She had written three letters, too. W-I-L.
There had been a William on their suspect list. Dallas had caught him two nights later, about to slit the throat of another woman.
There was no trial. Dallas followed the rule book to the letter. He gave the guy a warning. But when the bastard started moving his knife, Dallas fired. The intended victim had nearly died; she would have the scar for life to prove it. And William Warwich had died, just as he deserved to.
Everyone said that Adrian would have been glad that they’d brought down the bastard who’d killed twelve women, that they had saved the next one—because of her.
He didn’t care. She shouldn’t have died. She should have lived.
But she had died. And she hadn’t come back.
He lay in the darkness thinking about those who had been lost. He knew that loss came with the territory, but it was still hard to take. He knew he had signed on that line, as well, that he was willing to risk his own life. Somehow, that seemed different.
He heard it the second his doorknob turned. He hadn’t bothered to lock it, since there were only the two of them in the house, and he’d gone over every possible point of entry with a fine-tooth comb to make sure it was as secure as possible. Still, he reached over to the night table for the regulation Glock he carried. He kept his Smith & Wesson—his backup weapon of choice—tucked in his briefcase at night.
The door opened, and for a moment he saw Hannah O’Brien only as a dark silhouette created by the night lights in the hallway. Even in shadow, her hair seemed to shimmer. As his eyes adjusted and she came into focus, he found her somehow both appealing and vulnerable in bare feet and a long cotton T-shirt.
His hand relaxed, and he let go of the gun. He realized she was hesitating, presumably thinking he might be asleep.
“Hey,” he said.
“Oh, you’re still awake,” she said with relief.
“Yes, come on in.” His shorts were almost as good as bathing trunks. And he was covered with a sheet.
She turned the light on as she entered. The sudden blaze hurt his eyes for a second, and he blinked.
“Oh, sorry,” she said.
“It’s okay. What is it? Did you hear something?” he asked, frowning.
“No, I just woke up because...there’s something important I haven’t told you.”
“Oh?” he asked. There was that sharp tone in his voice again. He knew better than to use it with civilians. He winced. “Sorry. Please, sit,” he said, indicating the foot of the bed. “Tell me.”
“The thing is, it wouldn’t have made a difference before tonight. I mean, I wouldn’t have told you before tonight. Because I didn’t know you...well, you must know what it’s like to tell someone you’ve been chatting with a ghost. Anyway...he’s here. Not right now. But Jose Rodriguez came back. He was here this afternoon, and he wanted help. I told him I’d talk to Liam. He doesn’t have as easy a time as you seem to, talking with the dead, but he has seen and communicated with them. He wouldn’t have thought I was crazy. I left him a message, but he never got back to me. And then tonight...you don’t just see them, you can talk to them like I can. I was so surprised that...well, I didn’t think to tell you about Jose until now.”
“He’s back—and he talked to you,” Dallas said. And why not? The woman was open to the spirit world. Jose had felt her touch in death. He’d known.
Dallas inhaled and looked at her, and was both surprised and dismayed by the undeniable effect she had on him. That long blond hair, the deep color of her eyes...the warmth of her body. Somehow that T-shirt was sexier than any silk lingerie could ever be.
He couldn’t have gotten out of bed then, even if he’d wanted to.
Neither could he shake her and tell her how important the information was that she’d just given him, and how frustrated he was that she hadn’t told him earlier.
He nodded slowly, trying to remember his manners. “Hannah, that’s great,” he finally said. “And I can’t begin to tell you how important it is. If you see him, sense him—if you have any idea he’s near—it’s imperative that you tell me right away. Okay?”
“Of course,” she said. “That’s why...I guess it doesn’t make any difference. I could have told you in the morning. But...I didn’t want to wait.”
“Thank you.”
“Of course. I should have said something earlier, I just...”
“Trust me, I know,” he said.