anes called in sick the next morning. Marlie Keen had been listed in the phone book, and he had looked up her address on a city map. He didn’t have any time to waste; he had to get rid of her as soon as possible. And then perhaps he would think about leaving Orlando; he usually remained in an area longer than this, but the psychic bitch had loused things up for him here. They had that sketch of him. They might discount it now, but when the bitch turned up dead, they would give it a lot more credence.

He smelled setup, but he didn’t dare ignore the situation. It was simply too dangerous for him. But he didn’t take any chances; he switched license plates with a car belonging to an old lady in the apartment building who seldom drove anymore. He would switch them back when he returned, so that if any suspicious cop was watching the traffic on Marlie Keen’s street, when they traced that tag, it would come back as belonging to a Mrs. Velma Fisher, whose car was nothing like the one that had been sporting the plate. But when they checked Mrs. Fisher’s car, the license plate would be there, convincing them that they had made an error in writing down the number.

His blond curls were snugly in place when he set out. Such an extravagant head of hair was a brilliant disguise, if he did say so himself. They were looking for a bald guy. It was an ingenious way of changing his appearance, because either way, his head was what people noticed: They would look at the blond curls, and not the face beneath it, or, if he was seen during one of his nights, they would notice the slick skull and nothing else. Simply brilliant.

He rolled down his car window and turned up the radio. That was another piece of psychological subterfuge: Cops wouldn’t expect him to draw attention to himself with a loud radio. If this was a trap, they wouldn’t expect him to boldly drive by, where they could get a good look at him. That was why they never had been able to catch him. He could predict their actions and reactions, but they didn’t have a clue how his mind worked. After all, how could anyone without an imagination begin to understand what it was like to have one?

So he casually drove by the bitch’s house, and just as casually glanced at it. There was a car in the driveway, why wasn’t she working? The newscast had plainly said that she was employed at a bank. There seemed to be a lot of cars parked along the street. That chill went down his spine again. He didn’t actually see anything, but he hadn’t escaped for so long by being stupid; quite the opposite. This definitely felt like a setup.

He didn’t risk another drive-by. He drove back to his apartment, switched the license plates again, and thought. If it was a setup, then the cops wouldn’t let the bitch stay at her house. They would have her salted away somewhere they thought was safe. It would be impossible for him to locate her, much less get at her.

Or would they? The trap would look much more realistic if she appeared to be going about her normal routine.

There was only one way to check. He looked up the telephone number of the bank where she worked and punched in the numbers. It was answered on the first ring, by a bored-sounding young woman with a breathy voice.

“Marlie Keen, in accounting, please,” Janes said briskly.

“Just one moment.”

Another ring, and a click. “Accounting.” Another female voice.

“Marlie Keen, please.”

“Hold on.” He heard the woman say, in a more distant voice that indicated she had taken the receiver away from her mouth, “Marlie, line two.”

Janes hung up the phone. She was at work.

He laughed to himself as he went back out to his car. What simpletons they all were, if that was the best they could do! He would follow her when she left work, though of course, if she went to her house, he would break off contact rather than take the risk of driving down her street again.

His biggest problem, he told himself, was finding some shade to park in while waiting for her to leave the bank.

He picked her out when she went to lunch; he remembered that thick dark hair and slender build. His heart pounded with excitement, then he sternly brought himself under control. He couldn’t allow himself to make a mistake out of haste.

He snickered as he followed her. She wasn’t much of a psychic if she couldn’t tell that he was only two cars behind her. But she was still a danger to him, and that couldn’t be tolerated.

She picked up lunch at a drive-through fast-food window, and returned to the bank. He had no chance to get at her. So he patiently settled down to wait once more.

She left work at four. He had carefully watched the parking lot. There hadn’t been any suspicious lingerers— other than himself, of course. He hummed as he pulled out a few cars behind her, and kept about the same distance behind her.

