Detective Cortez drove hard to close an open case. The man was bold, single-minded in his pursuit and determined to work his way under Dr. Jennifer Madden's skin. His security details and around-the-clock surveillance were becoming all too personal. And the detective's protection was making a menace out of a stalker. If the beautiful doctor had any chance to survive she'd have to surrender to a protector who...
Detective Cortez drove hard to close an open case. The man was bold, single-minded in his pursuit and determined to work his way under Dr. Jennifer Madden's skin. His security details and around-the-clock surveillance were becoming all too personal. And the detective's protection was making a menace out of a stalker. If the beautiful doctor had any chance to survive she'd have to surrender to a protector who demanded her full cooperation and then some.
Award-winning author Rita Herron wrote her first book when she was twelve, but didn’t think real people grew up to be writers. Now she writes so she doesn’t have to get a real job. A former kindergarten teacher and workshop leader, she traded storytelling to kids for writing romance. She lives in Georgia with her own romance hero. She loves to hear from readers, so please visit her website, www.ritaherron.com.
Two Years Later—Savannah, Georgia
Detective Raul Cortez stared at the pair of black silk panties tied around the woman's throat and cursed.
The Savannah Strangler had struck again. The third time in three weeks.
Another young girl dead. A blonde this time.
And they had no clues as to the killer's identity.
The sicko. He'd stripped her naked, strangled her with a pair of silk underwear, then left her posed in the woods in a sexual position with hands folded at her breasts and legs spread wide as if to make a statement.
Raul's partner Eddie Keegan lumbered up beside him, swatting at a fly buzzing around his face. "How long do you think she's been here?"
Raul shrugged and stepped aside as the medical examiner stomped through the woods toward them. "At least a day, but the M.E. will have to pinpoint time of death. Have you found anything on the other girls' computers?"
Keegan shook his head. "Not yet. I gave them to the tech guys to look at."
"We need to find out where he's buying the underwear."
Keegan kicked at a loose root. "The press is going to be all over us on this. Make us look bad."
Raul glared at him as he mentally assessed the crime scene for details. "Make us look bad? What about these poor women?"
"Hey, I love women," Keegan growled. "That's why I'm here in the damn woods at 5:00 a.m."
"Then do your job," Raul muttered. No wonder Keegan had had sexual harassment charges filed against him on his other job. "We have to find a connection between the vics."
"I told you the tech team is on it. But the guy probably just hooked up with them in a bar. Happens every night of the week. Something you'd know, Cortez, if you ever gotout and had a social life."
"Some of us put work first," Raul snapped.
"Yeah, and some of us want a life, too."
A life to Keegan meant getting laid every night. He was competent enough, but Raul was tired of his sexist comments and disparaging attitude toward women. Keegan thought females had been put on earth for his pleasure, and that they all loved him. One day someone would put Keegan in his place. He hoped to hell he was around to see it.
Buckner, the new assistant M.E., shuffled up and knelt to examine the body. Raul muttered a silent prayer for the girl's soul to rest in peace, promising her in that same prayer that he would find her killer. Then he focused on the details—the way her body had been positioned, how the grass and brush looked around the scene, the type of tree that was nearby. Details that might not be important but ones that might prove helpful at some point, maybe in finding a pattern.
So far, all three girls had been left in wooded, deserted areas. No real significance except that it meant the victims hadn't been located immediately. Hiking vacationers or locals had discovered all three.
The killer hadn't sent photos or notes to anyone that they knew of. For his trophy, he took the girl's underwear.
The crime-scene unit was taking photographs, although Raul had snapped a few of his own when he'd arrived. He had been first on the scene, had secured the area and had searched for footprints but found nothing but some crushed dead plants and a few broken twigs. It had recently rained, which made finding evidence more difficult, but he still held out hope that the CSI team might find something. A piece of clothing, hair, a shoe print anything they could trace.
Captain Black approached, wearing a grim expression. "Damn. It looks like we may have to call in the feds."
Words Raul didn't want to hear. "Give us another week."
Black shrugged. "I already talked to a friend of mine at the bureau. It'll take that long to get someone out here. I asked for a profiler, but he suggested a local counselor that he thought could help us.A sex therapist named Jenny Madden."
"Not a shrink," Raul mumbled.
Black arched a brow. "I know your history, Cortez, but we have to use every available resource. If it means bringing in a counselor or psychiatrist, then we'll do it."
Raul grimaced. Black could do what he wanted. But no way in hell was he ever going to trust a shrink again or take her word on anything.
He'd solve the damn case without her.
DR. JENNY MADDEN took a deep breath before entering her mother's hospital room at CIRP, the Coastal Island Research Park mental facility. She reserved Sunday mornings to visit—not that her mother displayed signs of being aware of her presence—but Jenny's conscience and her heart wouldn't allow her to be anywhere else.
After all, Sundays had been about family when they were growing up: a big breakfast of pancakes or homemade cinnamon rolls; hurriedly dressing for church, putting on the Sunday dress her mother had made, her lacy Sunday socks and patent leather shoes; Bailey, her little brother, grumbling and complaining but her mother dragging him along anyway, saying his protests meant that he needed it.
