Erin refused to be swayed by the offhand compliment or the skitter of her pulse. She repeated, “No pictures.”

Gabriel exhaled sharply, trying not to be annoyed. Had they circled back to suspicion already? To stop himself from exploding, he set the pad and pencil on the low table at his knees. He reclined on the sofa, draping his arm along the curved back. He wouldn’t push, he promised himself. Lightly cajole, maybe, but he wouldn’t make her run.

In a conciliatory tone, he agreed, “No pictures. Gotcha. But there is a story here, Erin. I plan to write it.”

“I understand that. I agreed to help you, but I don’t want my name mentioned.” Erin gestured to the album lying open on the table. “We have the obituaries and the note. I’ve drawn a preliminary profile of the killer. That should be enough without bringing me into it.”

Gabriel sprang to his feet. “You are the story, Erin. The killer wrote to you. The language connection was invisible to everyone but you.”

Survival demanded that she remain invisible. “That’s my condition, Gabriel. Mention me, and the story’s through.”

The threat grated. He was tired of having the same fight with her with one hand tied behind his back. She could keep her damned secrets, but she wouldn’t ruin the story of his career. He taunted, “Freedom of the press, cher. You can’t stop me.”

“I’ll deny it.”

“Then Sylvie will corroborate. Face it, Erin. This is bigger than your half-truths and mysteries. Real people are dying, and you’re the linchpin.” Frustration curled his fingers as he tried to moderate his tone. “You know I’m right. You’re not a source. You’re the story.”

Erin saw his fist clench, felt anger transform into blind panic. In a flash, all Erin saw was Nathan. All she heard was cold, male anger and disappointment. All she knew was that she had to get away. Now. Clumsily, she edged out of range. “You can’t force me,” she accused haltingly.

The transformation startled him. Her pupils had dilated, the brown swimming with fear. Her skin held a thin sheen that alarmed him. Gabriel took a concerned step toward her.

Erin nearly fell as she tried to put distance between herself and certain retribution. The wall pressed against her spine, a barrier to escape. Braced for the blow, she turned her head. Lost in nightmare, she declared in a flat tone with none of its usual smoky depth, “Don’t!”

“Erin?” Gabriel lifted his hands so she could see them. “I’m not going to hurt you. I swear.”

When she said nothing, he noticed her hands twisting into knots, her skin drained of color.