She didn’t make any stops. She drove straight to a smallish house in an older neighborhood. He noted the address and kept on driving. He went to the library and looked up the address in the city directory; the house was listed as the residence of Dane Hollister. Janes’s eyebrows shot up, and he grinned. He knew that name; it had been in the papers quite a bit lately. Detective Dane Hollister was investigating the Slasher murders. Now, wasn’t that a coincidence?

The bank president hadn’t done it; not even the vice president had done it. But the head of accounting had been called into a meeting with them, and this was one of those occasions when Marlie didn’t need to be psychic to know what was happening. She wasn’t surprised when the department head returned, looking unhappy, and asked Marlie into her office. They regretted the necessity, but their first responsibility was to their depositors, et cetera, et cetera. The bottom line was that Friday was her last day. They felt magnanimous in allowing her to stay that long.

She thought about being magnanimous in turn and quitting right then, which was obviously what they wanted, but the impulse didn’t last long. She wasn’t in the best of moods.

She was still angry when she drove to Dane’s house, so angry that there wasn’t much room for anything else. She had been angry since the moment she had realized how Dane had betrayed her, and expected to be angry for the foreseeable future.

She had been home just long enough to change into comfortable clothes when she heard a car drive up. She looked out the window expecting to see Dane, but instead watched Trammell unfold his long form from his low-slung car. She went to the door to let him in.

“Hi, sweetie.” He twirled his sunglasses from one long finger and bent down to kiss her cheek.

She lifted a sardonic brow at the display of affection. “What’s with the sweet talk?”

He grinned and raised his hands. “Don’t shoot, I’m unarmed. I see you haven’t cooled down much.”

“Are you the symbolic hat through the door, to see if I attack?”

“Not exactly. Dane got delayed for a few minutes, and we don’t think you should be alone.”

“Thanks for the concern.”

“You don’t sound sincere,” he teased, but his lazy dark eyes were watchful.

“I was fired today,” she retorted. “I don’t feel like celebrating. Out of the goodness of their hearts, I’ll be allowed to finish out the week.”

He snorted. “I’d have walked out on them today.”

“So would I, if that hadn’t been exactly what they wanted. Do you want something cold to drink?”

“Only if it isn’t alcoholic.”

“I can manage that. Lemonade, fruit juice, tea, or soft drink?”

“Tea.”

“Coming up. Smart man, not to drink and drive.”

“I don’t drink much anyway. It upsets my system,” he drawled. He followed her into the kitchen. “Did you get settled in last night?”

“I wouldn’t go that far. I got my things put away.” She took two glasses out of the cabinet, dropped ice cubes in them, and filled them up with the tea she had brewed that morning before going to work. “Lemon?”

“No, thanks. I drink my tea straight.”

She chuckled as they clinked glasses.

Trammell eyed her as he sipped the cold liquid. “Are you going to forgive him?”

She shrugged. “It wasn’t the media ploy that upset me as much as realizing he ‘trifled with my affections,’ to use an old southern phrase.”

“You really think he doesn’t care anything for you?”

“If he does, he’s never mentioned it. What hurts is that he deliberately cultivated my feelings for him, and then used them to manipulate me.”

“He can have tunnel vision when it comes to his work,” Trammell said delicately. “Let’s sit down.”

“Are you going to plead his case?” she asked as they took chairs at the table.

“Not really, but I know Dane better than anyone else on earth, including you, including anyone in his family. They only grew up with him; you’ve only slept with him. I’ve risked my life with him. I know him from the ground up.”

“Do you think he’s capable of cold-bloodedly using someone in an investigation?”

“Of course he is. He’s a cop. So am I. But he’s never been cold-blooded where you’re concerned. How can I put this without being crude?” he mused, looking at the ceiling. “Do you remember when you came to Bonness’s office, and you and Dane all but went to war right then?”

She nodded.

“Well, to put it delicately, he had a boner so hard a cat couldn’t scratch it.”

