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  His facial muscles were too tight. There were a pair of brackets etched between his dark brows. He kept looking at her across the table. Not saying anything, just looking at her between bites. It gave her a squirmy kind of feeling. As if he was searching for something, as if he was trying to read her mind. He finished his raisin bran and rose, rinsing the bowl, then stacking it in the dishwasher.

  "Are you going to tell me what's wrong, or just keep frowning all morning?" But she already knew, didn't she? She'd felt the eerie restlessness in the middle of the night. She'd paced and shivered and given in to her craving for a cigarette. She'd sensed the ugly blackness closing in.

  He turned to face her, smiling a little. "I didn't realize I was frowning."

  "It was that phone call. You've been messed up ever since." She rose, too, leaving her cereal bowl, spoon still inside, on the table. "Who was it?" She felt sick to her stomach. The dread she'd felt so strongly last night returned, and she braced herself for his answer.

  "Rad Ketchum." He didn't elaborate.

  "Your editor." The darkness gathered around the edges of her mind. Something bad had happened last night. Something she'd sensed...maybe even as it was happening. Something she should have been able to prevent. What good was the damned "gift" if she was too afraid to use it? God, when the coldness, the darkness, came to her, she did her utmost to push it away, to ignore it, when she should look closer, examine it and try to see what it meant. And it was coming again now, the cold, clammy hand clutching her heart and squeezing. It was getting harder to breathe. And then there was only the white heat searing her throat.

  She gasped in pain and sat down hard when her knees buckled without warning. Tears choked her even as Ash shot forward, startled, grabbed her shoulders and asked if she was all right. She lifted her head and stared up at him, the most horrible, gut-wrenching fear she'd ever known throbbing all through her. "It isn't her," she whispered. "It isn't Caro. Tell me it isn't Caro..."

  His puzzled frown—or was it a worried one?—deepened just before Joey closed her eyes against a flood of tears. "Why would you think...? Joey, Caroline is fine. This has nothing to do with your sister." He shook her a little, hands tightening on her shoulders. "You hear me?"

  She drew a deep, shuddering breath. Then another. She forced her eyes open as the tide of panic receded. "Then who?"

  His dark eyes narrowed, and through the haze of dread she realized she was giving too much away. He'd wonder how she knew. If she told him, he'd think she was insane, or worse. She bit her lip and tried to think logically, coherently, even with that shimmering gloom hovering in her peripheral vision. It was getting closer. Getting harder to ignore.

  "Something's happened to someone. I can see it in your eyes. Your editor called and told you something and..." She bit her lower lip and watched as some of the suspicion faded from his eyes. "Just tell me."

  "Okay. There was another murder last night. Early this morning to be exact."

  He watched her face, observing her every reaction, she thought. "The Slasher?"

  He nodded. "The victim was found a little over an hour ago...in Phoenix."

  She knew her eyes widened. She felt them expand until her head ached. Phoenix! She'd sensed the darkness was getting closer, but...

  She shot to her feet, catching the front of his shirt in both fists. "Caro lives in Phoenix—"

  "She's fine, I told you—"

  "And the girls? Brit? Beth?"

  "It was a man, Joey. The name hasn't been released yet."

  She sighed as every muscle in her body went limp. The hands bunching the material of his shirt relaxed, and she sagged forward without even thinking about it. His arms came around her, maybe as automatically as hers encircled his waist, as instinctively as her buzzing head rested against his warm, hard chest

  It felt good. Like some kind of armor against that darkness, that chill. Like she was being infused with calmness and strength, and she'd be able to stand on her own again if he'd just hold her a little longer. She hadn't known being in a man's arms could feel like that.

  When his tight hold on her eased, she stepped away and looked up, seeing the same surprised expression on his face that must have been on hers. And there was something else. As if he'd come to some kind of conclusion, or made a decision.

  "Joey, the police might come here this morning. They might want to ask you some questions." She frowned. "Me?"

  He opened his mouth to say more but the doorbell chimed. The front doorbell. Ash licked his lips. "If anyone asks, Joey, you don't smoke. Never have. Okay?"

