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      THE NEXT VICTIM

      He waited for her.

      Taking her from the café parking lot was not advisable. There were too many people in the general vicinity who might suspect something and try to interfere. He had been watching her and studying her routine for days now.

      As she drove into the parking area outside her second-floor apartment building, his heartbeat accelerated. Whenever he was this close to bringing her home again—home, where she belonged—the excitement became overwhelming. Just a few more minutes and she would be with him.

      He remained in the dark corner of the staircase, waiting and watching patiently. His pulse raced. His heartbeat roared in his ears. His muscles tensed with anticipation.

      As if sensing his presence, she paused at the top of the stairs and looked behind her. He pushed himself back against the wall and held his breath.

      She hurried toward her apartment door, inserted the key in the lock, and—

      He pounced immediately, threw his right arm around her neck, and covered her face with the ether-soaked rag he held in his left hand. After only a token struggle, she slumped unconscious into his arms.

      He carried her down the stairs and straight to his car. After glancing around to make sure they weren’t being watched, he opened the back door and placed her on the seat.

      He hurried into the driver’s seat, started the engine, and backed out.

      “We’re going home…” he told her.

      Books by Beverly Barton

      AFTER DARK

      EVERY MOVE SHE MAKES

      WHAT SHE DOESN’T KNOW

      THE FIFTH VICTIM

      THE LAST TO DIE

      AS GOOD AS DEAD

      KILLING HER SOFTLY

      CLOSE ENOUGH TO KILL

      MOST LIKELY TO DIE

      THE DYING GAME

      THE MURDER GAME

      COLD HEARTED

      SILENT KILLER

      DEAD BY MIDNIGHT

      DON'T CRY

      Published by Zebra Books

      Don't Cry

      Beverly Barton

      ZEBRA BOOKS

      KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

       http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

      To Billy, for a million and one reasons, but most of all

       because he loves me

      &

      In memory of Pelham, Alabama,

       Police Officer Philip Davis,

       who lost his life in the line of duty, December 4, 2009

      Acknowledgments

      I owe a special debt of gratitude to Lt. Tim Carroll, Commander Major Crimes Division, Chattanooga Police Department, for his invaluable assistance.

      In an effort to help me get my facts straight, Tim answered numerous questions and gave me an officer’s view of police work and of the brave men and women who risk their lives on a daily basis to protect the citizens of Chattanooga, Tennessee.

      Any errors are entirely mine, either because I assumed I knew something that I didn’t or because I didn’t ask the right questions.

      In several instances, I used a writer’s prerogative to alter minor facts, but it is my hope that I have written a realistic fictional novel.

      Contents

      Prologue

      Chapter 1

      Chapter 2

      Chapter 3

      Chapter 4

      Chapter 5

      Chapter 6

      Chapter 7

      Chapter 8

      Chapter 9

      Chapter 10

      Chapter 11

      Chapter 12

      Chapter 13

      Chapter 14

      Chapter 15

      Chapter 16

      Chapter 17

      Chapter 18

      Chapter 19

      Chapter 20

      Chapter 21

      Chapter 22

      Chapter 23

      Chapter 24

      Chapter 25

      Chapter 26

      Chapter 27

      Chapter 28

      Chapter 29

      Chapter 30

      Chapter 31

      Chapter 32

      Chapter 33

      Chapter 34

      Chapter 35

      Chapter 36

      Chapter 37

      Chapter 38

      Chapter 39

      Chapter 40

      Dear Reader

      Prologue

      Thirty years ago

      The Humpty-Dumpty night-light cast a soft, honey-white glow over the nursery, from the 5' x 7' Mother Goose rug on the wooden floor to the fluffy clouds painted on the ceiling. A large Raggedy Andy doll, with a mop of red hair and a perpetual smile, sat atop a brightly decorated toy box in the corner. Billowy blue and white gingham curtains covered the double windows that overlooked the backyard, and a matching gingham quilt, neatly folded, lay at the foot of the baby bed in the center of the small room.

      Humming quietly, Regina Bennett sat in the white spindle rocking chair, her precious little Cody asleep in her arms. Even in sleep, he still clutched his favorite toy, a little yellow teddy bear. Earlier that evening, he had been terribly fussy, crying incessantly, the sound of his pitiful gulping sobs breaking her heart. But after she had given him his medication, he had gradually quieted and gone to sleep.

      But for how long? An hour? Two hours? The medication’s effects seemed to wear off more quickly with each passing day. Eventually, the medication wouldn’t ease his pain.

      She brushed aside his damp blond curls, leaned down, and kissed his warm forehead. Before the chemotherapy treatments, his hair had been thick and shiny, but the new growth was thin and dull. “You won’t suffer anymore, my precious darling. Mommy promises.”

      Rocking back and forth, she cuddled Cody protectively against her breast. Still humming “Hush Little Baby,” an old Southern lullaby, Regina slid her hand down to the side of the rocker and grasped the small pillow she had placed there earlier that evening.

      “Mommy loves her little boy. Mommy’s going to do what’s best for you.”

      Regina lifted the pillow off the floor.

      Rocking.

      Humming.

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