Erin replaced the phone, staring at the note. Calling Gabriel had been instinct. What she had to do next was purely self-preservation. She circled the breakfast island and entered the kitchen. Coolly, she reached into the kitchen drawer for a pair of scissors. The strip of paper with her name on it floated down into the sink. The rush of tap water blurred the ink before the disposal ripped the sliver to shreds. She filled a glass, drinking to soothe her tight throat. Erin paced beyond sight of the window, able to see out without others seeing in. At each creak and moan of the old building, she shivered in the evening heat. She should be terrified, she imagined. But there was no room for terror, only survival.

There was no question now: The killer wanted revenge.

Revenge for the death of Nathan Rhodes. Because she’d chosen her life over his, knowing she had no choice.

It had been months before she could sleep in Sebastian’s apartment with the door closed, the lights off. In the dark, the dreams waited.

If the killer knew of Analise, knew of Nathan, then he knew of the dark room and what she’d seen. He knew she had run to the mountains to escape. Horror forced her to run. But she’d run as far as she could, and Nathan had found her. She’d run again, only to wind up in the middle of a nightmare. This time, she had to take a stand.

She would not run again.

So she was calm when Gabriel’s battered Jeep screeched to a halt at the curb. As she pressed the buzzer to admit him, she thought about how much of the truth she could give him.

“What happened?” Gabriel demanded as he rounded the corner, seconds later. “Are you okay?” Without waiting for a response, he pushed past her into the apartment. Erin closed the door and secured the latch. She handed him the doctored note. “It was waiting for me this afternoon.”

The words on the paper skittered nerves Gabriel thought long since deadened. “Where did you find it?”

“My mailbox. Just like the first one.” She took a seat on the couch, sipped from the water she’d poured. “The next victim is coming. Soon.”

Gabriel leaned against the mantel, which gave him a clear view of the windows. “Tell me about the cellar, Erin.” It was a command. His hard voice contained no compassion, no hesitation. Just certainty that his orders would be met. “What happened in the mountains?”

She stared at him for infinite seconds. Tall, solid, with skin burnished to a copper sheen, he reminded her of a sculpture of a modern god. His smoke-gray eyes, so unexpected amid the shades of brown, seemed to burrow into her. They demanded her secrets, every story she could tell.

She shifted forward. “Metaphors. Heights, depths.”