“Let me make a couple of calls and then we’ll go,” she said. “I need to let the DA’s office know about Rob so they can wake up a judge and get us a warrant.”

He gave her fifteen minutes to make her calls. Then, as the sun rose and morning spilled through the windows, he took her by the arm and led her toward the exit.

“Sheriff?” the deputy at the front desk said.

“What is it, Frank?”

“I got a call a few minutes ago from Mrs. Covey.”

Dean tensed. Hours ago, he’d been convinced Randy Covey was the brutal killer who stalked Satan’s Playground. Now, even though he knew better, his head still pounded when he heard the name.

“Is there any word on Randy’s condition?” she asked.

“He’s unconscious, but it sounds like he’ll pull through. She said she’s been unable to reach Seth. I guess he was out when Mrs. Covey was notified, and she raced away, leaving him a note. He hasn’t responded or shown up at the hospital. Now she’s worrying herself into fits about him, too.”

From the way she had talked about Randy’s mother, Dean knew Stacey didn’t like the woman. But sympathy for a mother’s fear made her nod in understanding. “I’ll swing by their place, make sure he’s okay, then let him know about his dad.”

“Now?” He glanced at his watch. “He’s a twenty-year-old kid, and it’s not even seven a.m. He’s probably dead-to-the-world asleep.”

“If the situation weren’t urgent, I’d do it later. But Randy is in bad shape. If something had happened to my father, I’d want to know.”

Being close to his own father, he completely understood the reasoning.

“Besides, I like Frank and would rather spare him any more frenzied calls from Mrs. Covey. And it’s the least I can do, given what we thought.”

He dropped a hand on her shoulder. “We thought that for very good reasons.”

“I know.”

They walked to the squad car, and Dean rode shotgun. He’d left his agency car at her father’s house. Since Stacey was going right by it to visit the Coveys, he’d asked her to drop him off so he could retrieve it.

When they got there, he turned to her. “Go home and sleep.”

“I’ll try.”

He reached for the door handle, then turned back with a frown. “Don’t spend a lot of time at Covey’s. You need to rest.”

She put her hand up and made an old scout’s-honor sign. “Promise.”

Kissing her again, he got out and went to his car. As she turned around to drive straight out the long driveway and he followed, he couldn’t tear his attention off the back of her head. He watched the weary droop and noted the tangle of her long hair.

He was worried. Well, he’d been worried for days, but this was something else. His cop’s sixth sense tingled, telling him something was off. Something was happening that he didn’t know about.

He almost followed her when she pulled into the next driveway, but didn’t want to come off as nutty and overprotective. She’d proved more than once that she could handle herself. Could she ever.

Tapping the horn, he waved and kept driving toward town. “Thirty minutes,” he told himself, watching in the rearview mirror as her car drove up the long, hilly driveway to the Coveys’. He’d give her a half hour; then he’d call to make sure she was home.

Because he had the feeling he wouldn’t be able to catch one minute of sleep until he knew she was okay.

Stacey watched Dean slow as she turned off the road, and waved him on. She knew he was worried; he’d been as shaken up by that filth Rob Monroe as she had. Later, when she had time, she looked forward to cleaning her home thoroughly, eradicating every trace of the vile man. But she had one more task to fulfill before she could, for at least a couple of hours, give in to her bone-deep weariness.

The Covey house sat at the top of the hill, and as she crested it, she saw Seth’s truck parked outside. Wondering if he had just missed his grandmother’s note and gone to bed when he’d gotten back home last night, she found a last bit of energy to jog up the front steps of the two-story farmhouse and knock. And knock. And then to pound.

No answer.

Stepping across the creaky wooden planks of the porch, she reached a window, cupped her hands, and peered inside. The living room looked the same as it had since she was a kid. Plastic on the furniture. An old-fashioned upright piano, untouched and unplayed. Fussy and protected and cold, just like Alice Covey.

She returned to the door, knocked again, then walked to the opposite side and looked into the kitchen window. She’d just about decided to give up when she saw movement. A door inside the kitchen was pushed open a few inches, a skeletal hand appearing around the edge of it.

“Seth!” she called, rapping on the glass.

Seth stumbled out from behind that door, shock widening his eyes. His naturally pale face grew one shade paler, which emphasized the harsh red acne scars on his cheeks.

He met her stare through the glass, looking terrified. Jeez, if he was this startled, the kid must have been coming up from his room anyway, not having heard her knock.

“Sorry,” she said, speaking loudly. “I need to talk to you. Open up.”

His eyes shifted. He was thinking about it. Frozen with indecision.

Which was when she realized how wrong this whole situation felt.

She took a step back from the window. Staring straight ahead, she saw the smear her own face had made on the glass. Saw Seth’s dark form move around the kitchen, heading past the window toward the front door. Saw that he was dressed in black from neck to toe, despite the earliness of the hour.

Her heart began to thud, tripping in an unexpected rhythm. Her pulse followed suit, surging through her, really waking her up for what felt like the first time in hours. Her body had gone into instant readiness even though her brain hadn’t yet caught up and told her precisely why.

The front door opened a crack. Forcing herself to stay calm, she stepped over.

“What do you want?” Seth asked, his voice gravelly and filled with sleep.

“I need to talk to you. It’s about your dad.”

He stared, his eyes shifting. Glancing down, he spotted the blood on her khaki uniform pants, which she’d been wearing for twenty-four hours, and his mouth fell open.

“Oh, no, that’s…” She almost said, That’s not his blood, but caught herself in time. “Your dad was involved in an accident, but it looks like he’s going to pull through.”

Silence.

“Seth? Did you hear me?”

“My grandmother left me a note,” he mumbled.

“Yes. She called the station this morning because she hadn’t heard from you.”

Another quick shift of the eyes. Then an explanation. “She didn’t leave any number. I figured she wouldn’t be able to answer her cell phone inside a hospital.”

Plausible. Maybe. But still, how weird that Randy’s only son wouldn’t have gone right down to see his dad.

“Okay. Well, please do give your grandmother a call.” She told the young man the name of the hospital, suggesting he write it down.

“I’ll remember.” He began to push the door closed.

Stacey reached out and touched him before he could shut it all the way. “Seth, is everything okay?”

His brow pulled down over his eyes and he glared at her hand, visible anger appearing, as quick as it was shocking. “Don’t touch me.” He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his thin neck. “You… you’re dirty.”

She let go immediately, seeing the stains on her blouse. Yes, she was a mess. But dirty? He’d said the word with such revulsion.

“I’d better go call Grandmother.”

She nodded once, then watched as he shut the door in her face. The loud click of the lock cordially invited her to get the hell off his porch.

Shaking her head in pure confusion, she did so. For some reason, though, as she walked down the steps she found herself unable to face forward; she kept her head turned and edged down sideways.