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  She was being an idiot. Of course she was. This had nothing to do with her past. Or the mysterious stalker who had made her life hell.

  Still . . .

  She couldn’t shake the sudden premonition that slithered down her spine.

  “Is Mike still out at Frank’s?” she abruptly demanded, referring to the sheriff, Mike O’Brien.

  “Yeah.” Birdie sent her a curious glance. “I think he was waiting for the Corps of Engineers to get out there so they could discuss how long it would take for the field to drain.” She wrinkled her nose. “I suppose they need to make sure there aren’t any other bodies.”

  More bodies.

  A fierce urgency pounded through her. She might be overreacting, but she wasn’t going to be satisfied until she spoke to Mike.

  “I need to go.”

  “You haven’t had your coffee,” Birdie protested.

  “Not this morning, thanks, Birdie.”

  “Okay.” The older woman stepped back. “I’ll get your money and—”

  “I’ll stop by later to get it.” Jaci turned to pull open the back door.

  Instantly a chilled blast of air swept around them.

  “What’s your rush?” Birdie demanded.

  “I have some questions that need answers,” she said.

  “With who?” Birdie demanded, making a sound of impatience as Jaci darted into the alley and jogged toward her waiting Jeep. “Jaci?”

  Not bothering to answer, Jaci jumped into the vehicle and put it in gear. Water trickled down her neck from her wet hair, but when she’d gone into the diner she’d left the engine running with the heater blasting at full steam.

  Which meant she was a damp mess, but she wasn’t completely miserable.

  Angling the vent in a futile effort to dry her soggy sweatshirt, Jaci stomped on the accelerator and headed back toward her house. This time, however, she swerved around the barrier that blocked the road, squishing her way through the muddy path that led along the edge of Frank’s property.

  It was less than ten miles, but by the time she was pulling her vehicle to a halt, her stomach had managed to clench into a tight ball of nerves.

  It didn’t matter how many times she told herself that this had nothing to do with the past, she couldn’t dismiss her rising tide of fear.

  Ignoring the avid crowd of onlookers who were gathered at the edge of the field, Jaci skirted around the wooden barrier, her gaze taking in the sluggish brown water that had surged through the broken levee. Branches and debris swirled through the field. But no body.

  Thank God.

  “Jaci.” A male voice intruded into her distracted thoughts as a skinny man dressed in a dark uniform stepped in front of her.

  She forced a smile to her lips. “Morning, Sid.”

  The young deputy nodded his head toward the flooded field, trying to look suitably somber.

  “I guess you heard the news?”

  “Yep.” Jaci’s gaze moved over the deputy’s shoulder, landing on the man who was pacing along the edge of the road with a cell phone pressed to his ear.

  Sheriff Mike O’Brien.

  Only a year older than Jaci’s twenty-seven, he was wearing a crisp black uniform with a star on his sleeve that indicated his elected status. Beneath his shirt he was wearing body armor that emphasized his broad, muscular frame. He had light brown hair that he kept cut military-short beneath his black ball cap, and a square face with blunt features and eyes that were an astonishing shade of green. As bright as fresh mint.

  He was the sort of solid, dependable man that Jaci had always told herself she should want. Which explained why she’d dated him for several months after returning to Heron.

  Unfortunately, they just hadn’t clicked. At least not for her. Mike continued to ask her out. She didn’t know if he was truly smitten with her, or if she was a convenient date.

  After all, Heron wasn’t overrun with eligible women.

  “I think half the town is here to gawk.” Sid once again interrupted her thoughts, his chest puffed out. It was a rare treat to have so much excitement. Jaci, however, was intent on reaching Mike. She stepped around the barrier, neatly avoiding Sid’s attempt to grab her arm. “Wait,” he commanded.

  She marched forward, the mud threatening to suck off her rubber boots.

  “I need to speak with Mike,” she said, battling her way toward her friend.

  Sid made an effort to block her path. “The sheriff closed off this area. He said he didn’t want no one here disturbing things until he finished up.”

