My heart cartwheels in my chest when he begins unlacing my left boot. I stare at his fingers. The manicured nails. The rock-steady hands. He’s so utterly normal-looking I can almost convince myself this isn’t happening.

But the man unlacing my boot is incapable of feeling any emotion other than the gnawing compulsion of his dark hunger. Tonight, that hunger is focused on me—and minutes away from spiraling out of control.

The clock on the dash reads three-thirty A.M. when John parked the Tahoe outside the Painters Mill police department. Snow swirled in when he pushed open the front door. Mona sat at the dispatch station, a lollipop in her mouth, both feet propped next to her monitor. A lilting Red Hot Chili Peppers tune floated from a radio on the credenza. She looked up from her book when John entered. Her feet hit the floor and she stood.

“I thought you left.”

“I’m back.” He headed toward Kate’s office. “You seen the chief?”

“Not since Detrick just about arrested her.”

“Any idea where she is?”

“I figured she went home.”

“How long ago did she leave?”

“A couple of hours, I think.”

“Where’s Detrick?”

“I assumed he went home, too.” He brows snapped together. “Is there something going on?”

The bell on the front door jingled. Glock blew in looking as grim as John had ever seen him. Mona yanked the sucker out of her mouth. “What’s going on, you guys?”

Ignoring her, John turned to Glock. “Were you able to get Detrick?”

“I tried his cell, but he didn’t pick up.”

“Try him at home.”

He expected the former Marine to question the wisdom of calling the sheriff at three-thirty in the morning. Instead he slid his cell from its nest and hit two buttons. “Lora? Hey, it’s Rupert Maddox.” He looked at John as he spoke. “Yeah, everything’s fine. I was just wondering if you could put Nathan on the line for a sec.” Glock’s brows go up. “He’s not there? Really? Do you know where he is?” He nods. “Well, that’s dedication for you. I’ll get him on the radio. Sorry to have bothered you.”

His grim expression fell on John with the same levity of the words that followed. “Housekeeper says he’s on patrol.”

“Try him at the sheriff’s office.” John turned his attention to Mona. “See if you can get him on the radio.”

Sliding the headset over her ears, she hit a couple of buttons and spoke into the mouthpiece. “This is dispatch hailing 247. Sheriff Detrick, do you read?”

“Try his cell phone again,” John said to Glock.

The former Marine lowered his cell. “Voice mail.”

“Shit.” John’s mind skittered through his options. “Detrick own any property around here?”

Glock shook his head. “I don’t know.”

“What about abandoned farms or—”

“I have a list!”

Both men looked at Mona. She looked excited by the prospect of helping. “I have a copy of the one I gave Detrick.” Grabbing the mouse next to her computer, she clicked and the printer spit out two pages. Mona handed them to John. “I broke it down by homes, farms, and businesses within a fifty mile radius.”