23

Avery jerked into a sitting position in her bed, her heart pounding with a flood of adrenaline. Something had awakened her. Beads of sweat formed on her forehead and at the base of her neck. Her light capri pajamas felt sticky against her skin. Maybe it was nothing more than the frightening dreams she’d had all night, but she’d heard something.

She moved to the edge of the queen-size bed, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. Now that she was awake, the vivid scenes began to vanish. But not completely. The killer had chased her across the medieval courtyard surrounding a looming castle with dark clouds hovering overhead. He’d taunted her, playing a game of cat and mouse where she was no longer the hunter but the prey. She’d been forced to run through the tangled bodies of dead girls—girls she hadn’t been able to save. And then, just before she woke up, she’d stopped where Tess’s lifeless form lay sprawled out, sticky red blood pooling beneath her.

Avery gulped in a lungful of air. No. None of the images that had played through her head were true. Her dreams were nothing more than warped versions based on a slender thread of reality. Tess was fine. Sensing the elusive killer stalking her as she slept was nothing more than a nightmare—her mind playing tricks with her.

Her breathing began to slow. The last time she remembered waking up feeling panicked had been after Ethan’s death. For weeks her dreams had been plagued with nightmares. Every night they would take her back to those final moments. Waiting up for him, the knock on the door, the two officers whose job it was to tell her he was dead. They had apologized and told her how sorry they were. Everyone had been sorry.

Tess had been her only motivation to get out of bed in the weeks and months that had followed. Then slowly, she’d begun to believe again that she could make a difference out on the streets and that Ethan would want her to do that. One day, the haunting dreams finally vanished. She had been free of them until tonight, when this case brought them back.

She flipped on the bedside light and reached for the Glock nestled beneath the extra pillow on the far side of the bed, grasping it tightly between her fingers. She might have allowed the tragic death of a Jane Doe to become too personal, but Tala’s death had reminded her of the fragility of life and brought with it fresh concerns about Tess.

Avery wiped the back of her neck with her hand and listened to the familiar sounds of the house. The hum of the air conditioner . . . the water heater clicking on in the bathroom . . . the squeak of the hamster’s exercise wheel . . . the neighbor’s yappy dog barking next door . . . The dreams had disturbed her, there was no denying that, but something else had awakened her. She was certain of it.

Someone was in the house.

She shoved the covers aside. The digital clock on the bedside table read 3:37. She wished it were full morning, even though she knew the accompanying sunlight wouldn’t completely erase her unease.

They’ll all fall down.

The words shot through her. She’d wanted to convince herself that the message scribbled on the card was not pointed at her, but instead was only a reminder that their killer wasn’t finished with his death spree. But if that were true, it would also mean that her current fears were irrational and nothing more than her imagination. Whether or not the physical threat to her was real seemed secondary. He wanted to mess with her emotions, and he’d done exactly that.

But what if she was wrong? What if the words had been meant as a personal threat, with implications that they would one day meet face-to-face? She dropped her cell phone from the nightstand into her pocket. She had to be ready. If he had come after her, she would find him first.

Years of training automatically kicked in, helping to deaden the haunting fears the dreams brought with them. Avery started a systematic sweep of the house, turning on lights as she went. Room by room, searching the closets, behind doors, anywhere someone could potentially hide. She looked beneath the frilly pink ruffles of Tess’s single bed and was reminded again of how grateful she was Tess was safe with her parents.

She intended to do everything she could to keep Tess away from any danger, both perceived and real.

Avery continued the search, swung open the bathroom door and flipped on the light. With her gun held level, she pulled back the shower curtain. The faucet dripped. Was that what she’d heard earlier?

No. She’d heard more than water pinging onto the porcelain tub. Avery drew in a slow breath and forced herself to focus while Jackson’s words replayed in her mind. He’s toying with you. Trying to get in your head. Trying to distract you.

