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  All she visualized for months was blurred bits of the victims’ last moments. Sometimes, she’d get lucky and actually see. “I know that for you to get a glimpse of something—anything—helpful is the ultimate payoff. But there have been too many times when you don’t get anything useful, only the bad. I want you to try to focus on what you see with your eyes, what your instinct tells you, what the people say, and what you can uncover without your extra sensory sight.”

  She frowned. “You know that the best images I get are from touching. I won’t have the same clear view after that first connection. Initial contact with something belonging to the victim is the biggest break we can get. Things become hazy, unfocused, and mangled after that. I will do my best, but if I have to touch…I will.”

  Shutting the manila folder, and with it the torturous vision of the woman’s corpse, she got up to go. At the same time, Brock stood, towering over her. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “No heroics, Erica. I need you mentally and emotionally stable to work this case. Don’t overdo it. Don’t touch things if you’re not ready to see.”

  “I’ll be fine. Stop worrying, Brock.” She smiled, her vision straying outside past the glass door. Buchanan sat on the edge of Donovan’s desk. The way he looked at her, so possessive and dark, fired more than her interest. If she wasn’t careful this case would turn into her biggest fight against her body and its desires.

  Brock leaned down by her ear, and her heart leapt when Buchanan clenched his jaw. “Don’t let him get the best of you. He’s a good guy, but if you need me to handle him just let me know.”

  She knew how intimate the moment appeared to Buchanan and added her own bit of fire into the mix by smiling at Brock. “Don’t worry, I can handle him.”

  She left Brock’s office a mass of nerves. Her stress had just gone from hair-falling-out to won’t-be-getting-any-sleep level in the blink of an eye.

  * * *

  “Okay, so explain to me again where we’re going first?” Ramirez’s voice floated from the backseat of the Jeep.

  Erica twisted her long hair into a sloppy bun at the top of her head and groaned. God, the humidity up here was horrible. And she probably looked like Medusa. She grabbed a water bottle from the cup holder and took a long gulp. It was the end of July, and a heat wave had taken over the northeast. Her tank top was stuck uncomfortably to her back. Heat and humidity were not her friends. Not to mention the mosquitoes. Already they’d encountered a large number of the annoying little bugs. She hated bugs. She hated anything that crawled and had more than two feet, or worse, no feet. She shuddered just visualizing them.

  “To see the body,” Buchanan replied. “Per Brock’s orders that’s stop number one.”

  Erica peeked at Buchanan’s smiling profile from behind her sunglasses. All dressed in black, he looked like a super hot Navy Seal. The T-shirt did nothing to cover the bulging muscles that rippled whenever he gripped the wheel. His short, spiky hair and five o’clock shadow made him look oh-so fine. And the reflective sunglasses added to his sexy, bad-boy allure. Goddamn it, she needed to get laid! Pronto, or she’d start seeing Buchanan as more than a Casanova and more like a possible candidate to end her sexual hiatus.

  Her mind started to wander. What was it that made Buchanan special to their team? He did have a military background, but there was a restrained wildness about him that made her keep him at a distance. Not because she couldn’t handle it, but because she knew that she’d probably enjoy it way too much. It was dangerous for her emotions and for her hormones. He was hot, and she could only fight them for so long. She wondered what he was. Was he a warlock? An empath? Or maybe he had some other ability… She’d always worked with Brock one-on-one, so she hadn’t seen Buchanan in action before now.

  Buchanan turned his face toward her and smiled the sexy smile that made her entire body throb. It made her want to lick and suck at the little scar on his lip.

  “Like what you see, Villa? I can give you a private show later. Just you and me, baby.” His deep voice promised so much pleasure that it took a moment for her brain to process the actual words.

  She blinked. He’d caught her staring at him. Of all the stupid things for her to do. “Actually, I was wondering if it was possible for you to actually have a brain inside that skull. You know what they say; the bigger the brawn, the smaller the brain.”

  He smiled, unperturbed. “Trust me, Villa. My brain is big enough to amaze any woman who sees it. In fact, the last time one saw it she called me a god.”

