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  Damn. The guy who’d murdered the reporter Gordon Michaels and Sniffles was here. York’s throat felt dry. He shouldn’t have left Jen after what happened to his snitch today. Leaving her with a friend wasn’t enough. And where the hell was the friend while all this was going on?

  “The perp jimmied the lock,” Norwood said. “But Ms. Lyman managed to get off a shot.”

  York met Jen’s gaze. If she hadn’t fired, she’d probably be dead. Dead.

  He forced himself to concentrate on Norwood’s words. “No sign of blood, but the absence could be explained. If we don’t find the discharged bullet, chances are she winged the guy. We’ll check the ERs for guys with gunshot wounds.”

  “Where’s Ms. Lyman’s gun?”

  Norwood handed it to him. “The perp’s quick disappearance makes me think he might live in this building, or perhaps knows someone who lives here.”

  “I’ll take charge of this,” York said. He checked the safety and dropped the gun into his pocket. “And I’ll take over here.”

  Norwood shrugged and moved away. Before taking Norwood’s place on the couch, he knelt down in front of Jen and took her icy hands in his. She trembled. “Can I get you anything?” he asked. “A glass of water? Coffee?”

  She shook her head, sending shimmering lights over the cascade of ringlets that hung down her back. He hadn’t remembered her being so tiny or so young looking. He gave her fingers an extra squeeze then joined her on the sofa. “Where’s your friend?”

  Looking like a naughty child, she lowered her gaze to her fidgeting hands. “I sent her home.”

  He flipped open his note pad with a loud snap to release some of his anger. “Before or after the break in?”

  “Before.”

  He shook his head. “I should’ve known you’d pull a trick like that. I promised your editor I’d protect you. Don’t force me to take you into protective custody.”

  Her eyes widened, moisture shimmering in them. “Custody? Dammit, I’m not the criminal here! And I can help you catch this guy.”

  He snorted. “How?”

  She hugged herself as if struggling to hold her body together. “The strangler wouldn’t be after me if I wasn’t on to something to implicate him in the murders.”

  York fought the desire to put his arms around her and give comfort. He forced a hardness into his tone. “Like what?”

  She shrugged. “If only I could remember everything Sniffles told me. I took notes on the important things, but maybe some little thing that seemed insignificant slipped by.” She leaned forward and gripped his arm. “You have to work with me on this.”

  In spite of his anger, he didn’t shake off her hold. He felt his mind and body giving in to her. He clenched his jaw until it hurt and glared at her. “In other words, help you get your story. No sale, Ms. Lyman.”

  “I won’t deny that I want the story.”

  He heard the passion in her voice and couldn’t help but admire it.

  “That’s just part of it,” she said. “I can’t live like this, afraid of answering the phone, afraid of being alone in my own place.”

  The tremor in voice twisted his heart. “I know you’re afraid, but—”

  “I want to help put Gordon and Sniffles’ killer behind bars. If I know something that’ll stop this guy and his senseless killing, you’ll have to help me uncover it. It’s the only way I’ll ever be safe, the only way others in the city will be safe. Don’t you see that?”

  He winced. She was good at this. Too good. “Look, Reporter, I can’t let you foul up this case, or get yourself killed.”

  “But I have a plan. The start of one, anyway.” Her grip on his arm tightened. “Sniffles is the key. He told us both information, probably not all the same stuff. I say we share it, and check out the leads together.”

  He felt a warmth spread through him at the gentle way she said Sniffles’ name, but it was the hope and eagerness in her eyes that really got to him. What the hell, he had to keep her close by to protect her anyway. “But I call the shots,” he said.

  The tiniest smile played at her lips. “You won’t be sorry.”

  “I’m already sorry. And you might be, too. I’m staying the night. Tomorrow you take the day off and we’ll burglar-proof this apartment. While nothing is fail-safe, a good alarm system and heavy-duty security locks are a step in the right direction.”

  “Whatever you say, Detective,” she said softly. “You’re the expert.”

  He didn’t believe the attitude switch for a minute. She’d probably go along with his terms only when it suited her.

