempt I’ve made to talk to him. The more you and your family fight me, the longer it’s going to take.”

“You want me to hand my family over to you? To feed them to the wolves?”

Eyes narrowed, he asked, “Are you hiding something?”

“Wh-what are you talking about?”

“I can see it in your eyes, Lily. Who are you trying to protect? Hardesty?”

Her laugh was high and panicked sounding. “No one.”

“Then who? Your father?”

“No.” The word came out so quietly. “No,” she said with more force. “Of course not.”

“Because if you are, I guarantee you I will find out. Your father never liked me, but he’s going to have to face me sometime.”

“Don’t bother my father just because yours is lucky enough to be dead.”

Shock widened his eyes.

Lily was one of the few people who knew how devastated he’d been when his father, the former mayor of Sacramento, had hung himself amidst allegations of embezzlement. It had changed him into the rebellious bad boy who’d later had trouble with the law. He’d allowed few past that protective armor. His family. Lily. And she’d just—ruthlessly and deliberately—torn into his wounds.

He moved closer, stopping when she scrambled away. “I’d never hurt you, Lily. Obviously this was a mistake. You don’t want to help me, that’s fine. We’ll see how it plays out on its own.”

“I’m sorry. I just said that to hurt you.”

He froze in the act of walking away and briefly glanced over her shoulder. “Well, it worked. Score one for you.”




Chapter 5


John shifted his legs underneath the small wrought-iron patio table and wondered if he should come back another time. Mason Park, the man who’d briefly dated Tina Cantrell, was definitely distracted by the two kids racing around his newly landscaped backyard. John bit back a smile when he saw the little girl stick out her tongue at her brother.

It made him think of Lily.

He straightened and reached for the glass of water Park had given him.

Everything seemed to remind him of Lily nowadays. He took a long swallow and then put down his glass. “So what time were you supposed to meet?”

“Penny, don’t pull your brother’s hair!” Park frowned as he watched his son and daughter bicker some more. When one ran to the play set and the other kicked a ball across the kidney-bean-shaped lawn, he finally turned back to John. “Sorry, what did you say?”

The sliding door opened and Park’s wife stepped out with a bottle of sunscreen. She murmured to her kids as she slathered them up. Their kids were five and seven, and their older daughter Theresa was at a friend’s. Park worked as a pharmaceutical rep and although he was about ten years older than John, you couldn’t tell it. Park had been married over ten years to the pretty blonde who could pass for a college student. Tina, on the other hand, had been ten years older than Park when they’d dated.

Remembering how much Lily had resented this man, John sighed. “Tina Cantrell. What time were you supposed to meet her that night?”

“Eight-thirty. We were going to have a late dinner and then try to catch a movie. Something light. She liked comedies.”

“And she never showed?”

He shook his head. “She called me before I left the house. Told me she had a family emergency and would call me later that night.” For a moment, he stared at his kids, his gaze going blank as if his mind was somewhere else. “She sounded upset. I offered to come by but she said no.” He smiled. “I always told her she was too proud for her own good.”

“You knew her that well? And you’d only been dating, what? Two months?”

He shrugged. “Three. But it didn’t take me long to discover her independent streak. She wasn’t about to lean on another man. Let alone one almost ten years younger. Not after what her ex did to her.”

“So your age was a problem?”

A wistful smile crossed Park’s face. “For me, no. For her, sure. It took me a long time to convince her to go out with me. And when she did, I think she told herself it was just a fling.”

Everything about the man, from his words, to his tone, to his expression, radiated regret. “What about you? What did you think?”

Again, Park looked at his kids. “I wasn’t sure, but I didn’t get the chance to find out.”

Park’s wife waved to him on her way back into the house and he smiled.

John studied him. He was good-looking. Your typical family man, who seemed incapable of brutally stabbing and sexually assaulting a woman. But of course looks didn’t mean a thing. Ted Bundy was proof.

“So what time did she call?”

Park shifted his attention back to John. “I was about to leave to pick her up, so it was just before eight.”

The timing sounded right. Tina had come to his place looking for Lily around 8:00 p.m. Phone records showed she’d called her ex before that. According to the wait staff at 33rd St. Bistro, Park had shown up alone around 8:30 for dinner and drinks, and had left around 10:30, saying he was going to a movie. When the cops had interviewed him the next day, he’d had the ticket stub in his pants pocket. Two hours later, they’d picked up Hardesty. And a day later, they’d found Hardesty’s prints at the scene.

“She didn’t tell you what the emergency was?”

“Something about having an argument with one of her girls. Lily, I’m sure.”

The man’s derisive tone made John stiffen. “Why do you say that? You ever meet her girls?”

Park shook his head. “No. She refused to introduce me to them. Showed me pictures though. They didn’t look alike, but they were pretty. Like her.”

Yeah. Definitely pretty. “So why do you say she probably had a fight with Lily?”

