LITMIR.BIZ

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uttered, “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

      Well, at least he wasn’t the only one who’d noticed.

      “Yeah.” His voice came out rough.

      “I subscribed to Sports Illustrated just to see her spreads in the swimsuit edition,” Rick admitted, looking sheepish. “That is, until Patty canceled my subscription. But those photos…man. Always classy, sensual as hell, but classy.”

      It struck Blake as odd, even wrong, that they were discussing her in this way. She may have been a sexy model in her past life, but in this life she was a victim and a witness. Hardly deserving of their scrutiny, even if it was appreciative.

      “You think she’ll go back to modeling when this is all over?” Rick asked.

      The question brought a cheerless smile to his lips. “I doubt it.”

      “Because of the scars? There are surgeries available these days that can remove them.”

      “After what that bastard did to her, I don’t think she’ll ever want to put herself on display again.”

      A lump of sadness lodged in the back of his throat, not so much for Samantha Dawson as for all the other victims. The Rose Killer didn’t try to hide his handiwork—hell, he seemed damn proud of what he did. When Blake saw the first victim’s body, he’d been sickeningly amazed by the sheer intricacy of the carvings. Though they were still unsure of what it all meant, for some inexplicable reason, the bastard had a fascination with roses.

      Why else would he carve them into his victims’ skin?

      At least Samantha had been spared the full effect of the killer’s madness. Blake had been surprised when he’d studied her photos and seen only one rose. The profilers at Quantico suspected that the lack of mutilation had something to do with the fact that Samantha’s body was “well known.” Maybe the guy wanted to keep her as untainted as possible; maybe he thought a body like hers deserved to remain uncluttered. Who the hell knew? Blake didn’t need to be a profiler to figure out that this killer was a monster. Analyzing his motives didn’t tell them anything they didn’t already know.

      Yet the guy was human. He had to be. Because humans made mistakes, and this guy had already made two big ones. He’d inadvertently left Samantha Dawson and Elaine Woodman alive, and in the end, that’s what would finally put him behind bars.

      Chapter 3

      “Where’s your partner?” Sam asked the next afternoon. She peered past Blake’s impressively broad shoulders in search of Rick Scott. All she saw was a heap of fresh powdery snow and her barren yard. A black SUV idled in front of her garage, and when she glanced through the tinted windows, she realized that Blake had come here alone.

      “We came up in separate cars in case one of us needed to leave,” he answered. “Rick drove back to Chicago last night to get a few things in order before we bring you to the hospital.”

      He shoved his hands into the pockets of his faded blue jeans, and her gaze instantly took in how snugly the denim fit against his powerful legs. He looked good in jeans. And the thick cable-knit sweater that stretched over his lean chest looked darn good, too.

      She was a little startled to notice how tall he was. He’d been sitting down during most of yesterday’s visit, and now, standing right next to him, she was able to appreciate the sheer size of him. He was at least six-three, but there was nothing bulky about him, just a broad chest that tapered into a lean waist, and a whole slew of sculpted muscles. God, this man had the whole package, didn’t he? Classically handsome features, drool-worthy body.

      “Are you ready to go?”

      Their eyes locked, and his slightly wry expression told her that he’d caught her studying him. An unexplained rush of heat scorched her cheeks, which only reddened further when she remembered the dream she’d had last night.

      Blake. Kissing her. Just a soft, slow kiss, a far cry from those sweeping cinematic kisses that left the audience in breathless awe, but it had enough of an effect on her that she hadn’t been able to get the dream out of her mind all morning.

      She hadn’t felt anything close to desire for a man since the attack, and it shocked her that her body was capable of producing such a reaction. Hell, it had surprised her so much she’d actually jarred herself awake from the disturbing dream, heart pounding and brain demanding to know how she could envision such a thing.

      Six months ago, the thought of kissing a man wouldn’t have scared her. Though she was far from promiscuous, she’d had her share of lovers, and she’d certainly enjoyed making love. Until her entire life had shattered before her eyes. Now, the thought of being with a man came with fear that gnawed at her like a raccoon in a trash can. Aside from her brother, any man who came into her presence brought on terrifying suspicion, bone-deep worry that he might hurt her.

      So why wasn’t she scared of this man?

      “Samantha?”

      “What? Oh, sure, I’m ready. Let me just lock up.”

      She could feel Blake’s intense gaze on her as she stuck her key in a lock and latched the front door. She slung the strap of her overnight bag over her shoulder before following Blake down the porch steps toward his SUV.

      She’d already called Virginia and informed her that she’d be out of town for a couple of days. Her excuse had been that she was going to Chicago to do some research for her novel, and her neighbor had wished her luck and demanded a copy of the book when it was released. Although she hadn’t gone out of her way to be friendly with anyone in town, Sam knew the older woman cared about her, and it reassured her knowing that someone would keep an eye out for any strangers who might approach the house in her absence.

      “Here, let me put this in the back,” Blake said, reaching for her bag.

      Their fingers brushed as he took it, and for one brief second, Sam faltered. It wasn’t as if she’d expected a spark of electricity or anything, but the feel of his warm hand grazing hers was just as alarming.

      Trying not to focus on anything other than the reason she was going with him, she sank into the passenger seat of the car and settled into the cushy leather interior. Blake closed the trunk and rounded the vehicle. From the corner of her eye, she saw him slide into the seat next to her.

      “How’s your butt?”

      Indignation colored her cheeks. “Excuse me?”

      For the first time since they’d met, he shot her a grin. “I mean, is it cold or anything? This car has top-of-the-line seat warmers. I could turn yours on if you’d like.”

      “Oh. No, that’s okay,” she stammered, still feeling winded by the unexpected smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. Lord, this man looked gorgeous when he smiled.

      “Suit yourself.” He shrugged and turned on the ignition, then pressed a button under the dashboard and gave a contented sigh. “God bless seat warmers.”

      Oh to be the seat under that man’s ass.

      The sly little thought popped into her head before she could stop it. It was exactly the type of thing she would’ve thought once upon a time, when she’d had a successful modeling career and a parade of men at her door. Her best friend, Susan, had always teased her about the mischievous little comments she’d used to make.

      God, she missed the days when she’d been…carefree. Happy. She missed Susan, too, but she knew that temporarily severing ties with the people in her life was for the best.

      She leaned against the soft headrest behind her, shooting Blake a sideways glance as he backed out of the driveway and turned the SUV around. They didn’t speak as he drove down the icy road. She listened to the sound of snow crunching underneath the tires and the soft strains of country music floating out of the stereo speakers.

      Her pulse quickened the moment they turned onto the main street leading toward the highway. She inhaled

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