aine woke up at ten-thirty Sunday morning. She woke up then only because the phone was ringing. She started to fumble for the receiver, remembered this was Sam’s house, and snuggled back into the pillow. So what if it was on her side of the bed? His phone, his responsibility.

He stirred beside her, all heat and hardness and musky male scent.

“Get the phone, will you?” he said sleepily.

“It’s for you,” she mumbled.

“How d’you know?”

“It’s your phone.” She hated having to point out the obvious.

Muttering something under his breath, he heaved himself up on one elbow and leaned over her to reach the phone, squashing her into the mattress. “Yeah,” he said. “Donovan.”

“Yeah,” he said again, after a short pause. “She’s here.” He dropped the phone onto the pillow in front of her and smirked. “It’s Shelley.”

She thought a few swear words, but didn’t say them. Sam still hadn’t made her pay for the “son of a bitch” she’d yelled when she hit her head on the table, and she didn’t want to remind him. Cradling the phone to her ear, she said, “Hello,” as Sam lay down beside her again.

“Long night?” Shelley asked sarcastically.

“About twelve, thirteen hours. The usual for this time of year.”

A hard, warm body pressed against her back, and a hard, warm hand smoothed over her belly on a slow sweep up to her breasts. Something else that was hard and warm prodded her bottom.

“Ha, ha,” said Shelley. “You have to come get this cat.” She didn’t sound like the point was negotiable.

“BooBoo? Why?” Like she didn’t know. Sam was rubbing her nipples, and she put her hand over his to still his fingers. She needed to concentrate, or she might get stuck with BooBoo again.

“He’s destroying my furniture! He’s always seemed like such a sweet cat, but he’s a destructive demon!”

“He’s just upset at being in a strange place.” Deprived of her nipples, Sam moved his hand down to another interesting spot. She clamped her legs together to halt the slide of his fingers.

“He isn’t nearly as upset as I am!” Shelley sounded more than upset; she sounded outraged. “Look, I can’t take care of planning your wedding when I have to watch this demon cat every second of the day.”

“Do you want to risk him getting killed? Do you want to tell Mom that you let a psycho nutcase killer mutilate her cat because you care more about your furniture than you do her feelings?” Boy, that was good, if she did say so herself. Masterful.

Shelley was breathing hard. “You fight dirty” she complained.

Sam tugged his hand free from the clamp of her thighs and chose another angle of attack: her rear guard. That thought-destroying hand stroked her bottom, then slid on down and around, finding just what he wanted and working two long fingers into her. She gasped and almost dropped the phone.

Shelley also chose another angle of attack. “You aren’t even staying at your house, you’re staying with Sam. BooBoo will be all right there.”

Oh, no. She couldn’t concentrate. His fingers were big and rough, and they were driving her out of her mind. It was his revenge for making him answer the phone, but if he didn’t stop it he was going to have an outraged cat shredding everything in his house.

“Just pet him a lot,” she managed to gasp. “He’ll settle down.” Yeah, in a couple of weeks. “He especially likes to have his ears scratched.”

“Come get him.”

“Shel, I can’t just bring a cat into someone else’s house!” “Sure you can. Sam would put up with a herd of maniac demon cats just to get in your pants. Use your power now, while it lasts! In a few months he won’t even bother to shave before crawling into bed with you.”

Great. Shelley was trying to turn this into a male-female power issue. Sam’s knuckle rubbed over her clitoris, and she almost mewed. She managed to say, “I can’t,” though she wasn’t certain to whom she was saying it, Sam or Shelley.

Sam said, “Yes, you can,” in a low, smoky voice, and Shelley shrieked in her ear, “Oh, my God, you’re doing it right now, aren’t you? I heard him! You’re talking to me on the phone while Sam is boinking you!”

“No, no,” Jaine babbled, and Sam promptly made a liar out of her by sliding out his fingers and replacing them with a hard thrust of his full-grown morning erection. She bit her lip, but a strangled sound escaped anyway.

“I can see I’m wasting my time talking to you now,” Shelley said. “I’ll call again when you aren’t occupied. How long does it usually take him? Five minutes? Ten?”

Now she wanted an appointment. Since biting her lip hadn’t worked, Jaine tried biting the pillow. Desperately reaching for a moment of control, just a moment, she managed to say, “A couple of hours.”

“Two hours!” Shelley was shrieking again. She paused. “Does he have any brothers?”

“F-four.”

“Man!” There was another pause as Shelley evidently weighed the advantages and disadvantages of dumping Al in favor of a Donovan. She finally sighed. “I’m going to have to rethink my strategy. You’d probably let BooBoo tear my house down, brick by brick, before you’d do anything to upset that particular applecart, wouldn’t you?”

“You got it,” Jaine agreed, her eyes closing. Sam shifted position, getting to his knees and straddling her right leg, with her left one hooked over his arm. Forking her that way, his penetration was deep and straight in, and his left thigh rubbed right where it did the most good. She had to bite the pillow again.

“Okay, I’ll let you go.” Shelley sounded defeated. “I tried.”

