“Don’t go there,” he warned himself as he climbed the steps to the back porch and swept his gaze over the main house and outbuildings one last time.

By now it was really dark, only the gray-blue illumination of the solar lights casting their eerie glow over the grass and flowers, their blooms already closed for the night. A few cars rolled down the side street, and there were none parked that shouldn’t have been there.

Nonetheless, he was going to call Montoya.

Someone had wanted Camille’s diary.

Why?

And who?

He stopped at his pickup, unlocked the glove box, and pulled out his pistol, a thirty-eight. Not a lot of firepower, but enough to deter an assailant. Tucking the weapon into the back of his jeans, he returned to the house and hurried up the back steps.

Inside, he found Valerie waiting, the damned BlackBerry in a plastic bag. Her face was white as death, her eyes round with a quiet fear, her pointed chin set.

“What’ve you got?”

“A little present,” she said. “Left by our friend.”

“Our friend? Oh.” The intruder. “More than what we saw earlier?”

“Oh, yeah. Take a look.” She handed him the BlackBerry in its see-through skin.

He stared at the tiny screen, once more saw Cammie draw her last painful breath, her terrified gaze beseeching.

“Son of a bitch,” he muttered, sick inside all over again at the image.

“The show’s not over.” Val’s voice was devoid of any trace of humor.

A second video appeared on a small screen, the woman, he knew from the news reports, being Sister Asteria. This victim, too, a beautiful woman, battled for and lost her life. Her eyes were bulbous, her lips moving, blood oozing at her throat as she lay helplessly on the ground.

“Dear God,” he whispered, horrified. “Don’t tell me there’s more,” he said, watching as Val pressed another set of keys.

“Nope. This time it’s only audio.” She pushed the key for speaker, and he heard the voice, a harsh, rasping sound, obviously disguised. He couldn’t tell whether it was male of female; all he knew was that it was deadly.

“You’re on the list,” it said in a sickening hiss, then paused for effect before adding, “There is no escape.”

The hairs on the back of his neck lifted. Fear crystalized in his brain, while anger that anyone would threaten Val fired his blood. “This was meant for you.”

“Apparently.”

“We need to call Montoya.”

“Already left him a message,” she said, too calmly for his satisfaction.