  Norwood approached and cleared his voice. “We’re finished here.”

  York turned. The officer who’d been dusting the door for prints had packed up his equipment to leave, and he and the other officers headed out the door.

  “SWAT’s already completed the twenty-two floor sweep and came up empty,” Norwood told York. “We’ve started an apartment-by-apartment search.” He gave Jen a reassuring smile. “Don’t worry, we won’t leave until we’ve covered every inch. If he’s here, we’ll get him.”

  She gave a faint smile. “Thanks for getting here so fast.”

  Norwood nodded then met York’s gaze. “Shall I leave an officer here with Ms. Lyman?”

  “Got it covered,” York said.

  Norwood gave a little salute and left the apartment. Silence settled over the room. York became acutely aware that he and Jen were now alone, sharing the electrically charged quiet.

  Jen pulled her robe tighter around her and stood and faced him. “You can use the guestroom. Everything you need is in there.”

  He patted the back of the couch. “I’ll sleep out here so I can keep an eye on the slider and entry doors. Got an extra sheet?”

  She lifted the base of the sofa and revealed a made up bed. “This ought to work for you.”

  “Looks too comfortable for a night on guard duty.” He grinned and tried for humor. “Got any tacks?”

  She yanked open a desk drawer and handed him a small box full. “Never say I’m not a good hostess.”

  He laughed, amazed she could still joke. “I don’t want to scare you, but they should’ve found the perp by now.”

  “I know. But Officer Norwood is wrong. The strangler couldn’t live in this building. Too much of a coincidence, and I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  York didn’t believe in them either. But how else could the killer have escaped? Unless…. “Are there any chutes or hidden walkways in the building?”

  “Garbage chute. It’s a direct slide down to the basement.”

  He checked with Norwood and then relayed the news to Jen. “They’ve got that exit blocked.”

  “With all the noise you guys make,” she said, “the killer knows that. He probably just slid part way down and is hiding on one of the maintenance tiers until your men leave. Then, he can climb out, free as a bird.” Her eyes held his with an intensity that warmed him. She continued with a new excitement in her voice that he found arousing. “Remember, that was the way the cat burglar operated at the Dunningham Hotel? Except he used laundry chutes.”

  He wasn’t surprised by her knowledge of the case. Perhaps she’d even covered it. This bright reporter was as capable of seducing him with her brains and resolute spirit as with her feminine wiles. He reached Norwood on his cellular once more. “Have someone check the maintenance tiers inside the chutes.”

  “Already working on that. Just as soon as Bill at engineering downloads the building’s engineering maps to our computer, we’ll do a complete sweep of the duct system. Maintenance is standing by.”

  “Any tenants refusing to cooperate? York asked.

  “A few, but nothing we can’t handle. We get in one way or another. But don’t expect too much. So far, SWAT’s found zip.”

  York hung up and faced Jen. “All that can be is being done. Better get some rest. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  She raised an eyebrow. “Oh? We’re doing more th
an burglar proofing this place?”

  He ignored her mocking tone. “That’s just the beginning. I’ve already contacted local Internet servers. They should ID the e-mail holders by morning. You can check the list for familiar names.”

  “And if there aren’t any?” The tiredness in her voice touched him.

  “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. One step at a time.”

  “What you mean is—the list could be a dead end.”

  “Negativity coming from The Globe’s top reporter? I’m surprised.” He paused to see if his dose of humor was working. He needed to keep her on track and focused on the positive. “And you’re wrong. The list is merely a place to start. Your building manager can verify if any of the people on the list live in this building. From there, anything can develop.”

  “Sorry. Guess I’m just unnerved by the killer finding a way to get closer to me without my getting any nearer to exposing him.”

  “Everything will look better in the morning after you get some sleep.”

  He noticed Jen staring at the broken lock. “We’d better push a dresser in front of that door,” she said.

  There was a tremor in her voice. “I have something for you that’ll work better,” he said, drawing a thin leather case from his jacket pocket. He handed it to her. “After I left you and Mrs. Kincaid, I stopped at a hardware store and brought you a present.”

