This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be true.
“You understand now, don’t you?” the voice said softly. “You’re mine, Dani. You’ll always be mine. Nothing can change that.”
Her heart pounded so hard she couldn’t breathe. “I’m going to the police. They’ll find you, and put you in jail where you belong—”
“He made you say that, didn’t he?” The voice grew angry and sullen. “I know what’s going on. He’s trying to keep us apart, but don’t worry. I won’t let him come between us. I won’t let anyone stand in our way.”
“Who are you?” Dani whispered again.
“You know who I am, Dani. I’m your One and Only…”
DANI SAT ON THE EDGE of her bed, not knowing what to do. She wanted to call the police, but she was afraid to. What if they didn’t believe her? What if they turned it all around again and made it seem as if she were guilty?
She glanced down at the letter she still clutched in her hand. The penmanship looked exactly like hers. Somehow her secret admirer had managed to duplicate her handwriting so precisely that the police might very well think she’d written the note herself. Canton already suspected her. What if they threw her in jail? What if they made her stand trial and she was found guilty?
Dani had no idea how long she sat in her room agonizing. It must have been hours later when she heard a distant noise. She listened for a moment, then jumped up from the bed when she recognized the sound. Someone was screaming.
She opened her bedroom door and hurried into the hallway. “Mom? Dad?”
When there was no answer, she raced down the stairs and into the kitchen. The back door was open, and the screams grew louder. Someone was in terrible agony.
Frantic now, Dani ran outside. She met her mother coming up from the barn. She was covered in blood.
Sobbing, she fell into Dani’s arms. “Oh, my God. Oh, my God,” she cried over and over.
“Mom, what is it? What happened?”
“Your father,” she finally managed to whisper. “Oh, God, Dani, there’s been a terrible accident….”
CHAPTER FOUR
Houston, Texas
Eleven years later…
FOR A COLD, MERCENARY KILLER, she wasn’t bad looking. In fact, when the light hit her just right or she turned her head at a certain angle, she was quite possibly the most beautiful woman Richard Berkley had ever seen. But that was only a fleeting impression. His overall assessment of her was of a mildly pretty woman who knew how to make an entrance.
A tall, slender brunette, she carried herself with an almost regal elegance, but the wildness in her violet-colored eyes drew a shiver up Richard’s spine. Dressed all in white, she appeared at once innocent and seductive. Aloof, and yet dangerously charismatic. A walking contradiction.
Seeing her in person for the first time, Richard could appreciate why men were so drawn to her, how they could easily and unsuspectingly become entangled in her deadly web. Especially someone as naive as his brother.
“There she is,” the man seated across the table said in a low voice. “She just came in. No, don’t turn! We don’t want her to see us together.”
Richard didn’t have to swivel around; he’d been watching her in the large mirror that hung at the back of the restaurant ever since she’d walked through the door. The lunchtime crowd at Seraphina’s, one of Houston’s hottest downtown restaurants, was large and noisy, but it seemed to Richard that a hush fell over the place when she entered.
Or perhaps that was only his imagination. He was probably attributing powers to the woman that she didn’t possess. But it was an understandable mistake, considering he knew only too well how truly cunning she was. And how maddeningly elusive. He’d been on her trail for more years than he cared to remember.
And now he’d found her.
He picked up his drink with a hand that didn’t tremble, that didn’t give away the rage surging through his whole body, and said, almost matter-of-factly, “When can I meet her?”
“It’ll take at least a couple of weeks for my operatives to gather all the information we need.”
“I was hoping it could be sooner.”
Max Tripp shook his head. “You’ll just have to be patient, I’m afraid. We don’t want to rush the process. Each piece of information is vital to the outcome. In the meantime, try to stay focused on the bigger picture. If a meeting with Dr. West was all you wanted, you could have arranged it yourself by picking up the phone and making an appointment. But that’s not why you came to us, is it?”
“No.”
“You told us in your preliminary interview that Dr. West is the woman of your dreams, the woman with whom you want to spend the rest of your life. We can help you make that happen, but as I said, you’ll have to be patient. Designing the appropriate coincidental meeting can sometimes take weeks, or even months of planning and preparation, but most of our clients agree that the outcome is well worth the wait.”
Most of your clients haven’t been waiting seven years to catch a killer at her own game.
Richard glanced at Darian West in the mirror again. She was seated alone, but from the admiring stares she received from nearby diners, he assumed her solitude was by choice.
Was she waiting for someone? Her next victim?
Or was her intended prey somewhere in that very room?
Richard glanced around the crowded restaurant. When his gaze returned to her reflection, he found her staring at him, and his blood turned to ice.
He suppressed a shudder as he focused his attention on Max Tripp. “Confidentiality is guaranteed, I assume.”
“Of course. Our reputation is built on our discretion. She’ll never know that your initial meeting was all carefully orchestrated unless you decide to tell her yourself. The same goes for our investigation. We’ll talk to her friends, neighbors, business associates—anyone who can help us gain insight into her personality and character, her likes and dislikes, even her hopes and dreams. By the time we’re finished, we’ll know Dr. West inside and out, but neither she nor the people we interview will ever suspect our motives. We’re good at what we do, Mr. Berkley—but then, you already knew that. A man with your resources would have made certain of our expertise before you contacted us. Am I right?”
“I’m nothing if not careful,” Richard agreed.
Something in his tone must have disturbed Max Tripp, because he glanced away, frowning. “Yes, I sensed that,” he murmured.
“I understand that you were once a police officer, Mr. Tripp.”
Suspicion gleamed in the man’s eyes. “So you have done your homework.”
“Do you know an HPD detective named Ellison Kane?”
“I
