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  Ted didn't seem to hear her. He stepped into the living room toward Caroline, shaking his head. "You're leaving?"

  She only nodded, her eyes filling.

  "Caro, this is crazy. I know what you've been thinking, but you're wrong—"

  "Am I?"

  He looked as if he'd been punched. Then his face hardened. He turned on his heel and rushed back down the stairs. Ash wasn't sure why, but he followed. Something about the sudden pain on the guy's face hit him, and wouldn't stop.

  He stopped Ted at the door. "You're just letting her go?"

  Ted's hand tightened on the doorknob. "For now, yes." His voice was choked, and his eyes narrowed in apparent pain when they fell on the suitcases on the floor. "Doesn't look like she's giving me much of a choice, does it?"

  Ash sighed hard, pushing a hand through his hair. "You could talk to her. Tell her—"

  "Look, Coye, this really isn't any of your damn business. And with you and Joey up to your elbows in this Slasher thing, I'm beginning to think it isn't a bad idea for Caro to get the hell out of Dodge for a while. At least she'll be safe." He thumped a fist on the door.

  "I wasn't trying to butt in." Ash opened his mouth to say more, then threw his hands in the air. "You're right, it's none of my damn business."

  Ted gripped the door, jerking it open. He started to step through it, then stopped, his back to Ash. "There is no other woman, but Caro isn't going to believe that. It's her father... Sometimes I'd like to slit that bastard's throat for messing those two up the way he did."

  Then he left, slamming the door behind him. And Ash couldn't help but ponder his parting words. Slit the bastard's throat. Not break his neck, or blow his head off, but slit his throat. Did it mean anything?

  He went back upstairs to see Caro gathering the girls, apparently ready to leave. "Caroline, are you sure this is what you want to do?" Why did he want so badly to fix this mess? He was letting himself get carried away with his role as a member of this family. Caroline only nodded. "Because you can stay here, you know. I'd hate to think you were going south because of me—"

  "It's better if she goes," Joey announced loudly. Ash frowned. She'd done a complete turnaround since he'd been downstairs with Ted. A few minutes ago, she'd hated the idea of Caro and the girls leaving.

  Joey glanced at the clock on the wall. "You'd better hurry, or you'll miss your flight."

  "She's right, Ash. But thanks for the offer." Caro hugged her sister, and the girls flung themselves at Ash's legs.

  He picked them up, one in either arm. "All right, then, how about one last ride out to the car?" He spun in a circle as the girls giggled. "You'd better send me a postcard, you hear?"

  #

  The Slasher had been here.

  The sickening sensation had settled in the pit of her stomach from the second they'd entered the house, but she hadn't been able to pinpoint the source. Then it had hit her all at once. What she was feeling was a presence. Someone was in the house, or had been very recently. Someone with a soul of pure evil.

  And somewhere in the darkest dungeons of her soul she knew who. And she'd had to get Caro and the girls away from here.

  As soon as Ash went outside with the girls, she retrieved her gun from its new hiding place atop the kitchen cabinet, checked to be sure it was loaded and started up the stairs, wincing with every excruciating step. The feeling grew stronger with each second that passed. Before she reached the top she was breathless. Moisture stood on her brow. She held the gun in a two-fisted grip, muzzle up, and glanced around at four closed doors.

  Directly ahead was the room she'd designated as the girls' when they visited, filled with toys and coloring books and dolls. To her left was the guest room she'd offered to Ash that first night. To her right, side by side, were the doors to her bedroom and the bath.

  She stood frozen at the top of the stairs, concentrating on those doors, sending out invisible feelers. If she chose poorly, and the killer were still here, she might get caught from behind.

  "Joey?"

  She whirled, gun first. Ashville stood on the bottom step. Why did he have to be so quick? She pressed a finger to her lips to silence him and held a palm outward to tell him to stay where he was.

  He came up the stairs, anyway, but he kept his voice low.

  "What the hell is going on?"

  "Someone...has been here. May be still here. I don't know."

  He frowned. "Where?"

  "It's strongest near our room." It came out that way without her giving it conscious thought. She lifted the gun again, taking a step nearer.

