me, Tucker. The truth. Why don’t you think it could be Jason?”
He couldn’t believe she was saying this to him. “Because he’s dead, Dawn. Jason Frost is dead.” The idea that she still thought his brother might be hunting—
Oh, Dawn. I am so sorry. So sorry for the pain he is still bringing you.
“No body, no proof.” Her stare was unflinching.
She was absolutely serious. “You think my brother is still alive?” He reached out and his hands curled around her shoulders. She stiffened and immediately pulled away.
He let go. Just like he always did.
“No, Dawn.” He made his voice flat with an effort. “I shot him that day. I killed him. He is gone.”
“I thought so, too, but...” Her lips parted, as if she’d say more.
A knock sounded on the door. “Tucker...” Macey’s voice drifted through the closed door. “The coroner just called. She wants to see us.”
“Let me work this case with you,” Dawn said. Her voice was almost pleading. He hated for her to plead. Dawn should never have to beg anyone for anything.
But Tucker shook his head. “This case could be about to end with the coroner’s report.”
Her eyes turned to angry slits. “I don’t like being shut out.”
There was no choice that he could see right then. He couldn’t pull her in, not with the local cops running the show.
She spun on her heel and yanked open the door. Macey hurriedly stepped aside.
“Dawn!” He couldn’t let her go like this. God, I missed her. So fucking much.
She paused.
“After I meet with the coroner, I want us to talk again.” I’ll share what I learn. He could give her that much. He hoped that she could see the message in his eyes.
Her head moved in a grim nod, and then she was gone, cutting through the station and leaving him behind.
Macey didn’t speak until Dawn was long gone, and then she let out a soft sigh. “That did not go well.”
Fucking understatement.
“Could have gone worse,” Anthony noted as he joined their little group. “Dawn has one hell of a temper when you get her going.”
Dawn? She’d never had a temper before. Seven years ago, she’d been the most easygoing woman he’d ever met. Always sweet to everyone. Always kind.
And why the hell was the detective speaking as if he knew her so well? Intimately?
“Ah, right, we haven’t been officially introduced yet.” Anthony offered his hand at Tucker’s questioning glance. “Detective Anthony Deveraux.”
Tucker shook his hand. The guy had a solid grip.
Anthony smiled at him. “You’re his brother, huh?”
“Yes,” he gritted, “I’m his brother.”
Anthony’s smile dimmed. “When I first met Dawn, I made a point of...learning everything about her.” His stare was assessing as it slid over Tucker. “I don’t think she was happy to see you.”
He knows Dawn and I were involved. Once upon a time, everyone had known. Their story had been too sensational for the reporters to pass up. Her lover’s brother tortured her. He tried to kill her.
“No,” Tucker murmured, “I don’t think she was.” And her words kept ringing in his head, playing over and over again.
No body, no proof.
He hadn’t realized until that very moment just how much his brother still haunted her.
“THE KILLER TOOK his time with our victim.” Dr. Julia Bradford, the Orleans Parish coroner, moved briskly around the lab. She spoke with sympathy flowing in her voice. “There were over a dozen knife wounds to her body.”
“A dozen?” Macey repeated. He saw her eyes briefly close. “That poor woman.”
Macey always responded to the victims because she knew them so well.
She knew what it was like to feel their pain.
“Many of those wounds were shallow.” The coroner’s hand moved toward the victim’s face. “Like these here on the cheek...”
“As if the killer was just getting started,” Tucker muttered, disgust rising in him. It wasn’t a disgust he’d allow to show. All of his emotions were locked down right then, and he’d keep them locked tight.
The way he always did. Seeing Dawn had rattled him, and he was having to fight harder to keep his control in place.
“But here...” Dr. Bradford’s glove-covered hand moved to the victim’s neck and the mark there. “As you can see, the wounds became deeper.”
“Dawn has a scar like that one,” Anthony said, leaning closer to the body.
Tucker’s gaze swept over him.
“The wound is deeper here, too.” Dr. Bradford’s hand went to the woman’s right shoulder.
“Dawn has—” Anthony began.
“I know where her scars are,” Tucker growled. But Dawn didn’t have over a dozen scars, thank Christ. Tucker had stopped Jason before the bastard could finish his ritual on her.
Anthony’s brows rose. “Sorry.” He cleared his throat even as a light flush stained his cheeks. “I was just pointing out that the wounds seem to be following the Iceman’s pattern.”
Because the Iceman had used a particular pattern with his victims. A very thorough pattern designed for maximum pain and disfigurement. But not for death.
“I compared the wounds on our Jane Doe with the wound patterns from the Iceman’s attacks,” Julia said. “They’re the same.”
Tucker and Macey shared a long glance. Not good. But they’d already suspected this. When they’d first gotten the crime scene photos, the similarity had been obvious. However, a similarity was one thing...an exact copy was another entirely.
“The wounds didn’t kill her...” She took a deep breath. “They weren’t severe enough for that. Just like with the Iceman, no major arteries were damaged. The wounds were given to inflict pain, to maim, but not to kill.” Dr. Bradford swallowed as jazz music played lightly in the background. “Our victim died in the freezer.”
“Shit,” Anthony muttered. He backed away from the exam table. “Talk about torture. She was in there, knowing she was dying, knowing there
