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  “What?” she snarled.

  Instead of Feiney’s voice, they both heard the woman scream again, louder this time, more shrill, the sound full of anguish and fear and pain.

  Lea froze. “He lied,” she croaked. “She’s not dead.” Why she was so surprised, she couldn’t say. Unless…he’d killed one woman and this was the second.

  Marc moved, snatching the phone from her and taking it off speaker before putting it to his ear. The screaming had stopped—only silence greeted him. He wasn’t sure if that was better or worse.

  “Feiney?” he rasped. “Leave Lea the hell alone.”

  Again, silence.

  Then Feiney spoke. “You. Tell her this—it’s your last rodeo, sweetheart.”

  In the background, the captive gave a short scream, cut off in the middle. In the ringing silence, Feiney laughed and laughed.

  Hitting the disconnect button, Marc knew Feiney’s victim was dead.

  From the horror frozen on her face, so did Lea.

  “What did he say?” she asked.

  “He repeated that thing about a last rodeo.”

  She blanched. “Trigger words. When he brought someone new to his dungeon, he’d say that right before he killed her in front of me.”

  “He made you watch?”

  She jerked her head in a nod.

  Marc had to clench his hands at his sides to keep from touching her, knowing she wouldn’t welcome that.

  Her rigid posture and the fury he saw burning in her eyes told him she was teetering on the edge.

  “Crap.” Bowing her head, she closed her eyes, muttering something under her breath. A quick prayer, no doubt.

  Watching her, Marc did the same. Only he added a prayer for Lea. If she lived through this, he hoped she’d finally find closure, a sense of peace. For both their sakes. Without examining his own reasons too closely, he wanted her to be healed, whole.

  Then, as he watched, a change came over her. Wearing what he could only describe as her cop face, she raised her head and held his gaze. “Ah, Kenyon?”

  He braced himself. “Yeah?”

  “We gotta get that sick son of a bitch.”

  “I know.” He almost smiled.

  “Here.” Tossing him the remote, Lea rubbed the back of her neck. “It’s been a long day. I’m turning in. There are clean sheets on your bed and fresh towels in the spare bathroom.”

  With that, she turned to go.

  “Good night,” he told her, his voice low. At the quiet sound of Lea’s door closing, he stood and stretched.

  Marc turned up the sound on the TV, and the news anchor was back to talking about the case, venturing speculation about what might have happened to the two missing women. Marc didn’t need to speculate—he knew. He had no doubt Feiney would arrange the body—or bodies, if he killed both girls—as he had in the past. The media would be all over it as soon as they were found. But now, he needed to call this in. The team needed to know that the search and rescue was now a locate and retrieve.

  Again, a sense of his own powerlessness filled Marc, along with its companion emotion, frustration. He and Lea had that in common, at least.

  No longer able to sit still, he got up and paced. Feiney had to be stopped. The sheriff’s office, the Texas Rangers and the FBI were all working on that. The law-enforcement team was doing everything by the book, but he knew they’d ultimately be ineffective. Feiney was killing again, true, but his final goal was Lea. He wanted her. He’d captured her once, against all odds, and she had the dubious honor of being the only one of his victims to survive. Thus his obsession with her. It only made sense. Marc didn’t understand why the Feds couldn’t see it.

  The quickest way to stop Feiney before he killed again would be to arrange to let him find Lea and then take him out before he disappeared with her. This time, they’d make sure and do it right.

  Not like before, when a series of small errors had let Feiney knock her out and take her from the club, all without being noticed. They’d had agents staking out the inside and the front parking lot, but none in the back, where a tiny parking lot contained a huge trash Dumpster and room for only the manager and one or two employees’ cars.

  And Feiney’s as well, apparently.

  After two weeks of fruitless searching, they’d all believed Lea was dead. Only a small miracle involving a dead woman’s cell phone had enabled them to locate her and get to her in time to save her.

  This time he didn’t want to take a chance, so Feiney would have to be brought down. If Marc got a clear shot, he sure as hell was going to take it. He told himself he’d shoot to wound, though a small, deep, dark part of him wondered if that wound might happen to be fatal.

