A KILLER’S OBSESSION

“He’s back.”

Jax reached out to grasp his shoulder. “We can’t jump to conclusions, Ash.”

Ash understood his brother’s warning. There was nothing more dangerous for an investigator than leaping to a conclusion, then becoming blind to other possibilities.

But he was no longer a detective, and his gut instinct was screaming that this was the work of the killer who’d destroyed the lives of so many. Including his own.

“There’s more.” Feldman cleared his throat, lowering the pad. “She’s had plastic surgery.”

“Not that unusual,” Jax said, echoing Ash’s own thoughts. “Lots of women, and men for that matter, think they need some nip and tuck.”

Feldman grimaced. “This nip and tuck was for a particular purpose.”

A chill crawled over Ash’s skin. Not the frigid air of the morgue, but something else. Perhaps a premonition. “What purpose?” he forced himself to ask.

“If I had to make a guess, I would say it was to make Angel Conway look like Remi Walsh . . .”