Park shrugged. “It was something Tina talked about a lot. How hard Lily was taking her father leaving. How she blamed Tina and Tina didn’t know what to do. It would have been so easy for her to make Lily hate her father, but she didn’t want that, even if it meant keeping the truth from her.”

“The truth? Lily knew he’d had an affair. She had a new stepmother, for God’s sake.”

“She didn’t know her father had cheated in the past. Many times in the past.”

John pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair. “Doug Cantrell cheated more than once? And Tina stayed with him? I have to say that surprises me. I knew the family. Tina didn’t seem like the type of woman who’d stay with a cheater.” But if that was the case, that meant John’s list of potential witnesses had just gotten a hell of a lot bigger. He couldn’t discount the possibility that one of Doug’s jealous lovers—hell, even his present wife had to be considered—had killed Tina.

“Sounds like you knew her pretty well.” Park’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “You would have just been a kid when she died. Were you friends with one of her girls? The oldest one? Or even Lily?” He leaned back in his chair, nodding thoughtfully. “Tina mentioned a guy Lily was into. An older guy. What did you say your name was again?”

“Detective John Tyler. Now getting back to Doug Cantrell’s affairs. Why’d Tina stay with him?”

For a moment, the two men stared at one another. Park looked away first. “For her girls. They were younger. They loved their father. And Doug Cantrell—”

Park looked over John’s shoulder and paused.

“And what? What about the ex? Ever meet him?”

Holding up a finger, Park jerked to his feet. “Be right back.” He jogged over to the little girl who’d fallen and was crying. He helped her up, brushing off her knees and giving her a kiss before watching her run inside. He walked slowly back to John.

“What did you ask?”

“I asked if you’ve ever met Doug Cantrell.”

Park’s face hardened in memory. “Oh, yeah. The guy was an arrogant one. Cheated on Tina for years. Married the next woman he’d had an affair with, but then had the balls to accuse Tina and me of screwing around.”

John felt his brows shoot up. “When was this?”

“A few days before. He came by the house when I was there. They started to argue and Tina kicked me out. Told me she needed to talk to the guy.”

John lifted a skeptical brow. “And you just left?”

“Like I said, Tina was independent. I didn’t want to scare her off by getting all he-man on her. Believe me, I wanted to pound the guy into the ground. I still remember the look he gave me as I left. He was so damn pleased with himself.” Park shrugged. “But she was a grown woman. She knew what she was doing. And what she wanted.” Park’s mouth twisted. “Who she wanted.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I was younger, but I wasn’t stupid. She still loved him. Even though she tried to hide it, it was obvious. She knew it. I knew it. And he knew it.”

“And …?”

“And I don’t know.”

But his implication was obvious. Did he really think Doug had tried to reconcile with Tina and that he’d killed her when she refused? Doug Cantrell could make the same accusation against Park.

Testing him, John said, “Mr. Park, would you be willing to take a polygraph exam about all this?”

Park’s eyes widened. “But—I thought—Jesus, do you think I—”

“You were cleared a long time ago. But Hardesty’s making some allegations, and we need to build a solid case to present to the governor.”

“I’m sorry, but I just want to forget about all this. I mean, I have my wife. My kids.”

John nodded, not at all surprised. “Okay. Again, thanks.” John turned to leave and was almost to the outer gate when Park called out to him.

“Detective Tyler?”

John turned. “Yes?”

Park hesitated, looked around and then approached him, not stopping until he was about two feet away. His voice was low but urgent. “How is Lily? And her sister? Tina loved them so much. I—I heard one of them found the body. That she claims memory loss. Is that true?”

John pressed his lips together. “I can’t talk about that.”

“Don’t mean to pry. It’s just, I’m not a religious man, but I often think—if there is such thing as a soul, Tina’s would rest better knowing her girls are okay. You know?”

John studied the man. His refusal to take a polygraph exam hadn’t done anything to make him more trustworthy in John’s eyes, but it wasn’t necessarily damning, either. In truth, he’d think twice himself before agreeing to take one. “I haven’t seen her sister, but Lily’s doing okay. As you can imagine, though, having to revisit all this is tough for her. I’m sure you understand why getting through this investigation quickly would be in her best interest.”

Park nodded his head quickly. “Of course. I’m so sorry it’s having to be brought up for her again. Honestly, I want to help, but—” He rubbed the back of his neck and glanced back at his kids. “I have a family now. And who knows what Doug Cantrell would do to protect himself—”

John frowned. “Just what are you insinuating?”

Park raised his hand in an appeasing gesture. “Nothing. It’s just, I’ve always felt he got off easy because he was a cop.”

Park had apparently forgotten that’s what John was. “We’re exploring everything, Mr. Park.”

“Oh sure, sorry. It’s just with the memory loss and all …”

“What,” John prompted when the man hesitated.

“Well, there’s all those cases about sexual abuse and women remembering it years later. I wonder if …”

Park trailed off as John stared at him.