  The tone of his voice sounded deeper than before. She was practically panting over his rough timbre. It took her a second to realize what he’d said. Pangs of jealousy hit her low in the gut. She lost her smile at the thought of him with another woman and turned away. Her mind was a muddled mess over how much she hated the thought of him with someone else. She’d let her guard down too much with him, and it surprised her. Looking out her window, she focused on the passing trees. “Ramirez, what do we know about our victim?”

  Along with the hum of the air conditioner, Ramirez’s soft Latin voice filled the inside of the Jeep. “Lisa Summers was a freshman at Ithaca. She lived in a small town not far from the school. Her family resides in New York City. She was from a very sheltered home and was not even allowed to have a sleepover. Apparently it took her almost a year to convince her parents to let her go away to school. She’d wanted overseas. They wanted down the street. Both compromised with out of town but same state.”

  Erica nodded absently. “What about boyfriends? Friends? Exes?”

  “No current boyfriends. She did have a lot of friends. She was a very popular girl and went out a lot. I guess she decided that her sheltered lifestyle was over the minute she left home.”

  Erica shook her head. The poor girl hadn’t realized that danger could also lurk in this quiet, small town. “Have the friends been interviewed by the police? Do they know anything useful to help give us a clue where to look first?”

  “Some of her friends have been. It seems most of the kids have rich parents, and as soon as word got out, no one wanted to say any more without a lawyer present.”

  She cursed under her breath. “Do we at least have any idea who was the last person to see her alive?”

  “Yes. It was her best friend, Gia Matthews. She said they had parted ways after their last class. Normally they would head home together, since they lived in the same building, but the friend had a date and Lisa went home on her own. Apparently, Lisa didn’t have any plans to go out that evening and was planning to study for an upcoming exam.”

  Erica watched as they turned onto a main street. The trees along the street gave way to some shops, a post office, a couple of family restaurants, and a police station. Each one looking older than the last; the structures appeared to have been built in the earlier part of the last century. The store next to the police station had peeled paint, rusted metal bars, and windows that looked like some she’d seen on the History Channel. Buchanan stopped in front of the small police station. A lone car sat outside the square-looking building. She jumped out of the Jeep, and wiped her sweaty palms on the back of her khaki shorts.

  She winced when steamy heat hit her in the face. Beads of sweat gathered on her upper lip and the back of her neck, and dripped down her temples. She strolled toward the entrance to the single-story building with a lone thought: It was absolutely necessary for her to keep her mind focused solely on the case. She scanned the outside of the building. Looking more like a general store than a secure location to question criminals, the station was small with a wide-open entrance.

  Inside, she went straight up to the wooden counter, where papers and files littered the scarred old surface. Buchanan and Ramirez followed behind her. A short, pot-bellied older man with a long beard and thick mustache stood when he saw her enter. His brown uniform shirt wrinkled against his heavy frame, and his bald-head showed off his liver spots.

  The old man peered at Erica from under heavy gray brows, his pier
cing gaze moving to Buchanan and, after a moment, finally landing on Ramirez.

  “Can I help you?”

  “Yes.” She pulled up the ID badge that hung from her neck on a silver chain, flicked it open, displaying her photo and agency details. “I’m Agent Villa, Federal Bureau of Investigation. These are my colleagues: Agents Ramirez and Buchanan. We’re here to see Lisa Summers’s body, Mister…”

  “Deputy Owens, Carl Owens. Welcome to Shady Oaks,” he replied and shook the hand she offered. A grin spread across his wrinkled face.

  “Could you please show us Ms. Summers’s body, Deputy Owens?”

  Deputy Owens nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

  He glanced down at the counter, shuffled papers, and placed them into folders. “We’ve had a few out-of-town reporters wanting to see the body, so I’ve had to stay here and guard it until you all came along. We put it in the morgue. You’ll have to forgive us, but this is the first murder in our town in over fifty years. The morgue is a really small room.”

