River grinned and took the notepad back. When we get back to the office, I want to see if we can discover the identity of the man who was found dead next to the railroad tracks, okay?
When Tony read what she’d written, he laughed. “Why don’t we see if April wants that one. If not, I’m all in.”
She took the pad from him. Maybe we could work on it together. If April’s interested, I think we should hire her. What do you think?
When he took the notepad, he nodded. “I think that’s a great idea, but I’m not sure we can get another desk in that office. We may have to move to a bigger space. Arnie says that after it gets out that we caught the Salt River Strangler, we’ll be turning business away. I think we can afford a building of our own. Is that okay with you?”
River nodded. Then she put her hands out for the notebook one last time. She wrote, When I woke up, I wanted nothing more than to tell you how much I love you. I may not be able to talk right now, but there is something else I can do.
Tony read her words and smiled. “I think I know what that might be.” He leaned down and kissed her gently. “We have a lot of years to talk, I guess.”
“And a lot of years for this too,” River whispered. Then she pulled him close and kissed him again.
Note from
the Author
Dear Reader,
I hope you’ve enjoyed this book. I try hard to write stories that will entertain you, but even more importantly, I pray that something I’ve written will touch your heart. If you find yourself relating to my characters who struggle with fear, loneliness, and sorrow, just like the rest of us, I want to give you some good news. God has the answer to every problem you face, and He loves you with a love that is deep, eternal, and boundless. If you’ve never asked him into your life, you can take care of that today. John 3:16 says “For God so loved the world that He gave His one and only Son, that whoever believes in Him shall not perish but have eternal life” (NIV). Below is a prayer you can use to change your life forever.
“Lord Jesus, I turn to You in my time of need. I believe that You are the Son of God and that You died on the cross to pay the price for my sins. Lord, I receive You as my Savior, and I want You to be my Lord. Wash me clean with Your blood, and fill me with Your Holy Spirit. Help me to follow You the rest of my life. Amen.”
If you’ve prayed this prayer, will you let me know? You can contact me through my website, NancyMehl.com. Please find a good local church where you can become part of a family that will help you on your journey. May God bless you abundantly.
Acknowledgments
My thanks to the amazing Jessica Sharpe, who makes my books better. I’m so glad you’re my editor.
Thank you to Susan Downs, whose wisdom guides me through each and every book. Thank you for your years of support and encouragement.
Thanks to Kate Jameson, who catches my mistakes and keeps me out of trouble. I appreciate your kindness and patience.
To Donita Corman, who helped me through Cold Threat. Thank you for introducing me to Burlington, Iowa. It was a great place to set that story. I couldn’t have written it without you. I’m so glad we’re friends. You inspire me.
Thank you also to Supervisory Special Agent Drucilla Wells (Retired), Federal Bureau of Investigations, Behavioral Analysis Unit. Without your help, none of these profiler books would have happened.
My appreciation to Retired Police Officer Darin Hickey. Your help is invaluable to me.
Most of all, my thanks to God, who allows me to write. I pray You will speak to the people who need You through my books. I love you. You are everything.
CHAPTER ONE
Erin stood in the street outside a large, dirty brick building that housed too many people in small rooms with mold-infested walls. Human beings should not live like this. And tonight, some no longer were.
She felt something on her shoes and looked down. The street was beginning to flood. The nearby streetlight flickered, and she suddenly realized she was standing in blood—dark, thick, gooey. She wanted to run, but her feet were stuck. She couldn’t move.
“Erin!” someone yelled. “Erin!”
She looked up and saw her partner, Scott, standing several yards away. She could barely make him out through a strange fog that swirled around them, but it was obvious he was struggling. He held his arms out toward her.
“Erin, save me. You’re my partner. You’re supposed to have my back.”
She watched in horror as the same crimson flood that held her fast swept him away. She fought as hard as she could to reach him, but it was impossible.
“Scott,” she called out to him. “Scott!”
And then he was gone.
As terror seized her mind, she became aware of someone else standing below the streetlight, a dark shadow in the shape of a child. The only feature Erin could make out were her eyes. They glowed with a strange inner fire, and they were locked on Erin. She tried to look away but couldn’t. She was still frozen in place, unable to control her body or move her gaze from the child who stared at her with smoldering hate.
ERIN GASPED AND SAT UP IN BED, sobbing, her face wet with tears and her sheets soaked with sweat. She swung her legs over the side of the bed and put her face in her hands. When would these nightmares end? Would she ever heal from that night?
She looked at the clock next to her bed. Three thirty-three in the morning. Again. How could she wake up every night at the same time? It was eerie. Made her shiver.
She got out of bed and walked over to her closet. After sliding open the door, she glanced up at the locked box on the top shelf. Her gun. She hadn’t touched it since . . .
Every morning when she woke up, her feet led her to the closet as if they had a mind of their own. She was drawn to the gun and yet repelled by it. It wasn’t the one she’d used that night. She’d turned that one in—along with her badge—when she quit the force. Erin stared at the box as the clock on her nightstand ticked too loudly in the quiet room, a reminder that her life was ticking away.
She shook her head and closed the closet door, then made her way to the kitchen. Maybe a cup of chamomile tea would help. Her doctor had prescribed sleeping pills, but they remained untouched on her nightstand. She was afraid to open the bottle. Afraid she . . .
“Stop it,” she said to herself as she flipped on the kitchen light.
She finished brewing her tea and thought about going back to bed, but her sheets were still damp, and she didn’t feel like changing them. She wasn’t sure she had any clean ones, anyway. She hadn’t done laundry for a while. She’d finally hired someone to clean her apartment, though it embarrassed her. She was basically unemployed, had nothing else to do, but she couldn’t take care of the relatively small space where she lived.
Correction—where she existed.