  Ash's hand on her shoulder stopped her. He took the gun from her hands and pushed her back to the wall. "Wait here."

  "Ash, no. You shouldn't even be here. You could get killed." Panic gripped her. She didn't want him anywhere near this dark menace.

  Ash ignored her, stepped forward and shoved the bedroom door open. As he stepped in and looked around, Joey threw the bathroom door wide, afraid the Slasher had slipped through the adjoining door from the bedroom. No one.

  "Joey."

  She hurried to the bedroom at Ash's call and froze in the doorway, half expecting to come face-to-face with evil incarnate. But there was no one there. She stood, trembling, while Ash checked the other rooms. When he came back to her, he didn't speak. He just looked at her, waiting.

  "You think I'm crazy."

  He shook his head. "No. I think you're nervous, jumping at shadows, terrified for your sister and, for some reason, for me, too. What I don't know is why." She said nothing. "Joey, talk to me, tell me what made you think someone was—"

  "I don't think it, I know it. Someone was in this house while we were gone."

  His voice became placating. He stroked her hair. "Honey, you've been through a rough day. There's no one here. There's nothing missing. Look around, everything is just as we—"

  He stopped there, his muscles slowly tensing under the skin where her hands rested. She turned, followed his gaze and saw the laptop opened on the dresser. The flashdrive that had been in the USB port was gone.

  #

  Joey drew a sharp breath, feeling, for just an instant, the distinct sensation of an ice-cold blade tearing across her back.

  What was that?

  Then Ash was touching her, his hands on her shoulders. "We won't touch anything. There might be prints."

  "No." She leaned back against him, letting his warmth chase the cold, tearing feeling from her shoulder blades. "There were gloves. Black, kid-leather gloves, with two little buttons..." She held up a hand and touched the back of her wrist. "Right here." She could feel the gloves, too tight on her large hands. Only they were not her hands at all.

  Her eyes flew wide. "Where is Caro—?"

  "On her way to the airport. Safe and sound. Now dammit, Joey, tell me what the hell is going on. Who wears gloves? Who is it you think was in here?"

  She sniffed, trying frantically to control the fit of violent shaking that began at her fingertips and raced its way up her arms to her shoulders, down her spine to her legs. She couldn't say it. She couldn't tell him that his murderer was getting closer. God, she didn't want to lose him. It was so much more important now. More than just a means to stop the Slasher before Caro became a victim.

  She turned into Ash's arms, clung to him. "We have to get out of this house."

  Chapter Eight

  Radley Ketchum's office at the Chronicle was little more than four stark walls surrounding a paper explosion. He paced toward the closed door, then back again, and handed the coral-frost lipstick to Ash. Ash took it and shoved an overflowing ashtray aside before sitting on the edge of the desk.

  "You could get your ass tossed behind bars for evidence tampering, Coye." It was little more than a harsh whisper, delivered as Radley glanced over his shoulder. "You know better than this crap."

  Ash dropped the small cylinder into his pocket, trying not to think about what the lipstick's presence in Joey's makeup bag might mean. He was gu
ilty of more than evidence tampering. He was obstructing justice, and he knew it. He glanced beyond Radley, through the glass in the office door, and saw Joey on the other side. She clutched a ceramic mug with steam rolling off the top and sat on the edge of the little chair in front of Ash's desk. One foot tapped rapidly on the floor. One hand, the one that wasn't holding the mug, kept flexing and relaxing on her wounded thigh. She'd have been pacing if she could have managed it

  "Look at her, Rad."

  Radley turned his head slowly and stared for a moment "Yeah. She sure doesn't look like a killer, but—"

  "Not that. Look at her face. Her eyes. Radley, that's one scared woman sitting out there." Ash shook his head. "She won't go back to her house, wouldn't even stick around and wait for the police to show up."

  Rad shook his head slowly, facing Ash once more. "Yeah, but scared of what?"

  "Of the Slasher, I think."

  "Or maybe scared of getting caught. Maybe she's scared you're close to finding out she's the Slasher." Rad shook his head, crossed the room slowly and straightened the photo of his sister, the ugliest woman Ash had ever seen. She was built like a tank.

