“No.” His grin stretched and was absolutely wicked. She arched an eyebrow and he said on a sigh, “But, being the gentleman I am, I will.”

“Another bad line, Houston.”

He chuckled, and, standing, he whistled to the dog. “Come on, Bo, the lady wants to be alone.” He walked through the door and called over his shoulder, “We’ll check the perimeter, but I’m sure whoever was inside is long gone.”

“No doubt.” As she heard him leave, she dressed—underwear, bra, T-shirt, and jeans. She scraped her hair back but didn’t bother with any makeup other than a slash of lip gloss, then walked into the living area again.

There was the damned BlackBerry, right where she’d dropped it. She was careful as she picked it up, using a plastic bag as she stared again at the short video of her sister’s death.

“You sick son of a bitch,” she muttered, then hit the keys to play another one. Her heart dropped as she recognized Sister Asteria, in a bridal gown, a rosary over her throat, gasping for breath, tears rolling down her face as she, too, died before the camera.

What kind of psychopath were they dealing with?

Valerie’s hands were shaking. She could barely touch the buttons for another video, and this one was blank, a black screen, but there was a voice, a harsh, hissing whisper, the same one that haunted her dreams.

Her scalp prickled and her mouth turned to sand as she listened.

“You’re on the lissssst,” the horrid voice intoned smugly. “There is no esssscape.”

Valerie had no doubt the message was meant for her.

CHAPTER 41

CHAPTER 41

Of course he found nothing.

Slade walked around the grounds of the Briarstone bed-and-breakfast and discovered nothing more dangerous than a possum, nine or ten babies on her back, lumbering toward the chokecherry and milkweed that grew in profusion near the picket fence.

Whoever had left the damned BlackBerry had disappeared like a wraith, leaving no footprint or any disturbance that Slade could see. Nor was there any scent that caused Bo to go out of his mind with barking.

Then again, the old dog hadn’t seen the possum, so he couldn’t be counted on for too much help. “Come on, boy,” he said, and tried to stay calm.

No one had gotten hurt.

But the thought that someone had been prowling around the house while Valerie was inside alone bothered him, and despite all her tough, ex-cop act, he knew she was vulnerable. The creep had been inside!

What if, instead of slamming the screen door, the intruder had actually had a gun and fired? What if even now, Slade were in the emergency room of the local hospital, waiting at Valerie’s bedside, hoping she would survive the attack? What if the attack had been deadly, a bullet straight to the heart?