Lucia figured she had no option but try to escape. Holding on to her fraying nerves as best she could, she waited half a second; then, just as she heard the doorknob twist on the main door, she opened the back and slipped through, closing it without a click.

She took off like a shot. Running away, her footsteps light as a butterfly’s wings, the hem of her habit swooshing against the floor.

She rounded the corner just as she heard the door through which she’d just passed open again.

The intruder would know it hadn’t been locked.

He’d figure out that someone had been inside.

Oh, dear God!

Lucia only hoped she could get away before whoever it was realized it was her. Sending up a quick prayer, she hurried up the stairs, and as she reached the landing, turning toward the next floor, she heard the voice again, that vile, rasping snarl as loud as it had ever been:

Pssssssssttttt.

This time she wouldn’t listen.

This time she’d break the cruel chain that had been tethering her.

This time, just maybe, she’d save a life, but in her mind’s eye, she already saw the images, quick black and white snapshots of a woman, in a bridal gown, grasping the tightening chain at her neck, her mouth moving beneath her veil like a fish out of water, desperately trying to take in air through gills that wouldn’t function.

Was it too late already?

She cast a worried look over her shoulder, seeing nothing but darkness.

Pssssssst! the voice sibilated as the midnight bells began to toll mournfully.

Under their dulcet peals, chasing after her in the night-shaded hallways, was the creeping hiss of indecent laughter.

CHAPTER 45

CHAPTER 45

Montoya couldn’t sleep.

The case was getting to him, and even after a long lovemaking session with Abby, he tossed and turned, unable to find the peace of mind to drop off.

He’d rolled toward her one last time, and as he’d slipped his arm around her waist, Abby had sighed contentedly, wiggling her rump into his crotch and causing him to get hard all over again.

She felt it, too, and said, “Not again, Detective. Our little guy is going to wake up soon.”

“Well, my little guy is interested.”

“Tell him to give it a rest.” She scooted away and sighed deeply into the pillow, so he rolled over and told himself to slow down, think hard, work out the kinks in the murders.

Clifton Sharkey was still in his sights because of the bad alibi for the Camille Renard murder. He’d sworn that he’d only lied to protect himself, that he was afraid that the cops wouldn’t buy the fact that he was home alone, not with his record.