  He walked to the end of the counter, opened a door, and allowed them into his side of the room. With each step he took the heavy key ring jingled, reminding Erica of a bag of coins being shaken. The three of them followed the deputy down the hall until he stopped in front of a large metal door. Cool air seeped out from underneath it.

  “You’re sure you want to see this ma’am? It’s a mighty nasty sight.”

  Erica nodded. “I’m sure, Deputy Owens. Go ahead and let us inside.”

  He opened the door, and Erica walked into a cold, windowless storage room. It was no bigger than a twelve-foot by twelve-foot cell. As soon as she stepped inside, the stench of rotting flesh surrounded her, digging into her lungs and making her scrunch her face in distaste. In the middle of the room sat a metal table with the body, covered by a white sheet.

  Buchanan strode up to the small, wheeled cart next to the body, pulled on some gloves, and opened a jar of odor-perception inhibitor. He grabbed the jar, held it away from his nose, and then he clutched a second pair of gloves, bringing both over to her. Still fighting the urge to gag, she put the gloves on and patted a finger full of the paste under her nostrils, masking some of the rotting body stench.

  “Don’t you need any?”

  Buchanan shook his head and made a face showing his distaste. “That stuff stinks.”

  Her jaw dropped. “The body stinks more.”

  “I can handle the body.”

  She shrugged. With both hands to her sides, she walked up to the table where the body lay.

  Ramirez dragged the sheet back. Erica’s stomach clenched and she was glad she’d forgone breakfast. She swallowed, pushing down the urge to vomit. The victim, Lisa, had been strangled. She had also been stabbed, beaten, and mutilated. The word “Bitch” was carved into her stomach.

  Ramirez whistled under his breath. “Jesus. Talk about anger. That is some fucked-up shit right there. That girl is way more than dead. She’s an example. Somebody wanted her in pain. More pain than what I see in most victims.”

  Buchanan started sniffing, and Erica raised her brows.

  “Are you ok?”

  He sneezed. “Bleach. This body was thoroughly cleaned before it was dumped.”

  She inhaled, but all she got was the scent of the inhibitor under her nose. “How can you tell?”

  He scrunched his nose, turned back to her, and took a step back. “Trust me, I can tell. So what’s your first impression, Villa?”

  “She was so young.”

  She said the words softly while glancing at the girl. The victim’s face and body were a large map of bruises.

  “The cuts on the body appear to have been made with a scalpel. I’m not sure about determining this person to be in the medical profession because the pre-mortem lines are jagged.” She leaned over the body and studied the wounds with more intensity. Buchannan and Ramirez walked up and did the same. She glanced up and saw them frown, as if they were trying to figure out what she saw.

  “If you look closely,” she pointed a gloved finger toward some of the wounds, “you will notice that the killer started out with smooth lines, but something got the best of him. As if he wanted to hurry up and finish the cutting…”

  “What? Like he was excited and wanted to see the words carved so he rushed through the job? Or like he was nervous because he was doing something he shouldn’t be?” Ramirez picked up one of the surgical instruments and studied it with interest.

  “I’m not sure,” she whispered. She continued to study the cuts, each one more horrific than the last. Instinct and something inside told her this wasn’t going to be the only one. And she was definitely an example.

  Yes, an example to others. Erica continued to stare at the body. Her attention was on the young girl’s face. She moved around the table, taking in the body from a different angle. Her heart beat in loud thuds in her chest. Curling her nails into her palms, she approached her victim’s face. She tuned out Ramirez and Buchanan and focused on the girl. So young. Alone. Scared.

  Irritation mounted at her lack of focus. She took a deep breath and examined the girl’s lifeless features. Colorful bruises marred her cheeks. He beat her because she fought. There are bruises on her knuckles. She didn’t just die; she’d fought to live, and he’d enjoyed the kill. Erica closed her eyes and got a glimpse into a room. Dark. Angry. Fear crawled up her spine when a voice whispered into her ear. “You will regret your choice.”

  “Can you guys give me a moment to analyze this body? I just think better alone.”

  Buchanan eyed her warily while Ramirez nodded. The soft click of the door made her heartbeat accelerate. She turned in a circle to make sure she was alone.

