You know more than youre telling.
What are you hiding? he said softly, the rich timbre of his voice stroking sensitive nerve endings.
Nothing.
Then why are you hiding? he whispered, and speared his fingers through her hair, lifting, and letting it tumble across her shoulders.
Devra couldnt get enough air. Her skin burned and a yearning deep in the pit of her stomach made her want to scream.
Leave me alone, she pleaded, knowing full well she wanted him to pull her up against him and smother her lips with a kiss so passionate it could rip the fabric of her being.
I cant afford to let anyone get too close. Especially this man.
Dear Harlequin Intrigue Reader,
Spring is in the air and we have a month of fabulous books for you to curl up with as the March winds howl outside:
Familiar is back on the prowl, in Caroline Burness Familiar Texas. And Rocky Mountain Maneuvers marks the conclusion of Cassie Miless COLORADO CRIME CONSULTANTS trilogy.
Jessica Andersen brings us an exciting medical thriller, Covert M.D.
Dont miss the next ECLIPSE title, Lisa Childss The Substitute Sister.
Definitely check out our April lineup. Debra Webb is starting THE ENFORCERS, an exciting new miniseries you wont want to miss. Also look for a special 3-in-1 story from Rebecca York, Ann Voss Peterson and Patricia Rosemoor called Desert Sons.
Each month, Harlequin Intrigue brings you a variety of heart-stopping romantic suspense and chilling mystery. Dont miss a single book!
Sincerely,
Denise OSullivan
Senior Editor
Harlequin Intrigue
Shiver Cynthia Cooke
To my editor, Kim Nadelson, for seeing the gem buried
within the rock. To my critique partners, youre the best!
And, as always, to my familyI love you!!
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
CAST OF CHARACTERS
Devra MorganShe watched her childhood friend, Tommy Marshall, die in a horrible act of violence. Wherever she goes, death follows her as women who look like her fall prey to a killer. And she sees it allin her dreams.
Michelle MacIntyreA cop working undercover to flush out the night stalker runs into a new monster and loses her life.
Tommy MarshallDevras first crush, first kissthen he was dead.
Mac MacIntyreIs he a grieving husband or a man bent on an elaborate plot to kill his wife?
Mr. MacIntyreThe head of the MacIntyre clanwhose strings does he pull?
Chief MarshallA small-town police chief whose only child was murdered fifteen years earlier by Devraor so he believes. He will stop at nothing to bring her to justice.
William and Lydia MillerBest-kept secrets can be fatal. What exactly do they know? And why are they so anxious for Devra to leave her childhood home?
Contents
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter
Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter One
Sweat, partly from the heat and partly in expectation of what hed find, ran down Rileys back, further dampening his shirt as pulsing red and blue lights flashed on and off centuries-old brick in a strange melodic symphony. He stepped over the yellow caution tape encircling the crime scene and made his way toward the group of people congregating in front of the Village Carré Hotel.
Mike Parker, a young officer from the Eighth District, approached him, his footsteps matching beat for beat the music echoing down Bourbon Street. We have everything under control, Detective MacIntyre. A hint of wariness creased his eyes. We can handle this. You dont need to be here.
Riley cocked a smile but couldnt quite soften the edge of annoyance in his voice. The last time I checked, this was my case.
We havent established if this is part of the night stalker case. This one is, uhdifferent. Parker looked down, fidgeting.
Riley frowned. You obviously need some time off, cause youre not making any sense. All homicides are handled downtown. You know that. It doesnt matter if its related to the night stalker case or not. He patted Parkers shoulder, then strode off, annoyed that his routine crime-scene approach had been thwarted. He liked to walk a scene to get a sense of the perimeterthe sounds, sights, smellsbefore approaching the victim. Sometimes the brutality of murder deadened his perceptions. Then all was lost, his case compromised.
He tried once again to recapture the scene, absorbing the music, the scent of onions and garlic and simmering jambalaya, a constant yet comforting smell in the French Quarter. As he approached the building, a roach popped out of a broken stone tile in the sidewalk, then scurried into a cracked grate.
In the crevice between the structures brick wall and the steep cement steps leading into a doorway, a body leaned haphazardly, the face hidden beneath a thick mass of blond curls. Blue-jean-clad long legs stretched out on the sidewalk. His gaze lingered over turquoise spiked heels adorning perfectly shaped feet. His gut twisted; sweat dampened his palms.
He took a step closer, though for the first time in his career something urged him to turn awaysome gut instinct that was his strongest, most prized possession as a detective in the New Orleans Police Department. He looked back at Parker, who was still watching him, shifting from one foot to the other.