12

Though he wanted to, Dean wasn’t able to get back to Hope Valley until early Tuesday evening.

Amber Torrington’s brutal murder had debuted at Satan’s Playground Monday morning. And her body-in two pieces-had been discovered later that afternoon.

The team had known someone was going to die. They knew why. They’d had a rough idea who. A broad picture of where. And they’d regrettably known how.

Yet they hadn’t been able to do a damn thing to stop it from happening.

He had no business leaving D.C. Having spent most of yesterday and today in the woods of southern Pennsylvania, where the body had been found, he’d returned to the office to see whether Lily or Brandon was getting anywhere with the security tape. That they hadn’t had any luck provided him with a good reason to head back to Hope Valley. If they were truly working under the assumption that the man was at least familiar with the area, they needed somebody who might recognize him to watch the tape.

Stacey.

It was the only video he was going to ask her to watch. Because what that sick fuck had done to Amber Torrington had made him puke for the first time since he’d been on this case.

Beheading, it seemed, was not as easy as it appeared on video games and movies. The fiend had had to work at it. Hard.

Arriving on the outskirts of town, he headed for the sheriff’s office. Considering he hadn’t spoken to Stacey at all since he’d left her place Saturday night, he wasn’t sure what kind of reception he’d get. Not that he hadn’t wanted to; he’d just been run ragged. He’d conducted interviews, overseen evidence collection from both scenes, talked to nearly every employee in the mall. Somewhere in there, he could have made a cell phone call to Stacey, but there was too much to say in a phone conversation.

She’s a cop. She’ll understand.

She was not like his ex, who’d wanted hourly reports on when he’d be home for dinner and had occasionally dumped said dinner onto his chair when he didn’t make it. As if Dean should have been able to dictate when evidence could be discovered or violent criminals could be arrested.

When he reached the office, though, he learned Stacey wasn’t there.

“Sorry, Agent Taggert,” said the same older, big-haired receptionist. “She’s out at the range doing some target shooting. Lots of them have been going out there the past couple of days.”

Oh, great. If Stacey was brushing up on her marksmanship, that obviously meant she thought she might have to use a weapon sometime soon. Something he knew would not make her happy.

“Thanks,” he said after getting directions.

After a quick drive, he arrived at the range. That was probably an exaggerated name for the actual facility, not much more than an old farm with a dirt berm bullet stop and some shot-out weathered plywood to hang targets on. The parking lot was choked with weeds, and potholed down to bare dirt in places, showing a general lack of use that confirmed what he’d figured: Stacey and her deputies didn’t use this place very often. Until now, when he and his team had brought news of Lisa Zimmerman’s murder to their quiet world.

He spotted her at once. Parking and cutting the engine, he sat in the driver’s seat and watched. He leaned forward, dropping his crossed arms on the steering wheel, a slow smile widening his mouth.

Because, damn, she was hot.

Wearing hearing protection, she hadn’t noticed his arrival. She stood alone, a few yards from his car, clothed in jeans and a bright pink tank top.

He’d seen her in her uniform. He’d seen her in her underwear. He’d seen her naked. He’d just never seen her dressed down. And the woman did some amazing things for a pair of jeans and a clingy top.

Her legs were slightly spread, arms extended straight out, shoulder height. The left hand cupped her other wrist, beneath the gun, for support, and the right flowed seamlessly into her Glock as if it were an extension of her own limb. As he exited the car, she grouped seventeen rounds through the center of a paper suspect’s chest. From twenty-five yards. In under twenty seconds.

Repeat: hot.

Knowing better than to sneak up behind an armed person who wouldn’t hear his approach, he leaned against the hood of his car, his arms crossed, watching. She was empty and had to change clips, which was when she caught sight of him. Her eyes widened in surprise, and a quick, spontaneous smile broadened her mouth.

Despite the past couple of days, and his own bone-deep weariness, he somehow found a smile of his own and returned it.

“Hi,” she said as she walked over, holstering the nine-millimeter. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“I hope the target practice wasn’t on my account,” he said with an apologetic shrug. “I’m sorry I haven’t called.”

“Don’t worry. I don’t shoot guys who don’t call back. Leave the toilet seat up, however, and all bets are off.”

“Noted.”

The smile flashed again, brilliant and honest and so good after all the darkness that he wanted to just lose himself in it. In her.

Yes, they had a lot to talk about regarding the case. He wanted to know if she was okay, if she’d gotten over the nightmare someone had left on her porch. But what he most wanted was to get her alone and make love to her the way he’d planned to Saturday night.

The urge to tug her against him and kiss her overwhelmed him, but he resisted. They were out in public, in a spot where her deputies came for target practice and could pull up at any time. No way would he put her in the position of being disrespected by one of her subordinates.

When he got her alone in private again, though… well, as she’d said, all bets were off.

“You okay?” she asked. “I saw on the news that the body had been found.”

So much for a tender reunion. She was already back into the case. Exactly as he’d expect her to be. “Yeah. It was a rough scene.”

“In Pennsylvania?”

“Right over the state line. Talk about jurisdictional nightmares. But you might be able to help.”

She nodded immediately.

“We’ve got surveillance tape from the mall where the victim was snatched. There’s a good chance the unsub was stalking her, memorizing her movements and her schedule.”

“You want me to watch the tapes? See if there’s anyone who might have had a connection with Lisa on there?”

“I know it’s a lot to ask. We’re talking hours and hours.”

“Of course. I’ll start right away.”

He nodded in appreciation, though he’d had no doubt she would do it. Seeing her wipe a sheen of sweat off her brow, he said, “The car’s still cool. Want to sit?”

She was one step ahead of him, already opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. Before Dean had even started the engine, she reached for the air-conditioner controls, adjusting a vent to blow cold air directly on her face. She sighed in pleasure as the AC blew tendrils of her hair loose.

Since they were inside the closed car, he risked personal contact, knowing he had to touch her or lose his mind. He reached over, brushing his fingertips over the sensitive spot where her shoulder met her neck.

She turned into his hand, rubbing her cheek against his palm. That was all. The touch was simple, nonsex ual, yet loaded with personal connection. It pleasured him the way even an embrace with any other woman wouldn’t have.

Which said a lot about how much she’d been on his mind in the past few days. How much they’d been on his mind, as crazy and impossible as it was.

“Are you going to be in town for a while?”

He shook his head. “I have to be back in the office tomorrow morning. And tomorrow evening I get to spend time with my son.”

She nodded.

“But D.C.’s not that far a drive,” he said with a slight smile. “I could see myself commuting in the morning.”