  She shook her head, bewildered, searching his face for an explanation.

  "Just trust me."

  She nodded, sensing that she could trust him. Too bad he was the one person she had to lie to in order to save her sister's life...and his own.

  He gave her shoulders a final squeeze and let go. She walked through the living room, looked through the glass door to the officers standing there. The woman was tall, built like Lady Atlas, and blond. She exuded the kind of raw, rugged sex appeal most men find hard to resist, and her cold blue eyes on Joey seemed to be trying to intimidate her from the first glance.

  Joey stared right back, not blinking, and pointed one finger at the decal that read, Please Use Other Door."

  "Go around back." She said it loudly, and her voice didn't shake at all.

  The cops show up to question her about a murder, and she tells them to use the back door. She had backbone, he had to give her that much. Not that she'd seemed all that solid a few minutes ago. But he'd known her fear for her sister was genuine, even if it didn't make much sense. And if it was genuine, then she couldn't have been the killer, right? She'd have to know who the victim was if she'd committed the crime herself.

  He stood beside her at the door as Sergeant Beverly Issacs and two male officers filed in. Bev dwarfed them both by a good four inches. Her head was level with Ash's when she stopped in front of him. Joey, at his side, looked like a pixie in comparison.

  "Hello, Bev."

  "Well, Ash. Seems like every time I turn up a clue in this case, I find you there before me. You wanna tell me why that is?" Her voice was frosty, but her eyes glinted so he knew she wasn't really angry or suspicious of him. Just running out of patience.

  "Oh, I'm not here for any clue. I got married. Hadn't you heard?"

  Her smile was wide and instant. "Right. And I'm running for mayor."

  He felt Joey's gaze on him and looked down to see her frowning. "You remember her?"

  Whoops. "Bev and I go way back, Joey. But I only remember her because she questioned me at length right after my accident." He'd almost slipped. Even the police weren't aware his amnesia was anything but genuine. He had to be more careful; Bev was sharp. He glanced at her again. "Bev, meet my wife, Joey Bradshaw...Coye," he added quickly, hoping Bev hadn't noticed the slight hesitation.

  Bev's ice blue gaze darted from him to Joey and back again. "You're serious."

  Ash nodded.

  Bev shrugged. "Well, married or not, Ash, I have some questions for your little wife here." She glanced down at Joey. "You don't mind, do you, Ms. Coye?"

  Ash smiled inwardly as Joey stiffened her spine and rose to her full height. Her chin came up, and her gaze never wavered from Bev's for a second.

  "I don't mind at all."

  Bev nodded and nudged one of the officers, both of whom flanked her like the servants of some great, powerful queen. The officer yanked a pad and pencil from his pocket and stood ready. "Ms. Coye, you own a motorcycle. Is that right?"

  Joey didn't blink. "Yes."

  "A black Harley-Davidson, New York plates, 352H4?"

  "It's a black Harley. I don't have my plate number memorized, but you're more than welcome to take a look."

  "Not necessary. It's registered to you."

  "If you already know, then why are you asking?"

  Ash slipped his hand around Joey's and gave a warning squeeze. It wouldn't do to be hostile to
the police. They would wonder why.

  "That bike's been seen at a couple of crime scenes recently, Ms. Coye. You want to tell me why?"

  "I was curious. Is there a law against that?"

  Beverly's gaze turned angry. Ash had felt it coming. Damn, Bev was not a good person to tick off. "What kind of cigarettes do you smoke, Ms. Coye?"

  "I don't smoke, Ms. Issacs."

  "Sergeant Issacs," Bev said through gritted teeth.

  "Whatever."

  Bev looked at Ash, and he could see her temper simmering near a full boil. "You married this?"

  "Easy, Bev. She's upset. You would be, too, if someone implied you were a serial killer, wouldn't you?"

  Bev sighed and swung her head toward Joey again. "Where were you last night and early this morning?"

  She opened her mouth, but Ash spoke first. "She was in bed, with me."

  "All night?" Bev looked skeptical.

  "All night," Ash replied.

  "But she could have slipped out, while you were sleeping."