  She slipped the wedge-shaped gadget from its case. “A doorstop?”

  “Not just a doorstop. It has a battery-operated alarm. No one can get in when it’s in place, and it makes a piercing screech if anyone tries.”

  As he took the gadget from her hands, he brushed the tips of her fingers. Heat shot through him. Her pupils constricted, making him wonder if their touch had affected her, too.

  “Here,” he said. “Let me show you how it works.” He jammed the wedge under the door. “See? It keeps the world out without trapping us inside.”

  She took a step toward him, arms extended, as though she planned to hug him. He opened his arms to welcome her, then dropped them at his side when she stopped short. Perhaps she decided that walking into his arms wouldn’t be wise. It was a good decision; if he ever got her in his arms he wasn’t sure he’d ever let her go.

  “Thank you, Wylinski. Under the circumstances, I can’t think of a better gift.”

  He pulled Jen’s gun from his pocket and handed it to her.

  “Better stow this in a safe place. Think you can get some sleep now?”

  “It helps that I’m not alone. Thanks for staying...”

  “I hear a ‘but’ coming.”

  “Things are piling up, getting more personal. Tonight the intruder wasn’t here just to scare me. He wanted to shut me up for good.”

  The tremor in her voice revealed a vulnerability that made the ache to hold her even stronger. He knew how frightened she must be. It took all his strength not to go to her and gather her in his arms. “You’re safe tonight.” From the killer. And on a different level, from me, He couldn’t promise more than that.

  ****

  After a restless night, York stretched. It was Friday morning and, as usual, he felt the need to rise with the sun. He pulled on his pants and shirt and headed for the kitchen, his stomach growling like a hungry bear. He opened the refrigerator. Not a dammed thing. All he found in the cupboards was a supply of fancy teas. What the hell did this woman eat?

  He couldn’t leave to go buy food. The SWAT team, in spite of the apartment-by-apartment search last night, hadn’t found the perp and the guy could still be around. And probably was. His stomach growled again. Damn. And they had to secure this place before they went out. That could take hours. But first, he needed the security kit.

  His mind raced, trying to figure out how to get all his needs met. The best way, he decided, was to bundle them together. The e-mail list should be ready by now. If he had it, they could move ahead with their efforts to determine who was behind the threatening e-mails and the murders. He snapped his fingers as a three-pronged solution hit him. He dialed Ted and invited him and his minister lady friend to come to Jen’s house for his famous chili omelets. The catch: his partner had to pick up a security kit from the hardware store, some breakfast stuff from the market and while he was about it, bring the e-mail list.

  York headed for the living room and tucked away the foldout bed. Maybe if the place was tidy, Jen wouldn’t be as upset about her surprise visitors. Perhaps the guests would even take her mind off last night’s break in.

  An hour later, Ted appeared at the door with the security kit and big brown bags of food—and a woman who didn’t look like any minister York had ever seen. Wow! Were formfitting jeans and a bare midriff the standard attire for off-duty clergy these days? With television-thick makeup and a figure most women would kill for, she looked more like a model. When she smiled and shook his hand, her wrist full of bracelets jangled loud enough to wake the dead.

  He herded his guests to the kitchen and they pitched in like family. With the three of them working together, the kitchen soon smelled of coffee, bacon and toast. Ted diced some onions in big chunks.

  “Cut those smaller,” York demanded, then grinned. “Part of the secret recipe, good buddy.”

  He heard the shower running. In spite of the noise of the spray, Jen had to have heard their voices. He was getting nervous now, anticipating her possible explosive reaction to finding strangers in her kitchen. Last night he’d learned what she was made of when she faced a killer. Now he’d find out how she handled a man who had overstepped his bounds.

  He didn’t hear her footsteps but when he looked up, there she was.

  “Looks like a party,” she said with good humor that he found amazing. “Am I invited?” She wrinkled her brow. “I mean this is still my place, isn’t it?” She looked around as though pretending to verify that she was really in her own apartment.