  She darted around him. She was nothing if not determined. “I’ll just be a minute.”

  “But—”

  “Don’t worry, Sid,” she called over her shoulder. “I won’t disturb anything.”

  Realizing he was going to have to physically wrestle her to the ground if he hoped to stop her, Sid returned to his post beside the barrier.

  “He’s going to put my balls in a vise,” he groused.

  Jaci concentrated on the increasingly marshy ground in front of her. Even before the breach in the levee the soil had been eroded by the pounding rains. One misstep and she could find her foot being caught in a hidden cavity. The last thing she wanted was to fall on her face.

  Or worse, twist an ankle.

  Thankfully Mike was distracted by his phone call. Which meant that he didn’t have a chance to flee before she was standing directly beside him.

  Belatedly realizing he was no longer alone, Mike abruptly turned to scowl at her with blatant annoyance.

  “Shit.” Shoving his phone into his pocket, he planted his hands on his hips. “I told Sid not to let anyone through,” he growled. “I already ran off Nelson when I caught him creeping around, snapping pictures like this was a tourist sight, and Andrew drove his tractor down here to have a look before I could have the field blocked off.”

  Jaci pressed her lips together. Mike was referring to Nelson Bradley, the photographer who’d recently returned to Heron to open his own gallery. And Andrew Porter, a local farmer who cash-cropped Jaci’s land.

  “I’m not just anyone,” she argued.

  “No? And why is that?” he demanded. “Just because we dated doesn’t give you special privileges.”

  She jerked at the unexpected attack. Was he being serious?

  “I’m not here because we dated.”

  He paused, sucking in a deep breath. Clearly he’d had a stressful morning with a day stretching ahead that probably wasn’t going to be any better.

  And to top it off, the chilled drizzle was threatening to become yet another downpour.

  “I’m sorry, Jaci. If you’re worried about your land, I’ll have Sid drive by and check it out,” he at last managed, his temper still evident as he glanced toward the breach in the levee. “At least I will once the damned Corps of Engineers gets here.”

  Jaci gave an impatient wave of her hand. Did he really think she was interrupting him just to get someone to check a few muddy fields?

  “I’m not worried about the land. I’m worried about the dead woman.”

  “Oh.” His expression softened. “It’s okay, Jaci. She was no one local.”

  “You’re sure?”

  He grimaced. “As sure as I can be, considering how degraded the body was.” With a shake of his head, he pulled out his phone, which was buzzing. “I have a lot on my hands right now. You need to go home. I’ll stop by later.”

  She clenched her teeth. A part of her wanted to turn and walk away. Why not accept that this was nothing more than a tragic accident that had nothing to do with Heron? Or her.

  God knew she had enough to worry about.

  But if she’d learned anything over the past eleven years, it was the fact that nothing, absolutely nothing, was worse than not knowing.

  “How was she killed?” she demanded.

  There was a short silence as Mike studied her with a searching gaze, clearly sensing her unease. Then he reached out to brush her bangs off her wet bro
w.

  “What’s going on?” he asked, his voice gentle as he ignored his buzzing phone.

  She bit her lower lip before she reluctantly revealed her worst fear.

  “What if it’s starting again?”

  “Starting again?” He wrinkled his brow, apparently baffled by her harsh question. Seconds later, realization hit and the green eyes narrowed with frustration. “Jesus Christ, Jaci. Don’t do this to yourself.”

  She hunched her shoulder. “I can’t help it.”

  He reached to cup her cheek in his palm as he towered over her. He wasn’t more than six feet, but she barely topped five foot two, which made it easy for him to play the overprotective lawman.

  Something he enjoyed.

  “Listen to me,” he ordered. “This has nothing to do with your crazy theories of the past.”

  A familiar sense of aggravated fury pounded through Jaci. She was used to having her fears dismissed as being “crazy.” Hell, the previous sheriff told her that she was being a “hormonal” female.

  No one wanted to listen to her fears.