“Bye,” Jaine said thickly, and fumbled to return the phone to its hook, but couldn’t quite reach it. Sam leaned forward to do the honors, and the movement pushed him so deeply inside her that she shrieked and climaxed.

When she could speak, she pushed her hair out of her face and said, “You’re evil.” She was panting and weak, unable to do anything except lie there.

“No, babe, I’m good,” he countered, and proved it.

When he was lying beside her, sweaty and limp, he said sleepily, “I gather we almost got BooBoo back.”

“Yeah, and you weren’t helping matters,” she grumbled. “She knew what you were doing, too. I’ll probably never live this down.”

The phone rang again. Jaine said, “If it’s Shelley, I’m not here.”

“Like she’ll believe that,” he said as he groped for the receiver.

“I don’t care what she believes, as long as I don’t have to talk to her right now.”

“Hello,” he said. “Yeah, she’s here.”

He extended the phone, and she took it, glaring at him. He mouthed, “Cheryl,” and she sighed with relief. “Hi, Cheryl.”

“Hi. Listen, I’ve been trying to call Luna. I have some photos of Marci that she wanted to have copied, and I wanted her address to mail them to her. I was just there yesterday, but who pays attention to street signs and numbers? Anyway, she isn’t answering her phone, so do you have the address?”

Jaine sat upright, a chill roughening her bare skin. “She isn’t answering? How long have you been trying to call?”

“Since eight, I guess. About three hours.” Cheryl suddenly got it, and said, “Oh, God.”

Sam was out of bed, pulling on his pants. “Who?” he asked sharply, and turned on his cell phone.

“Luna,” Jaine answered, her throat tight. “Listen, Cheryl, maybe it’s nothing. Maybe she went to church, or out to breakfast with Shamal. Maybe she’s with him. I’ll check and have her call you when I find her. Okay?”

Sam punched out numbers on the cell phone as he pulled a clean shirt out of the closet and shrugged into it. Carrying his socks and shoes, he left the bedroom, talking so quietly into the little phone she couldn’t hear what he was saying.

To Cheryl she said, “Sam’s calling some people. He’ll find her.” She hung up without saying good-bye, then vaulted out of bed and began fumbling for her own clothes. She was shaking, the tremors growing worse by the second. Just a few minutes ago she had been so blissed out, and now this awful terror was making her sick; the contrast was almost paralyzing.

She stumbled into the living room, fastening her jeans, as Sam was going out the door. He was wearing his pistol and his badge. “Wait!” she cried, panicked.

“No.” He stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “You can’t go.”

“Yes I can.” Wildly she looked around for her shoes. They were in the bedroom, damn it. “Wait for me!”

“Jaine.” It was his cop voice. “No. If anything has happened, you’ll only be in the way. You wouldn’t be allowed inside, and it’s too damn hot to sit out in the truck. Go over to T.J.’s and wait there. I’ll call you as soon as I know something.”

She was still shaking, and now she was crying, too. No wonder he didn’t want her along. She swiped her hand over her face. “P-promise?”

“I promise.” His expression softened. “Be careful on the way to T.J.’s. And, babe – don’t let anyone in the door, okay?”

She nodded, feeling worse than useless. “Okay.”

“I’ll call,” he said again, and was gone.

Jaine slumped down on the sofa and cried in raw, ragged gulps. She couldn’t do this again; she just couldn’t. Not Luna. She was so young and beautiful, that bastard couldn’t have hurt her. Luna had to be with Shamal; she had been so luminously happy at his sudden turnaround that they were probably spending every spare moment together. Sam would find her. Shamal’s number was unlisted, but cops had ways of getting unlisted numbers. Luna would be with Shamal, and then Jaine would feel silly for panicking this way.

Finally she stopped crying and mopped her face. She had to get to T.J.’s, to wait for Sam’s call. She started to the bedroom, then abruptly turned back and locked the front door.

She arrived at T.J.’s twenty minutes later, having done nothing more than brush her teeth and hair and finish dressing. She leaned on the doorbell. “T.J. it’s Jaine! Hurry!”

She heard running footsteps, the cocker spaniel barking; then the door was wrenched open and T.J. ‘s worried face swam before her. “What’s wrong?” T.J. asked, jerking her inside the door, but Jaine couldn’t tell her; she couldn’t get the words out. Still barking hysterically, the cocker spaniel, Trilby, jumped up on their legs.

“Trilby, hush!” T.J. said. Her chin trembled, and she swallowed. “Luna?”

Jaine nodded, still unable to talk. T.J. put her hand over her mouth as awful, gut-wrenching cries tore from her throat, and she fell back against the wall.

“No, no!” Jaine managed to say, putting her arms around T.J. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean – ” She took a deep breath. “We don’t know yet. Sam’s on his way over there, and he’s going to call here when he knows – ”

“What’s going on?” Galan asked in alarm, stepping into the foyer. A section of the Sunday paper was in his hand. Trilby ran over to him, her little stump of a tail wagging ferociously.

That damn shaking had started again. Jaine tried to control it. “Luna’s missing. Cheryl hasn’t been able to get her on the phone.”