  York laughed. “You’ve heard of Pizza Man, he delivers? Well, this is breakfast guests, they deliver.” He hurried on to cover his unease. “This is Ted Smothers, my partner, and his friend, Loraine Stuart, TV Evangelist. Maybe you’ve caught one of her services?”

  Jen shook her head. “Pleased to meet you,” she said in a voice York found hospitable. Then she turned to him. “When you take over, you really take over, don’t you, Detective?

  “We needed the security kit. And Ted also brought the e-mail list.” He grinned and gestured with the folder of names. “All in the line of duty. Food’s a bonus.”

  She smiled one of those angelic smiles that York suspected could be deceiving and said, “Didn’t doubt that you’d have some sort of an explanation.”

  “Everything’s ready.” He was surprised at how relieved he was that she’d accepted his takeover of her kitchen so graciously. “Please, sit down, milady.” He bowed low and pulled out a chair for her.

  “Smells wonderful.” Jen slid her compact hips across the cushion and settled into the seat.

  Loraine scooted her own chair closer to the table. “Ted’s been raving about York’s omelets ever since we met. At last, I get to try one. Of course, Ted could have given me more than ten minutes notice.” She patted his hand lovingly. “I guess we have to be spur-of-the-moment gals with cops for boyfriends.”

  Jen stopped eating mid-bite, her fork seemly frozen in place. “Detective York is not my boyfriend. He’s just here to protect me.”

  “Protect you?” Loraine frowned. “Good heavens. Why do you need protection?”

  Looking calm, Jen recounted the break in, skimming over the details, making it sound trivial. York admired her efforts to override the fear she must feel.

  When a silence fell over the group, Ted made a thumbs up gesture. “You got the best protection available, Jen. And he’s not a bad cook, either.”

  York’s stomach fluttered when Jen captured his gaze and looked at him over the rim of her coffee cup with twinkling eyes. “It is a good omelet, Wylinski.”

  “You liked my omelet?”
Suddenly he felt like a young boy again and her praise made him feel like doing a backward leap the way he used to do when things were too good to express with words alone.

  Jen nodded. She looked so damned amused. Her gaze held his for a moment, then abruptly she asked, “Where’s the list I’m supposed to review?”

  Ted handed Jen several sheets of paper from a folder.

  York pointed at the names. “These are the people with Internet addresses where your threatening notes originated.”

  Her fresh fragrance wafted around him as she moved closer. Their bodies touched. Struggling to ignore the warmth that quickly engulfed him, York cleared his throat. He could barely speak. “Any names ring a bell?” He hoped no one noticed the new huskiness in his voice.

  “There’s a common thread,” Ted said. “All the addresses end with Kesslers.com.” When York glanced up, Ted added, “Wasn’t Kesslers where Sniffles used to work?”

  York nodded. “I have another job for you. Find out if any of the women on this list are computer specialists.”

  “Done. Shelly Drake and Irene Newberry fill the bill.”

  Loraine beamed as though Ted had sprouted angel wings.

  Jen seemed to be studying the list closely, then she looked up. “Shelly Drake sounds familiar.”

  York felt his neck muscles tighten. “Could Sniffles have mentioned her to you?”

  “When he called the crisis center that first time, he mentioned a girlfriend.” Jen shrugged, looking adorably serious. “That might have been the name.”

  Loraine exchanged looks with Ted. “This may not be important but—”

  Ted winked. “Everything you say is important to me, Rainy.”

  York shook his head. His partner had it bad. “Gettin’ deep in here. But Ted’s right, Loraine. Any scrap of info could be important.”

  Later, he’d rib Ted about the lovesick talk as payback for the billboard jibes.

  Loraine leaned forward. “Well, Shelly Drake’s a member of my church. Lovely young woman. Always volunteering, and smart as a whip. She even set up our computer system at church.”

  “Hey,” Jen said, gripping York’s arm. “Sniffles mentioned he’d helped his girlfriend set up a church computer. According to him, they worked on the church system for weeks. The girlfriend seemed happier than she’d been in a long time. Then for no reason that Sniffles knew of, the girl told him she wanted to see other men.” Jen’s breath caught. She paled.