Marlie choked on her tea, then fell back in the chair, shrieking with laughter. Trammell stretched out his long legs, as languorous as a cat, looking pleased with himself while he waited for her to calm down.

“He’s my hero,” he continued lazily after a moment. He wasn’t looking at her now, but a tiny, rather self-mocking smile lurked around his mouth as he stared at the ice in his glass. “I didn’t join the force out of idealism or anything like that; I was bored, and it seemed like an interesting job. Dane and I were paired after the first year, and we’ve been together ever since. I don’t believe in much, or trust much, but Dane is a rock I can rely on no matter what. Not that he’s idealistic, either. He’s even more cynical than I am.

“But he’s got a sense of right and wrong that he’s never lost touch with. All I see are shades of gray, but Dane can see the black and white. He knows that there are certain things worth fighting for, and he’s willing to put himself in the front line. He’s a gallant, heroic bastard, and he’s never even conscious of it. He’s an old-fashioned southern good old boy, the salt of the earth. He’s street-smart, woods-savvy, and sly as a fox. A real throwback. Mean, too. Damn, can he be mean! But he turns to putty where women are concerned. We used to laugh at him, when he was still on patrol and had to work an accident. If there was a woman involved, it didn’t matter if she was just holding her arm and a man was lying there bleeding from a dozen places; it was as if Dane never saw the guy. He’d go straight to the woman, make certain she was all right, so tender they’d be melting at his feet within a few minutes. It would embarrass him when he realized he’d left another man lying in the street, and we were all laughing at him.”

“You don’t have to tell me he has a good bedside manner,” she said dryly.

“No, I don’t suppose I do. But I’ve never before seen him the way he is with you. He’s always had women, and not one of them ever meant enough to him to interfere with the job. Until you. He couldn’t get you off his mind. You drove him crazy; you made him so angry he couldn’t think. It was the most amusing thing I’ve seen in a couple of years. He may not know he’s in love with you, but trust me, he won’t let you go. I know him. If you walk out that door, he’ll be right behind you.”

She gave him an incredulous look. “How can a man not know if he’s in love? Give me a break.”

“Well, it’s never happened to him before.”

“Had it happened to you, before Grace?”

He looked uncomfortable. He swallowed, hard. “Uh, no.”

“Did you recognize it?”

“Let’s just say that I fought it.”

“But you knew it was there. I’d never been in love before, either, but I knew what it was.”

“Dane’s more hardheaded than most.”

“You’re telling me,” she muttered. “I can’t read a thing from him.”

Trammell gave a shout of laughter, but quickly sobered. He gave her an uneasy look. “Can you read me?”

She smirked at him, happy to see him squirm. “I haven’t tried since I regained the ability.”

“How about Grace?”

“I don’t intrude on my friends,” she said sternly.

“Psychic’s Code of Honor, huh?”

“It wouldn’t be polite. I’ve always had to try to block people out, rather than try to receive their feelings.”

They heard a car door slam outside. “There’s Dane,” Trammell said, and drained his glass. “Think about it, Marlie. Give the guy a break, and save our sanity. It’s been dangerous to talk to the man today.”

“I’ll consider your view of things,” she said. “But my final decision depends on him.” Until ten minutes ago, she had thought that she had already made her final decision, but Trammell’s explanation that Dane was hardheaded had made her pause.

Dane walked in, looking hot and irritable. His gaze settled first on Marlie, with a sort of bad-tempered yearning, then on the tea they were drinking. He prepared a glass of tea for himself and sat down with a sigh. “It’s been a bitch of a day.”

“Tell me about it,” Marlie said sweetly. “I got fired.”

He stared at her for a moment, then dropped his head to the table in despair. “Shit.”

“I’m out of here,” Trammell said, smiling at Marlie. “See you in the morning, partner.”

Dane didn’t reply. Marlie sipped her tea. Trammell let himself out.