“So she’s gone grocery shopping,” Galan said, shrugging.

T.J. gave him a look of such fury it should have scorched his skin. “He thinks we’re hysterical and Marci was lolled by some doper.”

“That makes a lot more sense than the bunch of you being stalked by a maniac,” he shot back. “Stop dramatizing everything.”

“If we’re dramatizing it,” Jaine said, “so are the police.” Then she bit her lip. She didn’t want to get in the middle of a domestic dispute. T.J. and Galan had enough trouble without her adding to it.

Galan shrugged again. “T.J. said you’re marrying a cop, so he’s probably humoring you. Come on, pooch.” He turned and walked back to his den and his newspaper, Trilby scampering around his feet.

“Forget him,” T.J. said. “Tell me what happened.”

Jaine related what Cheryl had said and the time frame. T.J. glanced at the clock; it was now just after noon. “Four hours, at least. She isn’t grocery shopping. Has anyone called Shamal?”

“His number’s unlisted, but Sam will take care of it.”

They went into the kitchen, where T.J. had been reading. Her open book lay in the alcove. T.J. put on a pot of coffee. They were each on their second cup, the cordless phone at T.J.’s elbow, when it finally rang. She snatched it up. “Sam?”

She listened for a moment, and watching her face, Jaine felt the hope die out of her. T.J. looked stunned, all color draining from her. Her lips moved, but no sound emerged.

Jaine grabbed the phone. “Sam? Tell me.”

His voice was heavy. “Baby, I’m sorry It looks like it happened last night, maybe as soon as she got home from the funeral.”

T.J. laid her head on the table, weeping. Jaine reached to touch her shoulder, trying to offer comfort, but she could feel herself folding in, giving in to the grief, and she didn’t know if she had any comfort to offer.

“Stay there,” Sam said. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be there when I can get free. This isn’t my jurisdiction, but we’re all putting our heads together. It may be several hours, but don’t go anywhere,” he repeated.

“Okay,” Jaine whispered, and hung up.

Galan came to the door and stood hovering, staring at T.J. as if he hoped she was still overreacting, but something in his face said that this time he knew better. He was pale. “What?” he croaked.

“That was Sam,” Jaine said. “Luna’s dead.” Then her fragile control broke, and it was a long time before she could do anything except weep and hold on to T.J.

It was sunset before Sam arrived. He looked tired and angry. He introduced himself to Galan, because neither Jaine nor T.J. thought to.

“You were at the funeral,” Galan said suddenly, his gaze sharpening.

Sam nodded. “A Sterling Heights detective was, too. We hoped we could spot him, but he’s either too slick or he wasn’t there.”

Galan glanced at his wife. T.J. was sitting quietly, absently stroking the black-and-white cocker spaniel. Yesterday Galan’s gaze had been remote, but there was nothing remote about the way he was watching her now. “Someone’s really after them. It’s so damn hard to believe.”

“Believe it,” Sam said briefly, his guts twisting with fury as he remembered what had been done to Luna. She had suffered the same vicious, personal attack, her face battered beyond recognition, the multiple stab wounds, the sexual abuse. Unlike Marci, she had still been alive when he stabbed her; the apartment floor was awash in blood. Her clothes had also been shredded, just like Jaine’s. When he thought how close Jaine had come to dying, what she would have suffered if she had been at home on Wednesday night, he could barely contain his rage.

“Did you get in touch with her parents?” Jaine asked hoarsely. They lived in Toledo, so they weren’t far away.

“Yes, they’re already here,” Sam said. He sat down and put his arms around her, cradling her head on his shoulder.

His pager beeped. He reached for his belt and silenced it, then glanced at the number and cursed, rubbing his face. “I have to go.”

“Jaine can stay here,” T.J. said, before he could ask.

“I don’t have any clothes,” Jaine said, but she wasn’t protesting, just stating a problem.

“I’ll drive you home,” Galan said. “T.J. will go, too. You can pack whatever you need, stay as long as you want.”

Sam nodded in approval. “I’ll call,” he said as he went out the door.

Corin rocked back and forth. He couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t sleep. He hummed to himself, the way he had done when he was little, but the magic song didn’t work. He wondered when it had stopped working. He didn’t remember.

The bitch in red was dead. Mother was so pleased. Two down and two to go.

He felt good. For the first time in his life, he was pleasing Mother. Nothing he had ever done before had been good enough for her because he had always been flawed, no matter how hard she tried to make him perfect. He was doing this right, though; she was very pleased. He was ridding the world of the whoring bitches, one by one by one. No. Too many “ones”. He hadn’t done three yet. He had tried, but one hadn’t been at home.

He remembered seeing her at the funeral, though. She had laughed. Or was it the other one? He felt confused, because the faces kept swimming in his memory.

One shouldn’t laugh at funerals. It was very hurtful to the bereaved.

But which one had laughed? Why couldn’t he remember?

It didn’t matter, he thought to himself, and felt better. They both had to die, and then it wouldn’t matter which one had laughed, or which one was “Ms. C.” It wouldn’t matter, because finally – finally – Mother would be happy and she would never, never hurt him again.