  Since the day she’d stood in court and watched Feiney sentenced to life in prison, Lea had packed up her undercover clothes and put them away. She had not set foot inside a country-and-western bar and in fact, vowed never to do so again, if she could help it.

  The mere sight of a cowboy hat made her shudder, and the thought of wearing Western boots again sent her heart rate skyrocketing and made her palms sweat.

  Living in Texas, this newly developed phobia could have made her life extremely difficult, had she traveled much outside the uptown Dallas neighborhood where she lived. Luckily for her, she no longer had any reason to venture west, toward the neighboring city of Fort Worth. She hoped she never had to again, at least not for a long, long time.

  Yet here she stood, wearing boots and jeans, elbow to elbow with the rowdy crowd in the White Elephant saloon. The bar was crowded and smoky, the music loud. The Fort Worth locale attracted a variety of people, most dressed in Western gear, right down to the large silver belt buckles and cowboy boots. They mingled, danced, talked, drank and laughed, but she couldn’t move. Frozen, all she could see was him.

  Him. Feiney, staring right at her, pure evil radiating from the black, bottomless pools of his eyes.

  Too late she realized he had a knife. He raised his hand, the long blade flashing in the smoky haze. Acting on instinct, she reached for her Glock, only to find her holster missing. Belatedly realizing she was, once again, undercover, wearing jeans and boots and way too much makeup, she leaped sideways.

  Not quickly enough.

  The first cut tore through her arm, deep and painful, shredding skin and muscle. The second sliced through her breast. She fell to her knees, slipping in her own blood. The pain burning so sharply, so intensely, she knew he’d finally won. This time though, she wanted him to kill her. If she had to, she’d force him to slit her throat. She’d rather die than let him take her back to that room, to keep her prisoner. She bared her throat, waiting for the final slash that would take her life….

  Gasping for air, Lea woke to the sound of her own scream. Shaking, covered in a damp layer of perspiration. A dream. It had only been a nightmare. Of course.

  Her bedroom door opened, the flare of the hall light making her squint. She tensed as Marc stepped inside.

  “Are you all right?” He sounded concerned. “I heard you scream and…”

  “Bad dream,” she muttered, suddenly, overwhelmingly conscious of him. Half-naked, wearing only boxer shorts, his tanned and muscular chest gleamed in the hall light. He looked sexy as hell—too damn desirable for her peace of mind.

  And this—him coming to comfort her after a nightmare—felt way too clichéd, like a badly written romance novel.

  “Do you need anything?” He took another step into her room, closer to the bed, closer to her.

  Suddenly, she was on fire for him. Shocked, she could only shake her head no. She wanted to burrow down under the covers and analyze her sudden need, nearly as intense as the pain in her dream. This was a first—the first time she’d been tempted to use sex to chase away the nightmares.

  The first time she’d even thought about sex since Feiney.

  “Lea?” He moved closer. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Her sense of irony kicked in. This was far too melodram
atic. Woman has bad dream, man shows up to comfort her and they end up making mad, passionate love.

  Not her, not them. She might be many things—foolish and intelligent, strong and scared, trying like hell to be normal. But the one thing she would never be was formulaic.

  So, despite her completely inappropriate desire, she croaked out a quick, “No, thanks.”

  As if he knew his effect on her, the handsome SOB inclined his shaggy blond head. “Are you sure?”

  “Sure?” At least she had her favorite ratty old T-shirt on, not some silky scrap of do-me-please material. Even as she slid down under the covers, pulling the sheet up over her throat, she lifted her chin. She might be grappling with a few issues, but she was not a coward.

  “You know, I’d sort of started to wonder when you were going to get around to this,” she sniped. “With your reputation and all, plus that kiss earlier.”

  “Get around to what? And what do you mean, my reputation?”