Emotions crowded her chest. Her parents had been such a handsome couple. At least for the first six years of her life. Then one day everything had fallen apart.
Pain sucked the air from her lungs as she remembered hearing her mother's screams the night he'd walked out. The terrible fight, her mother chasing after him. Her father's car spewing dust as he drove away and never came back.
She brushed at a tear, wishing for once that she could think of that day or visit her mother without her heart breaking, but twenty years later the memory was fresh and raw like an open wound that wouldn't heal.
Forcing herself to regain control, she inhaled the scent of the daffodils she held in one hand along with the fresh cinnamon rolls from the bakery, hoping they would evoke fond memories for her mother and miraculously open the doors of communication. Although hope was fledgling these days. After all, years of silence would probably not be broken by cinnamon rolls or flowers.
Determined to present a cheery picture, she pasted on a smile, pushed open the door and waved as she entered the room. "Hi, Mom. I brought flowers and those cinnamon rolls you like so much."
Her mother lay propped against the bed pillows, her now-graying brown hair tangled, her mouth drooping slightly to the left as she stared into space.
"I'll just put these in fresh water," Jenny said. "Then we'll get you a bath and I'll brush your hair before we have breakfast."
Her mother said nothing, but Jenny tacked a smile on her face, put the flowers in water, then placed them on the small table across from her mother so she could see them.
"Which gown would you like to wear today?" She plucked a lavender one from the drawer, along with its matching bed jacket. "How about this one? Lavender looks so pretty on you, Mom. Remember that lavender dress you wore to church on Easter when I was ten?" She filled the basin with water, poured in scented bath gel and gave her mother a sponge bath. Her mother made a soft whispery sound as if she enjoyed the process. "What is it, Mom? You want to talk to me. I know you do."
Then the second passed, and that empty gray look returned to her eyes. Jenny willed the lump in her throat to dissipate, and turned away to gather her composure. She emptied the bathwater, then returned with the brush, sat down beside her mother and began to slowly work the tangles from her hair. Her mother sighed contentedly. Twice during this ritual she'd reached out and touched Jenny's hand and squeezed it.
At that moment she'd known her mother was still inside the shell of her body. That she wanted to talk but something was holding her back.
Jenny had become a doctor to find the answer.
Unfortunately, her education and experience had yet to yield results. The very reason she'd moved her mother to CIRP. Hopefully, the psychiatrists at the center would find a treatment for her that would prove successful.
Dr. Zovall hadn't been happy about the move. He'd been treating her mother for years, and had been a friend to her parents before the breakdown. A bigger friend since. He mourned her mother's loss almost as much as Jenny and her brother, Bailey, did.
Yet he hadn't been able to help her .
She counted the strokes as she glided the brush through her mother's hair, a hundred strokes just as her mother used to do for her when she was little, sweeping her hair down over her shoulders until it lay in soft folds. "There, you look lovely now, Mom."
She helped her mother settle back, inserted a jazz CD in the portable player, then set out their breakfast. Coffee for her, juice for her mother. Her mother nibbled at the food with no reaction, but ate the cinnamon roll and even licked her fingers when she finished. Jenny chatted about her week, telling her about the small house she'd bought in downtown Savannah, about the renovations, all mundane details, but if her mother could hear, she wanted to include her in her life.
Her cell phone vibrated against her belt, and she frowned and checked the number. The hospital. Darn it, there must be an emergency.
"Mom, I have to take this," Jenny said, then she kissed her cheek and stepped into the hallway.
"Dr. Madden, this is the emergency service. Captain Black with the Savannah Police Department needs to speak with you as soon as possible."
Jenny clenched the phone with sweaty fingers. Was one of her patients in trouble? Had one of them been hurt or committed a crime? "Did he say what it was about?"
"No, he just said he needed to talk to you, today if possible."
"I'll give him a call right now."
She hung up, then phoned the police precinct. Seconds later, they patched her through to his cell phone. "This is Dr. Madden. How can I help you, Captain Black?"
"We found a murdered girl this morning, same MO as the two other strangled victims."
"You think it's a serial killer?" Jenny asked.
"Yes. And you come highly recommended."
"I'll do whatever I can to help."
"Can you meet me at the crime scene?"
"Sure. Let me have the address." He gave it to her, and she ducked in and said goodbye to her mother. "I'll try to stop back this week, Mom. I love you." She squeezed her hands and hoped for a response, but her mother closed her eyes as if exhausted and drifted to sleep. Jenny left, her heart in her throat.
She had attended a few crime scenes for consultant work, but it was not her favorite part of the job. Shadows from the live oaks flickered along the road as she drove to the wooded area and parked along the side of the road by the police vehicles. She took one look at her clothes and wished she'd gone home to change. The loose skirt and sandals weren't exactly conducive to hiking. Yet she hadn't wanted to make the police wait, not when the captain seemed eager for her assistance, when he was obviously frustrated over losing another girl.