  "That's bull," he said quietly, glancing again where Joey sat

  "Use your brain, Ash. Why would she be afraid of the Slasher? All five victims have been men."

  "Four, Rad."

  "What?"

  "Four victims. You said five, but there's only been—"

  "Four, five—what difference does it make? There'll be more. The police haven't got much to go on, and you're hiding anything they might get to go on. They're getting desperate."

  "That's what I'm afraid of." Ash jumped down from the desk and walked closer to the door. "They need a suspect even if it's just to take the heat off for a while, and I'll be damned if it's going to be Joey. They could ruin her life, Rad, all on the basis of one tube of lipstick."

  "That happens to be the same brand, even the same shade, that was found ringing those cigarette butts found at the crime scenes. And no trace of DNA on any of them.”

  "It’s coincidence. Look, I can't stand by and let her get railroaded."

  "Why the hell not?" That Rad's patience was reaching its limit was evidenced by the deep color rising in his face and the tightening of his jaw. "It's due process. If she's innocent she'll be cleared, and if not she'll pay. That's the way the system works, isn't it? She's nothing to you, right? Just a lead you wanted to follow up, isn't that what you said? Or has gettin' in her tight little pants changed your mind—?"

  Ash had him by the collar before Rad could finish the sentence. Two fists bunched Rad's dingy white shirt at the front and drew him forward.

  "See what I mean, Ash?" Rad ground the words out between clenched teeth as Ash glared down at him, wanting to knock out a few of his teeth. "You're not objective anymore. You're messing around with evidence, protecting a suspect, risking your job...." He glanced pointedly down at the fists that held his shirt, and Ash sighed hard, releasing him.

  "You're wrong." He turned and paced away slowly. "Not that it's any of your business, Rad, but I haven't slept with her. And I'm on top of this story. Objectivity intact."

  Rad was silent a long moment Then, "I don't think so, Ash. I'm going to put Harris on the Slasher case."

  Ash whirled. "The hell you are!"

  "You aren't yourself. You're—"

  "Quitting."

  Rad's mouth fell open, the rest of his sentence left hanging unfinished in the air, silenced by a single word.

  "That's it. Your choice. Give the story to Harris, and I walk. And if I walk, you'll probably be behind me in the unemployment line, because the paper will fire you for losing their star reporter. Now what's it going to be, Rad?"

  Rad's eyes conveyed his anger. He didn't like being backed up to the wall, but Ash was saying no more than the truth, and Rad knew it. "What are you planning, Ash, besides trailing along after her like a hungry pup and hoping she drops you a crumb?"

  Ash glared right back at him. "Go to hell, Rad."

  "Damn you, Coye—"

  "All right." Ash held up one hand. "Truce, okay?"

  Rad stuffed both hands deep into his pockets and nodded. "What are you planning?"

  "To talk to a psychiatrist, an expert on serial killers. Try and get a profile of our suspect. And I want to see some of these executive types Joey's worked for, find out what they have to say about her...abilities."

  It was Rad's turn to stare through the window at Joey. "You still think she's a fake, right?"

  Ash hesitated before answering. "I'm beginning to wonder."

  "Why?" Rad turned, frowning. "You're a dyed-in-the-wool skeptic about that kind of crap, Ash. What's she done, read your mind or something?"

  "Or something."

  Rad's face seemed to relax all of a sudden, all the tension going out of it He turned again toward the door and looked through it, eyes speculative. "Well, now. Isn't that interesting?"

  Ash shook his head slowly, reaching for the doorknob. "Don't go asking her about it. She thinks I don't know. And treat her right, Rad. She's my wife, don't forget."

  "As long as you don't forget that she isn't."

  #

  She stiffened when she saw them coming toward her. She'd tried to concentrate on their conversation in Mr. Ketchum's office, but as usual, the harder she tried to focus, the less she picked up. In a newsroom that was bursting with wall-to-wall desks, rushing people and the constant clicking of keyboards, it was tough to hear herself think, let alone pick up what someone else might be thinking. She sensed, though, that a lot of the time they'd been talking about her. Not knowing what was said made her uncomfortable and self-conscious.

  "Mrs. Coye." Radley Ketchum nodded toward her. "Feeling better now?"