The silence in the kitchen became thick. Marlie said, “When this is over, I think I’ll move back to Colorado.”

Dane lifted his head. There was a pale cast to his tanned skin, and his mouth was compressed to a thin line. “No,” he said, very softly.

She leaned back and crossed her arms. “What are you going to do, threaten me with protective custody again? I don’t think you can get away with that.” She pushed her chair back and got up, then carried her glass to the sink.

She had just rinsed it out and placed it in the drainer when two hard hands closed on her arms and whirled her around. She drew back as far as she could, but the cabinets halted her retreat. He leaned heavily into her, his hips grinding against hers. His face was stark.

“I won’t let you go,” he muttered. “Damn it, Marlie, how can you even talk about leaving when we have this between us?”

“This?” she flared, wriggling her hips and feeling him get hard. “It’s just sex.”

“It’s more than just sex, damn it!”

“Is it? From where I stand, that’s all it’s ever been,” she taunted him, feeling him quiver with rage and enjoying it. Something fierce and hurt inside her wanted him to feel the pain as she had.

His hazel eyes went green as his control broke. “By God, if sex is all it is, then we might as well enjoy it,” he said thickly as he swooped her into his arms.

Dizzily off balance, Marlie clung to him as he strode toward the bedroom. Her heartbeat was thundering wildly, blood surging through her veins. She wanted to hit him. She wanted to bite him. She wanted to tear his clothes off and hurl herself onto him. Love and anger and lust swirled together in a volatile mixture. Maybe they couldn’t communicate with words just yet, the anger was too strong, but maybe their bodies could bridge the gap. When he roughly placed her on the bed, she reached up and grabbed his shirt and tugged, pulling him down on top of her.

In fierce silence they struggled together. His hard mouth bruised hers with the force of his kisses; she bit his lower lip, making him curse, then gently sucked at it. He tore the button off her shorts in his need to get her out of her clothes. She fought with his zipper, finally got it down, and hungrily shoved her hand down the front of his briefs. His shaft filled her hand, hard and throbbing. The head of it was already wet.

He was breathing roughly, audibly, as he stripped her panties off and in the same movement rolled on top of her, kneeing her thighs apart. He drove into her with savage need, and she cried out at the rough penetration even as she coiled her legs around him.

Supper was forgotten in the long, heated hours that followed. The heat of sunset dimmed into twilight. At first, Dane made love to her with a furious intensity that held anger and resentment at the tension he had been under. Marlie was as fierce, biting him, digging her nails into him, slamming her hips upward to take him.

They didn’t talk. That first wild lovemaking didn’t allow room, or thought, for words. Afterward they lay together in silent exhaustion, their bodies still linked. The bond they had just reforged felt too new, too fragile, to allow for separation just yet. They dozed, and Marlie awoke some undetermined time later when he began making love to her again.

This time he was tender, lingering over her. He kissed the bruises his fierce grip had left on her silky skin, silently apologizing. She licked the crescents her nails had made on him. He rode her for a long time, slowing down whenever he felt his climax approaching, not yet ready to release the pleasure.

Both of them were acutely aware that he wasn’t wearing a condom. He supported his weight on his forearms as he moved in and out of her, their gazes locked, and the knowledge was in their eyes. When he couldn’t hold off his climax any longer, when she had already convulsed twice, she gripped his buttocks and pulled him deeper into her as he let it overtake him. He shuddered and bucked with the force of his pleasure as he jetted his semen into her.

Again, it wasn’t time for words. Not yet. They slept again, entwined together, and twilight became dark.

Marlie woke first. Her body ached deliriously, and she felt the hunger growing for more of what had caused the ache. Dane still slept, but when she began caressing his shaft, both he and it stirred immediately. He rolled over onto his back and closed his arms around her as she slid on top of him.

“Stay with me,” he whispered, and closed his eyes in delight at the way the hot silk of her body so snugly enveloped him.