  Maybe not that surprising.

  She’d just turned sixteen when she’d received the first golden locket. She’d found it on the porch swing when she’d come home from school. At first she assumed that it was a belated birthday gift from her grandparents. They enjoyed spoiling her with small, inexpensive surprises.

  But when she opened it up, she’d quickly realized it wasn’t a gift. Instead, tucked inside was a lock of red hair wrapped with a piece of ribbon that was smeared with blood.

  It’d freaked her out enough to insist that her grandmother call the cops. They’d dismissed it as a Halloween prank. And Jaci had tried to do the same. There were plenty of bullies at the small school who would delight in terrorizing her. Including her half brother, Christopher.

  But the second locket arrived only a few months later. This time the hair was dark, but it was once again wrapped in a bloody ribbon. Once again Jaci had taken it to the sheriff and once again she’d been dismissed.

  For the next two years she’d continued to receive the lockets. Sometimes they would be up to six months apart, and sometimes it would be only weeks. But while she was growingly convinced that the hair in the lockets belonged to women who were being hurt, if not actually killed, no one would believe her.

  In fact, it’d become a joke to everyone but her grandparents.

  They were the only ones who’d offered her sympathy, even if they didn’t entirely accept her belief that there was a maniac in Heron who was killing women and leaving bits of them in golden lockets on their porch.

  The terror had finally stopped when she’d traveled to attend college at Mizzou, the University of Missouri. And thankfully, there’d been nothing since her return to Heron two years ago.

  But now . . .

  She shivered. “And how do you explain a dead woman and skull stuck in Frank’s field?”

  His jaw tightened, his expression guarded as he slid into cop mode.

  “There’s a thousand potential explanations, and none of them have anything to do with a killer.”

  “A thousand?” She arched a brow. “Really?”

  “Most likely the body came from someone who fell overboard during a fishing trip. Or it could have been a victim who was dumped upstream and floated down here.” He stepped back, waving a hand toward the muddy water. “Chicago is notorious for getting rid of problems by tossing them in the river.”

  He was right. Despite the danger, there were always people who took boats onto the water during a flood. Either because they had no sense, or because it was their job.

  And it was also true that she’d been hearing stories about bodies floating down from Chicago her entire life. Not that one had actually been found, as far as she knew, but it was an urban myth that everyone was happy enough to believe.

  She still wasn’t satisfied.

  “What about the skull?” she pressed.

  Mike rolled his eyes. “Dammit. Is Frank telling everyone in town?”

  “Yes.”

  Mike heaved a resigned sigh. “Look. The most reasonable answer is that both of them were accidental drownings. The recent floods would have churned up a lot of unpleasant things that were hidden at the bottom of the river.” He shrugged. “Or it’s even possible that the waters disturbed a cemetery and swept a few of the graves down here.”

  Okay. That actually made sense. A portion of her tension eased.

  “When will you know?”

  “The body and the skull have already been picked up by the coroner,” he said. “He’ll drive it down to the medical examiner in Columbia to do an autopsy. Until then, this place is off-limits to everyone. Including you, Jaci.” He pointed a finger at her. “Got it?”

  “Fine.”

  Turning, she stomped her way back through the mud.

  “I mean it, Jaci,” he called from behind her.

  “Whatever,” she said, cutting along the edge of the field.

  She’d wasted enough time.

  She still had deliveries to make. Not to mention doing her daily grocery shopping, stopping by the bank, the post office, and the vet to get cream for Riff’s ear infection.

  Later she could worry about dead bodies and strange skulls.

  The breath was yanked from his body as he watched Jaci Patterson walk away.

  Oh. It was glorious. The white-hot excitement that exploded through him made his heart pound and his cock jerk to attention.

  It felt like he was standing in the center of a lightning storm.

  How long had it been? Eight years? Maybe nine.

  Too long.

  He’d tried to replace her. After all, she’d abandoned him just when he was about to take their relationship to the next level.