  She nodded politely. "Yes. Thanks for the coffee."

  Ash stood in front of her, putting both hands on her shoulders. "Bev called while I was in Rad's office."

  Bev. Detective Lady Atlas, he meant

  "They've finished at the house."

  "Did they find anything?"

  Ash squeezed her shoulders. “A few prints, they're being analyzed but—"

  "They're ours. I told you, the person wore gloves..." She stopped, blinking. Ash would have her committed if she didn't stop going on about the gloves. She glanced up to see if his boss found her as nutty as Ash must, but he only stared at her, his gaze dark, probing.

  "Anyway, we can go back now—"

  "No."

  He shook her so slightly she barely felt it. "Joey, we can still stay at my apartment. But don't you think you ought to pick up a few clothes? Your toothbrush?"

  "I'm not going back there."

  Ash shook his head, and she knew he thought she muststill be distraught over the intruder, stressed out from all that had happened today. The truth was, she was calm, and thinking as clearly as she ever had in her life. She simply did not want Ash in that house. A sense of danger loomed at the very thought of it.

  "Okay. All right, if that's what you want." He turned to Rad, who still stared hard at her. "I'll be in touch."

  "Good." He smiled at Joey. "Hope to see you again soon, Mrs. Coye." Then he turned and walked away.

  #

  Ash drove to his apartment, a few short minutes from the offices of the Chronicle. He unlocked the door, and Joey preceded him in, limping slowly, senses on alert. She was more wary than she could ever remember being. She stepped into the short, dark hallway and felt the wall for a light switch.

  Ash beat her to it, and as soon as he flicked it on Joey stepped farther inside. Still, she was careful. She poked her head through the archway on her right, into the kitchenette, leaning heavily on the doorframe and fumbling for that light switch. When she saw nothing there, aside from the gleaming white cupboards and checkerboard tiles, she returned to the hall and hobbled through the door on its other side, into the small bathroom. She turned that light on, as well.

  She knew Ash stood in the hallway, leaning agai
nst the wall, just watching her peculiar behavior. Stubbornly, she glanced around the little bathroom, even going so far as to open the frosted-glass doors on the three-sided shower stall in the corner and to peek inside.

  Sighing her relief, she stepped back into the short hall. Ash put an arm around her. "You'd better relax, Joey. You're jumping at shadows. No one's here but us."

  "Better safe than sorry," she quipped. "And I'm not jumping. Just checking." The hall opened into the large living room of Ash's corner apartment. At the far end, glass doors led out to a balcony. Darkness gathered beyond, dotted by Syracuse's lights, only visible in the slits between the vertical blinds. The bedroom was on her right. She checked both before she sank onto the modular sofa's forest green plush.

  "Feel safe now?" There was worry, as well as a hint of amusement, glinting in his eyes.

  She smiled at him. "It isn't me I'm—" She stopped herself. "Yes. Perfectly safe."

  "You're sure?"

  She squinted at him. "Why so interested?"

  "Just checking. Thought I'd go out for some supplies."

  "Like what?" She was no longer relaxed on the sofa, but leaning forward, tense.

  Ash shook his head and sat down beside her. "Like food. I haven't been here in a while. The place isn't exactly well stocked."

  She turned to face him, wanting to beg him not to leave her side—not for an instant—but knowing how insane that might sound to him. "I'm not all that hungry, anyway."

  "Well, I am. Look, I know you're still shaken. Just stay here, okay? Take a hot shower, watch some TV, drink a glass of wine. Loosen up. I'll be back in thirty minutes, I promise."

  She shook her head slowly. "We can order in."

  "Joey—"

  "Don't go, Ash." He frowned, searching her eyes for a long moment "Just...don't go."

  He sighed, and his chin dropped to his chest. When he lifted it again she saw the impatience in his face, the frustration. "You want me to stay, then you're going to have to tell me why. What is it you're so afraid of, Joey?"

  She blinked, turning her face away. "I—I'm not afraid, just—"

  "Bull." He caught her face in his hands and brought it around, then stared deep into her eyes. "Stop keeping things from me. Joey, I want to help you, but I can't if you won't tell me what's wrong. Can't you trust me even that much?"