“So now you’re accusing Doug of molesting his daughters? I’d be careful who I said that to.”

“Oh, I’m not accusing. I just thought, you know, it shouldn’t be dismissed offhand. Right?”

“Goodbye, Mr. Park. Thank you for your help.”

As John drove away, he tried to calm the adrenaline buzzing through his body. Park didn’t know what he was talking about.

But yet, his mind countered, was it really that unbelievable? Incestuous molestations were a sad fact of life. Plus, he’d seen Doug manhandle Lily once after walking her home. Doug had spewed his accusations about John dealing drugs while ignoring the way Lily had gasped in pain when he’d grabbed her wrist. John had instantly seen red. He’d grabbed the older man’s wrist, forgetting that he was a cop who could have him thrown in jail again. All he’d known was he was hurting Lily. He could’ve hurt Tina, too.

Then there was the fact that Lily resembled her mother, and that she’d had marks on her, faint but still there, when she’d come to his party.

He pulled over, rolled down the window, and took several deep breaths to clear his head. Now he was letting his imagination get away from him. Poor Doug Cantrell was no longer just a murder suspect in his mind, but a sexual abuser, as well.

Rein yourself in, John.

He started driving again, the picture of a happy family in his rearview mirror.

One thing for sure, he wasn’t going to rest easy until he knew for certain The Razor was caught and that nothing—and no one—posed a threat to Lily or her family again.




Chapter 6


John worked like a madman all the next day, hunting down potential video surveillance or witnesses for any of The Razor’s victims, pausing only when his stomach grumbled, calling his attention to the hollow feeling in his gut. He hadn’t eaten anything but the banana and apple he’d grabbed on the way out this morning. He glanced at the clock, surprised that it was almost 6:00 p.m.

He took a break, wolfed down pretzels and a soda from the vending machine, and confirmed the office was virtually deserted. Returning to his desk, he stared at the paperwork covering the surface.

One picture bothered him more than others. Staring at it, he struggled with the frustration of knowing something—he just didn’t know what—was wrong.

In the picture, Tina lay in bed; her arms were by her side with her hands resting near her stomach. Her legs were bent.

Suddenly, it hit him. It looked like someone had stretched an arm under her knees and carried her to the bed. The way a groom would carry his bride over the threshold.

He already knew from the autopsy report that Tina hadn’t died in her bed; that meant her body had been moved there. What if someone had moved her from the hard floor to the soft bed because he’d felt guilty? What if he’d moved her because he’d cared about her?

Under that theory, the positioning of her body actually supported Park’s implication that Doug Cantrell, and not Hardesty, had killed Tina.

He rifled through some boxes until he found what he was looking for. A plastic baggie containing a tape of Doug Cantrell’s 911 call. Walking to a table on the other side of the office, John inserted the tape into a tape player and pressed Play.

First static. Then Cantrell’s voice.

“Help me. My wife and I … my daughter and I …” He sobbed. “My wife … I just found her… . Oh my God, she’s dead.”

John’s stomach spasmed at the gut-wrenching grief in Cantrell’s voice.

“Where are you, sir? Are you safe?”

“Yes, yes. My name is Douglas Cantrell. I’m an officer with Roseville P.D. I just brought my daughter home. My wife and I…?. I mean, we’re divorced… . She’s been murdered. Stabbed. Oh, God.”

“Where is your daughter now? Is she with you?”

“Yes. Lily, come here.”

John tensed but didn’t hear Lily’s voice. No crying. Nothing.

“Lily … she found the body but I can’t get her to respond. She won’t talk. She’s in shock. Oh God, Lily.”

The dispatcher confirmed the address and said officers were on their way. That had been at 12:35 a.m. John had arrived at Lily’s house less than ten minutes later.

Picking up the phone, he called Thorn. “It’s John.”

“Hey, thanks for taking time out of your busy day. Or did Murdoch forget to tell you I stopped by yesterday?”

“No, he told me.”

Silence buzzed in John’s ear as Thorn waited for him to explain. He didn’t say a word.

Thorn sighed. “Look, I know you’re still pissed at me for breaking up with Carmen, but we have to work this case together.”

“I’m not pissed about you and Carmen,” John said, and it was true. Thorn wasn’t a good friend, but he’d become a better one since he’d started dating his sister. Thorn had ended the relationship months ago, but Carmen refused to say why. “She’s hurting but so are you. I’m not blind to that, just to your reasons. If you want to explain, fine.”

When he responded, Thorn’s voice was tight. “I talked to Doug Cantrell.”

“Funny. He’s been dodging all my calls.”

“Not surprised. I am surprised, however, by the fact he thinks you’re a druggie. And that you have a history of harassing his daughter.”

“I didn’t harass her. She slapped me when I tried to comfort her at her mother’s murder scene. She was sixteen. Pissed because I’d rejected her. You have the police report from that night, Thorn. I’m listed on it. You telling me you didn’t see that?”




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