  "We're newlyweds, Bev. We barely had two days together before the accident, and I've been in the hospital ever since. You really think I slept my first night back?" As he said it, he slipped an arm around Joey's shoulders and squeezed her to his side.

  Bev's wary gaze kept shifting to Joey, and Ash hoped she wore a convincing expression on her face. He kept his own gaze level with Bev's, not looking away once.

  Bev shook her head. "You lost your memory—"

  "But not my mind."

  "If I find out you're lying—"

  "I'm not."

  She nodded, casting a skeptical glance down at Joey. The sergeant shook her head, then turned on her heel and left the house. The two officers followed, and Ash closed the door.

  For a long moment he didn't turn to face Joey, knowing the questions he'd see in her eyes.

  "You lied to her."

  "Yeah." He turned around slowly and looked at her. There was some sort of ache in her eyes that he hadn't expected. As if he'd hurt her somehow. Impossible.

  "Why?"

  "A husband wants to protect his wife. Human nature."

  "Or maybe you thought I needed an alibi."

  "If I thought you were a killer, I wouldn't be here."

  She blinked three times, each downward swipe brushing more moisture from her eyes, only to have it quickly replaced. "You know this Beverly pretty well."

  He nodded. Then added, "I used to, anyway. Or so I'm told."

  She stared at him harder. "You've slept with her."

  He had, but how the hell could she know that? Was his face that transparent? He squirmed for a second, then remembered he didn't have to give her a direct answer. "Maybe. I don't remember." For just a second she looked furious. Then she covered it. For crying out loud, was she actually jealous?

  "She does." Joey looked at the floor. "And she'd like to do it again."

  He gave his head a small shake. "Did I miss something? Did you and Bev have a heart-to-heart while my brain went out to lunch, or what? Where are you getting this? What the hell did she say or do to make you think—?"

  "Nothing. She didn't have to. It was obvious."

  She turned to walk away, but he caught her arm before she reached the stairs and turned her to face him. "Obvious, how?"

  "I know what I know, okay?"

  She knew, all right. And she didn't like it a bit. And for some reason, he liked the idea that she didn't like it.

  He followed her up the stairs, trying not to grin in satisfaction. She was more worried about his one-nighter with Bev Issacs than she was about the police department's suspicions of her. Further indication she was not the Slasher, to his way of thinking.

  She stalked into the living room and paced the floor. He sat down in the recliner and watched. He watched the sway of her hips as she walked away from him, the way her thighs moved as she walked back. She was no hooker. He didn't know why he felt so certain of that now, but he was. She was no killer, either. He didn't know what she was, but he knew he wanted to find out And he knew something else, too. She was in trouble. It was fear he saw in her eyes at times, not cunning or cold-bloodedness. She was lying to him out of ice-cold fear.

  He rose and took her shoulders, stopping her nervous pattern. "Hey." She looked at him, those eyes so wide and vulnerable he thought he'd probably believe anything she told him. "Whatever it is, Joey, I'm on your side. Okay?"

  He saw the guilt that flashed over her face along with the surprise. "You don't even know me. How can you—?"

  "I want to know you."

  Her eyes widened. Her lips parted and she stared at him.

  "I might be able to help, if you'd just talk to me."

  She licked her lips, then shook her head, but her gaze remained riveted to his. "I...can't"

  He shrugged. "You will. I can wait." His eyes focused on her full lips, and he felt himself tightening up inside. He wanted to kiss her. He wanted it badly. He moved his head lower.

  She stepped away, turning around quickly, averting her face. "If we're going to your apartment to pick up your things we ought to get at it, don't you think?" Her voice was strained, and too soft.

  He steeled himself against the desire stirring in his groin. "Sure. Okay."

  #

  There was just too damned much to deal with!

  She paced his living room while he rummaged around in the bedroom, tossing clothes into a suitcase. She couldn't shake the attraction. It was absolutely monstrous in proportion, and growing all the time. And he felt it, too, which complicated things still further.