  “Ok, Lisa…”

  She gulped and stared at the body. Cold shivers racked her. She hated this part but knew it was necessary. Her best and clearest images came from touching the body itself and picking up on residual energy victims left behind.

  She walked around the table and stopped by Lisa’s arm. Her lungs fought to get air in. She grabbed hold of Lisa’s cold hand between hers and gasped.

  The victim’s heart-wrenching scream filled her ears. Pain, sorrow, and despair all flooded her mind. The movie-like images made her breath catch. It showed her the minute the girl had realized her plight. These were Lisa’s final moments. She couldn’t breathe or move. Darkness surrounded her, and the scent of wood invaded her senses. Lisa’s heart beat so fast she thought she was having a panic attack.

  She was in a box, a coffin. Panicked screams tore from her throat, and her hands beat at the wood. She’d been buried alive. Terror, raw and nerve-wracking, filled her mind when she realized she was going to die.

  Erica jerked to the present with so much force she fell to her knees. Her body shook. She gulped, trying to catch her breath and still feeling as though she couldn’t breathe. The panic Lisa had felt was still thick and heavy inside her. Tears filled her eyes. It hurt to see someone suffering the way Lisa had been.

  Moments later she was standing by the body making notes. She continued to visualize how Lisa had gotten each of her wounds.

  The door opened and Buchanan and Ramirez walked back inside.

  “Hey, Villa. Did you forget we were out there? Damn it’s hot.” Ramirez wiped his brow.

  She went back to studying Lisa’s body. The longer she stared at the wounds, the more it hurt her to breathe.

  Buchanan’s voice broke through her connection. “Villa? Are you alright?”

  Erica jerked sideways, until she was facing away from the girl, and gulped a breath. When she turned to face Buchanan and Ramirez, both men were watching her. She’d never been with anyone other than Brock when she connected with the victim. “Fine. I’m fine. Let’s go to her apartment. We really need to get moving on this case.”

  Before more bodies turned up.

  “You sure you’re alright, Villa?” Buchanan asked once they were back inside the Jeep and headed to the victim’s apartment.

  She
needed to think. She’d already written down the glimpse into the dark room along with the quick flash of struggle she’d seen. It wasn’t enough. More information was needed in order to get a better, much more detailed description of the killer. There was only one way to achieve that.

  “Buchanan, just because I saw a dead body doesn’t make me a weakling. Stop looking so scared. It’s not like I’m going to run to you expecting you to protect me.” She batted her lashes and draped the back of her hand over her forehead with a dramatic sigh. “‘Oh hold me, Trent. I’m so scared. Whatever will I do?’”

  She made light of the situation, hoping he’d ignore what he’d seen.

  Ramirez laughed from the backseat. Erica grinned, but when she turned to Buchanan he wasn’t smiling, he was watching her intently. She turned away from him, put her sunglasses over her eyes, and fought her body’s need to seek him out. The last thing she needed was for him to realize how disturbed she’d been by being near the body.

  The drive to Lisa Summers’s apartment complex was short. Once they arrived, Buchanan used the key the deputy had given him to gain access to the place. She didn’t touch anything, knowing the result if she did. After a quick scan of the area, she noticed the place still appeared ready for Lisa to come home. The police report said everything had been left as it had been found. They’d blocked off all access into the apartment.

  Sand took over her throat, clogging it and making it hard to swallow. A short-lived moment of indecision stopped her, but she steeled her spine and moved toward the bedroom. Buchanan followed her. She eyed the room with trepidation, strolled into the large space and stopped a foot away from the bed. Even though his presence soothed her nerves, she needed to be alone in the room. Before she got a chance to ask him to leave, he turned toward the door.

  “Are you going to be all right in here?” He glanced around at the frilly bedding and curtains. Lisa Summers had been a girly-girl. “I’m going to check around the living area. Call if you find anything.”

  “I’m fine. Shut the door behind you,” she ordered. The soft click of the lock let her know he’d followed her request.