Had the captain called her because he wanted her help in putting together a profile, or did he have a suspect?
And why her specifically? Did he have reason to believe that one of her patients might be the killer?
RAUL SAW the baby-blue Beetle convertible swing in beside the squad car and grimaced from his post at the edge of the woods. Had to be Jenny Madden—Dr. Jenny Madden.
He'd half expected her to be driving a Porsche or Beamer, but the tiny convertible suited his image of her, as well. A girly-girl car.
She was probably rich, prissy, earned ten times his yearly salary and thought she knew it all.
He hoped to hell she didn't puke when she saw the body. Already the flies and bugs had feasted, and the stench had gotten bad. At least CSI was almost finished, so if she lost it, she wouldn't contaminate evidence.
Before she cut the engine, she dragged a brush through her hair. Concerned about her looks at a crime scene—not a good sign.
He tried not to notice the long silky-looking blond strands but couldn't help himself as she pulled them back into a ponytail at the base of her neck. Then she climbed out and his gut clenched at the sight of that body. High full breasts tapered to a slender waist. She wore a dark-blue tank top that clung to her figure in the cloying summer heat, and a loose white skirt that swirled around her slender ankles, leading his eyes down to her sandaled feet and toenails painted a hot red.
Damn. He liked red toenails.
He dragged his gaze back up to her face, searching for the flaw. Unfortunately, he didn't see one on the surface. Soft features shaped a dainty nose and high sculpted cheekbones, and her lips were pouty and pink, natural, no lipstick.
She would have to be a knockout. Long blond hair and longer legs that could grip a man and make him crazy. Yep, the devil always came disguised in pretty packages.
Not that he would let her model looks distract him from the job or make him forget what she was. A shrink.
An interference in the case.
He didn't know why Black had insisted on calling her out here. A short but sweet meeting at the precinct would have sufficed. And worse, the captain had ordered him to babysit her to the scene.
She started toward the woods, and he cleared his throat. "You can't go that way. This is a crime scene."
She startled and almost lost her footing, and he cursed the fact that she didn't have enough sense to dress appropriately for the woods.
"I didn't see you skulking in the shadows," she said, jutting up her chin.
He almost laughed. He'd expected a sweet voice to go with that body. Instead, it was husky, and her glare so sharp that it cut to the bone. "Are you Dr. Madden?"
She nodded. "Captain Black requested I come."
He gave a clipped nod, biting back the fact that he disagreed with his superior. The last thing he wanted was to get pulled from the investigation because of his personal dislike for her. "I'm supposed to escort you to the crime scene."
She wet her lip, a sign of nervousness, but he refused to cut her any slack. If she couldn't do the job, then Black should see it now, so they'd be done with this crap and he wouldn't have to deal with her.
"And you are?" she asked.
"Detective Raul Cortez." He gestured toward the path to his left. "Follow me. The body is this way."
He didn't wait on her response, but strode into the woods. He heard the brush parting, twigs snapping beneath her feet, her breathing labored as she hurried behind him, but he didn't slow down until he heard her yelp.
He inhaled sharply and pivoted, frowning as she gripped a tree trunk and massaged her foot.
A second of remorse filled him for being curt, but this job was not for sissies. "You should have dressed for work instead of the country club."
She fisted her hands by her side. "I was already out when I received the call."
"A champagne brunch, no doubt."
"Frankly that's none of your business." She flicked her hand forward. "Just lead the way. I'll keep up."
The challenge in her tone egged him on, and he stalked the rest of the way, not breaking stride until he reached the crime scene tape. The CSI team had scattered, searching the surrounding area, and Black was waiting beside the body. He wanted Dr. Madden to see the way she'd been posed to get the full effect of this perp's MO.
Black frowned at Raul as the doctor trotted behind him. He made no excuse, but turned and gestured in introduction. "Dr. Madden, Captain Black."
Black extended his hand. "Thank you for coming, Dr. Madden. My friend Agent Steele and his wife, Claire, recommended you."
The woman smiled. "Yes, I worked with Claire before. I can't believe she's married now and has two kids."
"We're not interested in chitchating about your friends' families," Raul cut in.
She whirled on him. "Yes, I can see that you wouldn't, you're probably not a family man."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "As you can see, we have a dead woman on our hands," he snapped.
"Detective," Black said in a warning tone.
Jenny threw up a hand. "It's all right. I'm sorry to hear another girl has been murdered."
Black clenched his jaw. "Yeah. We have to find this guy before he strikes again."
She slanted her gaze toward the body, and her expression softened. "You're right. Let's get to work."
Raul grunted, and she gave him a glacier look but refrained from comment as she addressed Black. "Do you want to tell me the details first or want me to assess the situation for myself?"
"Why don't you look first, then give us your thoughts," Black said. "We want your gut reaction, your unbiased, professional opinion."
Raul frowned at the word we but knew better than to argue, so he kept his mouth shut. Instead he braced himself to steer the woman to the side if she got sick, or to catch her if she passed out.
Hell, he halfway hoped she did. Then Black could see she didn't belong here, and they'd be rid of her.