  Though she had to struggle, she summoned a mocking smile. “You know. Bad boy of the sheriff’s office. You’re proving them right by coming on to me, you know.” With Marc’s good looks, women—from clerical to officers—threw themselves at him. And being male, Marc had taken advantage of the bounty so freely offered. He never allowed things to get too serious. Why, she had no idea. But if a girl wanted a good time, Marc was the go-to guy. Even Lea would have been tempted once.

  She couldn’t be certain in the shadowy light, but what looked like surprise flashed in his eyes. “Coming on to you? Give me a break. Worrying about my partner when she screams out in the middle of the night is bad?”

  “You know what I mean,” she accused.

  Slowly, he shook his head.

  She felt the sting of embarrassment, but held her ground. Maybe the attraction she felt zinging between them was just a figment of her imagination. All for the better, right?

  He cleared his throat. “You don’t need anything, then?”

  “No.” Feeling faintly guilty, she sighed, realizing that maybe, just maybe, she’d judged wrong. “Nothing. Thanks for asking.”

  She thought that was a clear dismissal, but he didn’t move. Instead, he stood over her, looking down at her. She felt his gaze burn as if he’d touched her. Heat again flooded her and she wanted to squirm.

  “I’m fine,” she repeated.

  “No, you’re not.” The mattress dipped as he sat down on the edge of her bed. Too close for comfort. Suddenly, she couldn’t stop thinking about that kiss earlier. That knock-your-socks-off, too-good-to-be-true kiss.

  Another shocker—she still wanted him. Again. With twice as much intensity as before. All she had to do was reach out her hand and…

  Hell. No.

  “You’d better leave,” she choked out. “Seriously.”

  Ignoring her, he leaned closer, sending her traitorous heart into pitter-patter double-time. Payback?

  “You should go.” She crossed her arms, a classic defensive posture. “So help me, I won’t be responsible for my actions if you come up with some cheesy reason why we should make out.”

  “Make out?” He blinked, then grinned, white teeth flashing in the dim light. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Cordasic. We’re partners. Partners don’t do that to each other.”

  “Oh.” She refused to feel small. “Then why are you still here?”

  “I couldn’t sleep and, when I heard you call out, I knew you weren’t going to be sleeping again anytime soon. Unless you want to go right back to dreamland?”

  He had a point. Grudgingly, she motioned him to continue.

  “I’ve been thinking about Feiney. We need to ramp things up.”

  “No kidding.”

  “We’ve got to figure out a way to piss him off, to make him so angry that he makes a mistake.”

  Earlier discomfort forgotten, she uncrossed her arms. “Any ideas?”

  “Not yet. But I think we need to rethink our original plan. Sending you back undercover won’t accomplish anything.”

  “What?” She sat up so fast the covers fell to her waist. “Why not?”

  “Too dangerous, for one thing. Wait.” He held up his hand when she started to interrupt. “We’ve got to take precautions. I want to make sure there’s zero chance of Feiney grabbing you.”

  “Look, Kenyon. I appreciate you trying to be noble and all. I had a bad dream, but so what? I bet lots of cops have nightmares. I know I did, even before Feiney.”

  “I’m not trying to be noble, for goodness’ sake. Though I will say this—I saw what happened to you earlier when Feiney started messing with you. Obviously, what you went through at his hands still has you seriously messed up.”

  “Thanks for the psychoanalysis. But I’m okay. Really.” Lifting her chin, she dared him to argue.

  “There’s no shame in having difficulty because of what he did to you.” His deep voice softened, becoming vaguely sensual, making her shiver. “But to set yourself up for it again—that’s crazy. I know you want him caught, but no one could live through that twice with their sanity intact.”

  Because he was right, she let that one go. Instead, she pointed out what to her seemed obvious. “If we don’t get out there in the places he’s haunting, how else are we going to force him to make a move?”

  “I still think you should consider going to Vegas.”

  “And spend the rest of my life running? I’m a lot of things, but I’m no coward. Come on, do we have to endlessly rehash this?” She huffed indignantly. “It hasn’t even been twenty-four hours since we agreed to be partners. So can the concern. I’m not going to Vegas. I’m staying here. Don’t worry—I’m fine.”