  To top it off, he was protecting her. Probably only because he thought it was his duty as her husband. But he'd lied to the police, likely jeopardized his career, for a woman who was no more than a stranger to him. How would he feel about her when he learned the truth, that she was nothing to him, that he'd put himself on the line for a woman he didn't even know? She hated the guilt she felt because of that.

  And what about his relationship with Lady Atlas? Maybe they'd actually had some kind of affair, and he just didn't remember. Maybe Joey's lie was now going to ruin whatever they'd had together. That Beverly Issacs still wanted Ash practically appeared in boldface type across her forehead whenever she glanced at him, at least it did to someone as sensitive as Joey. But how did he feel? Was he attracted to the woman? He must have been once. It was hard to imagine any man who wouldn't be. And why did the thought make Joey feel like throwing up?

  She paced faster. Another man had died last night. She'd felt it coming, and done nothing to prevent it. She'd have to do better if she were going to keep her sister and Ash alive.

  He emerged, suitcase in one hand, laptop in the other. She frowned at it

  "I'm still on leave from the Chronicle,” he said, “but I'd like to work from the house."

  She nodded. His face was pinched, and she realized his head was throbbing. She picked up a lot of his feelings, more than she usually did with anyone—except perhaps, for the Slasher. She shook that thought away. "You need to lie down, Ash. Didn't the doctor prescribe anything for the pain?"

  His eyes narrowed. "How'd you know my head was splitting?"

  She forced a smile as she sought an explanation. If she kept slipping like this, he was going to catch on. She gave him what she hoped was a sly glance. "I'm your wife. I can read you like a book."

  He nodded, but was still looking at her rather oddly when he followed her out the door.

  #

  He used the time she left him lying in her bed. Her bed, he noted with interest, not the one in the room she'd assigned him originally. She'd hustled him up here the second they had returned from his place and insisted he lie down. It was almost as if she could feel the way his head was pulsing every time she looked at him.

  But pain or no, he had work to do. While he believed Joey was innocent of the Slasher killings, he was still all too aware of her dishonesty. He thought she might have a good reason for the lies, or at least wh
at she must believe was a good reason. But he couldn't help her unless he found out what it was. And he had a feeling, a bad, creepy kind of feeling in the pit of his stomach, that it all revolved around the Slasher killings. She'd known something had gone down last night. She'd known it before he'd told her. There was no doubt about that.

  He slipped out of bed after she'd been gone for a while. His gaze fell on his suitcase. She'd left it here, in this room. It was pretty obvious she intended for him to stay here. His ego would have liked to believe it was out of pure, overwhelming desire for him. His brain, however, knew there must be more to it.

  He sat on the edge of the bed, picked up the phone and poked at the numbers. When he heard Radley's voice on the other end, he kept his own low. "What have you dug up on my wife?"

  Rad snorted. "Wife, huh? You wouldn't be getting attached to that phrase, now would you, Ash?"

  "Knock off the comedy and give me an answer."

  Rad was quiet for a moment, and Ash could hear papers riffling. "It's weird, I can tell you that much."

  "Weird, how?"

  Rad cleared his throat. "She does free-lance work for some major corporations."

  Ash frowned. "That's what she told me, but I didn't believe it."

  "Yeah, well, I find it kind of hard to believe myself.*'

  "Why?" A ripple of alarm went through him.

  "She's a psychic, Ash."

  Ash didn't say anything for a long time.

  "You still there?"

  "Yeah."

  "Okay, here's the skinny. Say a company is considering a merger, or a major move, or maybe they have an officer embezzling funds but aren't sure who. They take it to J. B. Bradshaw. She comes into the firm as a secretary or some such, snoops around a little, talks to people, gets a feel for the place and then she gives them their answer."

  "Right. You want to get serious now, Rad?"

  "It's gospel. I've had it triple-checked."

  Ash shook his head. He didn't believe in mind readers. "And she gets results?"

  "Sometimes she does. Word is, she doesn't charge unless she can help. She hasn't always been able to. But she's never been wrong. She either comes up with the right answer, or no answer at all."

  "Uh-huh." Ash wasn't buying a word of this. "And she lives off this?"