He hadn’t disappointed. With his hands firmly splayed over her back, his legs had pressed against hers, and silently, still kissing her, he began walking forward, strong thighs pushing against hers and forcing her backward. They’d tugged at each other’s clothes, yanking them off, breathing hard, as he guided her through an open doorway and into a bedroom painted a hideous color of blue. Her calves encountered something hard and Jay pulled her down so that they tumbled together onto a small cot with a sleeping bag and single pillow.

She hadn’t cared.

She’d only wanted to lose herself in him.

Their lovemaking had been fast and anxious, lips touching and tasting hungrily, fingers skimming hot, fevered skin, desire fueled by anxiety.

Release had come quickly.

They’d collapsed together, spent, sweating, their heartbeats pounding in tandem on the skinny little cot.

Kristi had hated that she needed to lie. Had put it off and put it off, not wanting the afternoon with Jay to end.

“This is ridiculous,” she said, pushing her hair out of her face and staring into his slumberous amber eyes.

He laughed. “And I was going to say it was magical…wondrous…incredible…and—”

“And you’re full of it, McKnight.” Then she kissed him and rolled off the cot to pull on her clothes.

He’d been pretty damned adamant about going to the police again, and she’d had to talk fast and hard to convince him to wait. She hadn’t been completely truthful, at least as far as her plans were concerned. She hadn’t been able to be.

She’d waited until he was distracted with grading papers and watching the computer screens that showed the porch and interior of her apartment, compliments of his surveillance cameras. She pretended to be absorbed as well, double-checking the chat rooms, though it was far too early for any of her newfound Internet “friends” to appear. Then while Jay was in his study, she retrieved the chain with the vial of what she presumed was Tara Atwater’s blood. Tonight, at the play, she planned to wear the weird necklace. See what kind of reactions she got.

Jay had already tried to lift a latent fingerprint from the tiny vial, but the glass had been clean, so Kristi wasn’t disturbing any evidence—as long as the vial filled with the dark red liquid was intact.

It was slightly horrific, but so what?

So was the camera in her apartment.

So was being followed by a dark van.

If she wanted to break into the inner circle of this cult, she’d better work fast.

The vial of blood had been a godsend.

Or the work of the devil.