That’s why their killer had sent her the flower. And used her brother’s signature. None of it would lead them to him. It would only lead her on the trail of a ghost. And keep her running in circles. Which was exactly what he wanted her to do.

Avery finished checking the second story.

Clear.

She made her way down the stairs to the ground floor, turning on lights that swallowed up the darkness. Jackson had done a sweep of the house when they’d arrived to ensure no one was hiding inside. It had been a futile attempt to reassure both of them that she was safe and to erase the visions of magnolia flowers with their sickly lemony scent. Instead, the haunting words had played over and over in her mind.

Ashes, ashes . . . they’ll all fall down.

He was out there. Somewhere. A shiver ran down her spine, playing on her nerves, making her feel vulnerable. Who would be next?

Light from the streetlight streamed through a break in the curtains in the front window of the living room. Avery pulled back the soft ivory fabric, crumpling it in her fingers, and looked outside. Nothing about the quiet, tree-lined neighborhood looked out of the ordinary. No suspicious cars or people hanging around from her vantage point.

Avery squeezed her eyes shut for a moment. She had to have imagined whatever woke her up. Upstairs was clear. The windows were all locked. Nothing looked out of place. The front and back doors were still locked. Security alarm set. She opened the closet near the front door and rummaged through the coats hanging there that wouldn’t be used until winter. Empty.

All that was left was the kitchen and basement.

Avery stepped into the kitchen. The refrigerator’s motor clicked on. Avery tensed, hating the fact that every unexpected noise had her nerves set on edge. She caught movement out of her peripheral vision near the floorboards. She lowered her gun, aimed, and searched the shadows. Shards of blue glass were scattered across the brown tiles. She flipped on the light as Mrs. Whiskers—with her chocolate-brown and white fur—skittered across the tile floor toward the living room. Tiger, the cat, tensed on the counter, her gaze on the prize.

Avery lowered her weapon an inch and blew out a soft sigh of relief. She didn’t have to be much of a detective to figure out what had happened. She’d left one of the cobalt tumblers on the counter last night. Tiger and Mrs. Whiskers—who had a tendency to escape her cage—had a tenuous relationship at best. Tiger had found her, taken chase, and knocked over a glass in the process.

Which only posed one problem besides the mess left behind. Like she’d told her sister, she might chase down murderers for a living, but she didn’t deal with rodents. Tiger clambered down from the counter to the bar stool, still stalking Mrs. Whiskers. So what had awakened her was nothing more than a real game of cat and mouse. And it was up to her to catch Mrs. Whiskers before Tiger did. Something that wasn’t going to be easy.

But first, she needed to clean up the broken glass. She grabbed the broom, then paused. The hairs on the back of her neck bristled.

The door to the basement was half open.

Avoiding the scattered glass with her bare feet, she leaned the broom back against the wall. Holding the gun steady in front of her, she walked slowly across the kitchen toward the basement. She’d closed the door last night. She was sure of it. She always shut it as a part of her bedtime ritual.

Check the locks . . . turn on the alarm system . . . run the dishwasher . . . shut the basement door.

It shouldn’t be open.

Avery moved forward slowly. The basement was the last place to look. But if someone were still in the house, she could have missed him if he’d slipped into the living room—

He grabbed her from behind.

Avery reacted instinctively. She thrust her elbow back as hard as she could, striking the intruder in the ribs. He groaned and took a step backward. Glass crunched beneath his shoes, but he didn’t loosen his grip. Avery fought for control of her Glock. He squeezed her wrist, forcing her to loosen her grip on the weapon, then clasped his other hand over her mouth and nose. Her gun hit the floor as his hands tightened around her face and torso.

Avery fought for air while grasping for the ski mask he wore. She twisted her body and kneed him hard in the groin. He groaned and dropped to his knees, but instead of releasing her, he pulled her onto the hard tiles with him. She cried out at the impact. A shard of glass dug into her arm as he came at her again. Her forehead slammed into the flooring, and everything went dark.