  “What about the dreams?”

  “None of your business,” she shot back.

  “Partners,” he reminded her.

  Damn. If he hadn’t walked in on the tail end of one, she’d have been half tempted to lie and tell him the nightmares had stopped a long time ago. But then again, she knew she couldn’t. Partners told each other the truth, always and without exception. If you couldn’t trust your partner, you could end up dead.

  Or worse… She suppressed a shudder.

  “Low blow,” she said, then immediately regretted it. “I’m sorry. Yeah, I still have nightmares.” She managed a casual shrug. “You never know. Maybe facing Feiney again will help me deal with them.”

  “Or make them worse.”

  Annoyance radiated through her. “Don’t do that to me,” she retorted. “I need a glass-half-full kind of partner, always looking on the bright side of things. The way you are with everyone else.”

  Again the wry smile, a flash of white teeth in the dim light. “Been watching me?”

  She groaned out loud and lobbed her pillow at him. “I dug out my old undercover Western outfits earlier today. Tomorrow I’ll start haunting bars over in the Stockyards and Sundance Square. Sooner or later, Feiney will show up again and we’ll get him.”

  Marc rolled his eyes. “That’s exactly what the team is doing. I don’t think he’s going to go for it. Not this time. He’s too shrewd.” He muttered under his breath. “He’ll be onto them like fleas on a dog. It’s not gonna be that easy. Feiney will need more of a challenge.”

  “You never know,” she began, then stopped because he was right. It wouldn’t be easy. Catching the bad guys never was. And when you had a serial killer of this magnitude with nothing to lose… ’Nuff said.

  “Then toss out some alternative suggestions,” she insisted. “I’m open to discussion. Since you don’t think it’s a good idea for me to start hanging out in the country-and-western bars, what do you propose to do?” She sighed impatiently. “He’s not going to break in here and try to grab me. That’s not his style.”

  “I think he’ll abandon his style if we make him angry enough.”

  “How do you propose we do that?” She moved restlessly under the covers, shocked by how badly she wanted to touch him still, even if only to shove him antagonistically. Accord
ing to her shrink, getting physical with anyone in any way at all would be a breakthrough. From frozen to this. She wasn’t sure which was worse.

  “We need to learn more about him,” Marc said, “find out what makes him tick. The next time he calls, talk to him like he’s your friend. Find out what’s driving him.”

  She couldn’t suppress a shudder of revulsion. “I can tell you what’s driving him. He becomes aroused by blood and death. The power of killing a woman while raping her is his biggest turn-on.”

  “Then we need to offer him the ultimate turn-on. Come up with something, some scenario that he can’t resist.”

  It was mind-boggling that they were having this discussion in her bedroom in the middle of the night and it didn’t appear to bother him.

  “How would we know what that is?” Lea asked.

  “That’s what we have to find out. For whatever reason, he wants you back. What we don’t know is why.”

  “Probably because I’m the only one that got away.”

  “That may be true, but I think there’s more to it than just that. He has feelings for you, Lea. We need to tap into those emotions and use them to draw him to us.” He dragged his hand through his already unruly hair. “We need to let Feiney himself tell us what he wants.”

  “And then?”

  “Then we give it to him.”

  Chapter 6

  Instinctively, Lea supposed she knew what Feiney wanted from her, but her mind shied away from the idea. “He’s given me enough hints,” she said, silently cursing her hesitation. “I think he wants some sort of…relationship.”

  The word, once said, made her want to gag.

  Marc said nothing, just continued to watch her.

  “He’s made several comments along those lines. He’s been watching me… I belong to him—stuff like that.”

  “How do you feel about that?” he asked, his voice gentle.

  She laughed, a bitter hollow sound that was its own answer. “Look, Kenyon. I’d really like for you to quit asking me how I feel about things and help me concentrate on getting the job done.” Her voice turned to steel. “I’m done hanging back. He’s already killed three girls, and now maybe two more. That’s got to stop. Since he wants me, I need to make myself available.”