She wanted to believe him, but Butch wasn’t the one standing in her bedroom. And she couldn’t see why Dean would be holding a rope if he meant her no harm. “Then why are you helping him? Why are you doing this?”

“I told you. I have no choice.”

“You always have a choice.”

“Not this time.” When he lunged forward, she dropped onto the bed and shoved her hands under the blankets. Terrified that she wouldn’t come up with her pepper spray, she almost couldn’t believe it when her hand closed around the canister and she withdrew it so easily from the sheets.

Dean was already on her, forcing her onto her back, using his body weight to subdue her. But he didn’t realize she had a weapon.

Knowing that some of the spray would fall on her, Francesca squeezed her eyes shut and turned her face away as she aimed and pressed the button.

It hadn’t been a direct shot. They’d been moving, fighting. But her action had taken him by surprise, and he gulped in some of the spray when he gasped. Coughing and screaming, he seemed to forget that he had the rope in his hands. He dropped it and swung at her wildly, hitting her in the head, the jaw.

Francesca lost her grasp on the can as she coughed, too. The pepper spray burned her eyes, temporarily blinding her, but she knew her bedroom better than Dean did. Ignoring the flash of pain in her forearm from the recent dog bite and using every ounce of strength she possessed, she slammed him into the headboard.

A second later, she broke free.

He cursed at her, telling her she was dead, as he flailed around, trying to find her. And then he started to cry for his mother.

Stumbling toward the hall, guiding herself with her hands, she managed to make her way out of the house. But by the time Josephine let her in to call the police, and a patrol car arrived, Dean was gone.

Pounding on the door woke Jonah from a restless sleep. He’d been dreaming. Of Summer, who’d been drowning in a crystal-clear lake; try as he might, he couldn’t grab her. Of Adriana, who’d refused to help him, then screamed when she saw their daughter floating facedown, just out of reach. Of Francesca, who kept weaving in and out of the other sequences, while trying to escape an ax murderer. Beyond the woman-in-jeopardy theme, the dream made little sense. Except to magnify his fears. And fill him with a sense of foreboding.

Hearing someone at his door before dawn only intensified that feeling.

“Coming!” After scrambling to get out of bed, he pulled on a pair of basketball shorts and jogged over to check the peephole. Then he threw the door open.

Nate Ferrentino stood in the hallway, wearing sweats that didn’t match and a pair of slippers. He’d obviously just rolled out of bed, still had the imprint of a blanket on one cheek.

“What’s the matter? Is it Rachel? Is she having the baby?” Jonah had never been part of their birth plan before. But perhaps Nate’s mother was unavailable and they needed someone to watch Dylan….

“Where the hell’s your cell phone?” Nate demanded.

“I turned it off so I could get some sleep. Why?”

“You need to get a home line.”

“I’m not here enough. What’s up?”

He scratched his head, which did nothing to improve the state of his uncombed hair. “The answering service called me. They said someone from Arizona needs to get hold of you. That it’s an emergency.”

Fear swept through Jonah with the force of a raging river. “Did they say what’s wrong?”

“No.” Nate shoved a piece of paper at him. “Call this number,” he said, and shuffled off.

Jonah recognized the number. He’d called it earlier, just after he’d spoken to Dr. Price to let her know he was off the case and while he waited to board his plane. He hadn’t felt one hundred percent comfortable leaving Francesca behind, so he’d purchased a little insurance.

As he closed the door, he turned to glance at the clock. Four.

Nothing good ever happened so early in the morning.

Powering up his cell, he stood at the window, gazing out at the headlights snaking along the streets of L.A. far below.

A male voice answered on the second ring. “Ray Leedy.”

“Ray, it’s Jonah. What’s going on?”

“Where have you been, man? I’ve been trying to reach you since midnight.”

Jonah hadn’t really expected trouble. He’d hoped Finch and Hunsacker would keep a close eye on Butch, as promised. This security guard was basically an afterthought, a backup system, a way to put his mind at ease. “Forget it. You’ve got my attention now. What’s happening?”

“Your man was busy last night, bro.”

Jonah’s stomach muscles contracted. “What do you mean by that?”

“He’s been up most the night. Wasn’t easy to tell what he was doing. I couldn’t see a whole hell of a lot, especially when he came home from wherever and went into the junkyard. Then I spotted him carrying something in a heavy-duty garbage bag to his truck.”

No… “What’d he do with it?”

“He loaded it in the back and took off.”

Jonah sucked air between his teeth. “What time was this?”

“Around midnight. That’s when I first tried to call you, to see what you wanted me to do.”

“I hope you followed him.” Jonah wished he’d given Ray more detailed instructions, but he hadn’t expected him to have to do anything more than sit outside and watch. Besides protecting Francesca, Jonah had thought it might be handy to be able to confirm Butch’s whereabouts should another murder take place. He hadn’t anticipated this….

“I followed him, all right. You said I wasn’t to let him out of my sight. But he didn’t go to Chandler, like you were worried about.”

“Where’d he go?”

“The mountains.”

Jonah gripped the phone tighter. “Which mountains?”

“The Juniper Mountains, to the west.”

“What for? What was he doing?”

“I’m not completely sure. I couldn’t get too close. What with all the trees and having to stay back far enough that he wouldn’t see me…”

“You lost him.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

At least this guy was willing to accept responsibility. “Can you take me to the general area?”

“Sure.”

“That should help.”

“What do you think he was doing?” There was a note of insecurity in that question, because Ray already had an inkling or he wouldn’t have asked.




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