  But while he’d found a fleeting satisfaction with other players, no one had ever given him the same thrill as sweet, sweet Jaci.

  He hid a smile, conscious that there were dozens of upright Heron citizens who could witness his every expression.

  It was so ironic.

  When he’d received the call that the floods had exposed his burial grounds, he’d panicked. The bodies had the potential to attract attention that could ruin everything.

  Now he forgot his unease.

  Okay, there might be a brief spark of interest, but it would quickly be forgotten. Especially if the majority of his victims had been swept downriver.

  And any hassle at dealing with nosy neighbors, and even a potential investigation, was a mere nuisance when compared to the dazzling burst of pleasure as he watched the anticipation that was etched on Jaci’s beautiful face.

  She remembered their game.

  And she was already eager for it to begin again.

  Just as he was . . .

  Chapter Two

  Jaci’s thoughts remained distracted as she drove the fifteen miles to Baldwin.

  Larger than Heron, the city boasted a liberal arts college and several specialty shops, but it still managed to maintain the charm of a small river town.

  Making a stop at the local B and B to deliver homemade loaves of bread, she headed to the quaint tea shop that was squeezed between a hardware store and a dentist office.

  She whipped her Jeep into the closest parking space, and jumped out without paying much attention to who was pulling in beside her. Trina, the owner of Tea & Cakes, had already called twice to make sure she was bringing her tarts before the brunch crowd made their appearance.

  Big mistake.

  Jaci was just opening the back of her vehicle when the familiar scent of Dolce & Gabbana had her stiffening in dread. Oh . . . crap. Turning her head, she belatedly absorbed the sight of the silver Mercedes parked next to her.

  Feeling like the deer caught in the headlights, Jaci froze. If she was smart she would climb into the back of her Jeep and shut the door. With a little maneuvering she could wiggle her way into the driver’s seat and take off before she had to endure the looming meeting.
/>   Instead, she forced herself to slowly turn and meet the older woman’s critical gaze.

  “Hello, Mother.” She pasted a smile to her lips.

  Loreen Hamilton was a small, slender woman with golden-red hair that she kept swept into a smooth knot that emphasized her pale, oval face and finely carved features. In her midforties, she was a beautiful woman who managed to look polished and sophisticated despite the persistent drizzle. Of course she spent a fortune on her weekly facials, manicures, and hair tint. Plus her flared black coat and heeled leather boots probably cost more than Jaci’s entire wardrobe.

  Easy to look good when you had money.

  The cold blue gaze skimmed over Jaci, taking in her hair, which was plastered to her skull, her soggy sweatshirt, and the rubber boots caked in mud.

  The older woman always made Jaci feel like a lumbering, awkward cow.

  “Jaci.” She arched a finely plucked brow. “Good Lord. What happened?”

  “Nothing.” Jaci glanced down in confusion. “Why?”

  The woman thinned her lips. “You’re a mess.”

  Jaci rolled her eyes. She would never comprehend how the lovely Loreen had ever allowed herself to get pregnant at the age of seventeen by a mere farm boy. Of course, old pictures revealed that her father, Samuel, had been ruggedly handsome with golden-brown hair and clean-cut features. Jaci had inherited his hair and light blue-gray eyes, as well as his love for the outdoors. Unfortunately, her own features weren’t nearly so striking.

  But Loreen was swift to make up for her mistake.

  After Jaci’s father was killed by a drunk driver, she’d handed her newborn daughter over to her in-laws and promptly married Blake Hamilton so she could move into his large brick home on a bluff overlooking the town.

  She’d also produced a handsome son, Christopher, and an exquisite daughter, Payton.

  The perfect Stepford family.

  “I’ve been working,” she said.

  “And you couldn’t clean up before coming into town?”

  Jaci reached into the back of the Jeep to grab the last tray of peach tarts, making sure they were covered by the plastic wrap.

  “I’ve been up for hours and I still have a thousand things to do,” she said, the words clipped. “When I get back home I’ll take a shower.”