She hesitated, then felt him throb within her. “All right,” she whispered in return, and gently began to move. It wasn’t much, but after the ferocity of their lovemaking, she didn’t doubt his sincerity. He hadn’t been a cop, trying to catch a killer; he had been simply a man, wild with need for his woman. He hadn’t committed himself yet, at least not with words, but the bond of the flesh had reassured her. She could wait for the rest of it.

Carroll Janes had thought it over very carefully. He had to get the bitch alone, so that meant he had to get Detective Hollister to leave.

He didn’t call 911, which would give the dispatcher the telephone number he’d called from. He called police headquarters directly.

He knew himself to be a very good actor. He was proud of the frantic tone of his voice when he said, “There’s been a woman killed! There’s been another—it’s him! I swear to God it had to be him. Blood—she’s cut everywhere! Butchered! I saw him leaving, bald head just like in that sketch!”

“Slow down, slow down,” the authoritative voice said. “I can’t understand you. Repeat that, please.”

Janes drew in deep, audible breaths. “Another woman’s been killed. I saw a bald man run. She’s cut all to pieces, there’s blood—” He made gagging noises in the phone.

“Calm down, sir. Where are you? Can you give me an address?”

Janes rattled off an address he had looked up, on the opposite side of town. He stumbled over the street and numbers a couple of times to make it realistic. Then he hung up and waited.

He was at a phone booth two blocks from Detective Hollister’s house.

The telephone rang. Dane snatched it up. After listening a minute, he said, “I’m on my way.” He rolled out of bed and began pulling on his clothes.

Marlie raised herself on her elbow. “What?”

“Another murder,” he said tersely. “They think it was him.”

She shook her head. “No.”

He paused, remembering. “That’s right. You didn’t feel anything, did you?”

“Not a thing. It wasn’t him.” She got out of bed and began dressing, too.

He sighed. “It’s probably another copycat, damn it. I’m sorry, baby.”

“It isn’t your fault,” she said. “You’re on the task force; you have to go.”

He pulled her into his arms, holding her tight against him. “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

She rubbed her face against his chest, enjoying the heated scent of him. “I’ll watch television and wait up for you.”

He tilted her face up and leaned down to kiss her. “If you happen to go to sleep, I’ll wake you up.”

“It’s a deal.”

“We have a lot to talk about,” he said, determination in his voice.

“I know. Go!”

He started toward the door, then turned back. He pulled open the top drawer of the bedside table and took out a pistol. He checked it, made certain the chamber was full and that the safety was on. “Keep this handy. Do you know how to use it?”

She nodded. She wasn’t exactly experienced, but she knew how a pistol worked. After all, she had lived alone in the mountains; it had seemed only smart to teach herself the basics.

He kissed her again. “Okay. Be careful, keep the pistol with you, and don’t open the door to strangers. I’ll radio in and have a patrolman over to watch the house; one should be outside within five minutes. I’ll call you when I’m on the way home, so you won’t shoot me by mistake.”

“I said I’ll wait up for you,” she said, smiling.

“A man can’t be too careful. Or a woman,” he added sternly.

“Gotcha.”

He left, and she turned on the television, settling down on the couch to run through the channels and look for something interesting.

Dane had been gone for less than five minutes when she sat bolt upright, her heart pounding. A cold chill chased over her skin, roughening it. A powerful sense of alarm filled her.

She felt the blow of recognition as an image flashed through her mind, blotting out her own thought: black-gloved hands, one of them holding wire cutters, tugging at a group of wires.

She panted, trying to draw in enough oxygen from air that suddenly seemed to suffocate. Dear God, so he was striking after all! And Dane had left. Had the call been a false alarm, to draw them away, so the killer could get at Beverly? The policewoman would be all alone.

Marlie stumbled toward the phone. A vision flashed, halting her. In her mind, she saw the wire cutters biting through plastic and wire.

And the lights went out.