The officer nodded.

Kendra closed the garage door and turned back into the main house. “I’m going upstairs. Do you need to follow me?”

He shook his head. “No, I’ll just stick around to lock up when you leave. Take your time, Dr. Michaels. I’ll be waiting out front.”

“Thanks.”

Kendra climbed the stairs and scanned the home office and two bedrooms. Slightly messy, but nothing out of the ordinary.

She stopped in the hall.

Damn. She hated doing this.

There were few things sadder than walking through the home of a murder victim, photos of happy times never to be recaptured. Monitor screens of e-mails never to be answered. An open book never to be finished.

Just the way it was when Corrine was casually living here the last day she would ever have.

Shit.

Okay, get a grip. Kendra moved down the hall to the master bathroom, where she detected another whiff of that cloying body lotion. This was probably where Corrine rubbed it on, but the scent was still stronger than it should have been with normal use.

Strange …

She scanned the bathroom’s blue pearl granite countertop for the lotion bottle.

There was none.

She turned around and glanced around the bedroom.

Nothing.

Of course. The bottle had been broken. Recently. Perhaps two nights before, as Corrine readied herself for a dinner date?

But had Corrine merely dropped it, or…?

Kendra got down on her knees and felt around the floor of the cabinet’s baseboard. There appeared to be nothing but dust.

She reached around the corner, stretching her fingers between the cabinet and bathtub.

She felt something cold and sharp.

Success!

She pulled out her hand, and with it a single piece of glass between her forefinger and middle finger. She examined the glass. Black letters were visible on its surface, just enough to let her know that she was right about the lotion brand.

Kendra turned back into the bedroom and moved toward the door to the hallway, which had been left open against the room’s corner. She gripped the doorknob and swung the door open.

She inhaled sharply, her gaze looking down at the floor. “Shit.”

A pair of man’s shoe prints were embedded on the rug behind the door.

The impressions were deep and well-defined in the carpet. Someone had obviously been standing in place, hiding behind that open door for an extended period of time.

Not just anyone. Corrine Harvey’s killer.

He’d waited for Corrine to arrive home and come upstairs, where there would be fewer avenues for escape. Kendra could almost see, feel, the malice and heady satisfaction her killer must have been experiencing as he waited. He’d probably had it all planned. He must have felt the excitement of the kill to come as he heard her come up the stairs toward him.

Corrine hadn’t even known he was there.

Kendra felt sick as she imagined the woman passing by that door where her killer waited.

He must have attacked her after she’d walked through to the bathroom. Perhaps the lotion bottle had broken in the struggle.

Might she have gotten it on her clothes?

Kendra moved to a walk-in closet on the other side of the bed. As she opened the door, she was immediately struck by that fresh lotion odor again.

Kendra pushed her face close to the hanging clothes, working her way down. She finally stopped and pulled out a gray long-sleeve T-shirt.

The lotion was smeared and splattered on its front, and the fabric was slightly torn.

Corrine Harvey had been killed in this shirt.

Kendra followed the scent to the clothes folded on a shelf above. She finally found a pair of black Capri slacks, also stained with Jafra Royal Pomegranate lotion. Why would her killer have put her clothing so neatly in this closet? It was bizarre.

She drew a deep breath. The sadness was close to overwhelming as she went through that poor woman’s clothes.

Get over it. Do your job.

Kendra found a plastic shopping bag on the closet floor and placed the clothes inside. If the killer had struggled with Corrine Harvey, there was a chance that he might have left skin cells—and his DNA—on the clothing. It was a long shot, but she had seen cases turn on far less.

Corrine Harvey’s home phone rang on the nightstand beside her bed.

And rang.

And rang.

And rang again.

She assumed it would soon go to Corrine’s voice mail or an answering machine, but after a solid minute, the ringing continued.

She slowly walked toward the bedside table and glanced at the cordless phone’s caller ID display.

She froze.

My God.

The display read: MICHAELS, KENDRA.

The call was from her mobile phone. She braced herself to slowly pick up and press the talk switch. “Yes?”

“You found the clothes.” A whisper, soft, hoarse. She couldn’t be sure if it was male or female. “You found the clothes she was wearing that night. I knew you would.”

Kendra went still. “Who is this?”

“I’ve been watching you, Kendra … What a pleasure. You never disappoint.”

She turned toward the large windows overlooking the backyard. Was he watching her even now? She ducked down and crouched next to the bed.

“Who the hell is this?”

“You’ll find out soon. I can’t tell you how eager I am for us to come together.” His whisper cut through her like a razor.

Her eyes flew around the room again, this time for something, anything, she could use as a weapon.

“Where’s the police officer?” she asked. “He had my phone. What did you do to him?”

The man chuckled. Kendra was sure it was a male voice now. “You should be more concerned about yourself.”

Think of something. Keep him talking.

“What did you do to him?”

“Why do you care?”

“He has nothing to do with this.”

“Really?”

“Yes. It’s all about me and you.”

“I’m glad you see it that way. I wanted to make certain that was absolutely clear.”

“I could hardly miss your intention.” She quietly moved toward the hallway. Surely, she would have heard this psychopath if he’d come upstairs … “Is the officer still alive?”

“For now. Tell me about him, Kendra. Humanize him for me. Maybe if I can look at him as a real-live human being, I won’t discard him like a scrap of meat.”

“Like you did all those other people? Ask him yourself.”

“I’m asking you.”

“I—I only just met him.”

“But that’s not a problem for you. Do what you do, Kendra. Tell me about him. Dazzle me. But I warn you, if you hang up, I will cut this phone line immediately. Then I’ll cut you and this cop. I can’t have you calling for help.”

Where in the hell was this sicko? Outside the house? Waiting for her at the bottom of the stairs? In the next room?

“I’m giving you a chance to save him. Tell me about this police officer.”

Kendra took another step toward the hallway. She froze when the floor creaked beneath her feet. To cover it, she said quickly, “He’s probably a swimmer.”

“Indeed?”

“Yes.” She strained to hear any sound of movement in the house. “Toned arms and shoulders, pronounced back muscles, flat stomach and narrow waist. Not a weight lifter, not a runner, but a swimmer.”

“Interesting.”

“He used to smoke, but not anymore. He has the smoker’s wrinkles around his upper lip, but I could smell no trace of cigarette smoke on him.”

“Excellent.”

“He’s left-handed but writes with his right hand. A parent or teacher probably made him do that as a child.”

“How disturbing.”

“I was tipped off by a writing callus on the side of his right-hand middle finger.”

“Yes, I see it.”

“I’d like to show you my middle finger about now.”

That made him laugh, and she heard his laughter echoing off the walls downstairs. At least now she knew where he was. “I’ll bet you would, Kendra. What else can you tell me?”