Born To Die (Alvarez & Pescoli)

He stared at Kacey for a second. “I’ll go have a look around outside.”

“No . . . it was probably just some animal. A squirrel or deer or whatever. This place is new to him.” She left her post at the window and patted the big dog’s head. “Probably just my nerves. I was having a particularly gruesome nightmare.”

“You okay?” he asked, and one big hand fell lightly on her shoulder. Warm and steady. She nearly melted into him, but didn’t. She didn’t have time to fall apart.

“As well as I can be,” she said, sliding into her slippers and grabbing her bathrobe off the hook on the back of the door. A thought nagged at her just below her consciousness, something about the women in the dream, how they were linked, but she couldn’t quite catch it. “I’ll make coffee,” she said, then slipped past him as she headed downstairs. The dog trotted after her, and Trace followed last.

It all seemed so normal.

So damned domestic.

Except for the threats, real or imagined, that lay just outside her door. And the hidden microphones. And maybe even the man she was with now, who had been married to a woman who could be

her twin, a woman who’d disappeared. He was also linked to Jocelyn, another look-alike who had ended up dead. Murdered.

Whatever fantasies she had about him, she had to push aside, she determined as she snapped on the lights on the first floor.

With one finger, Trace snagged his T-shirt from the back of the rocking chair. Despite her warnings to herself that getting close to him could be dangerous, Kacey watched his muscles work beneath a patch of curling hair that spread across his chest and arrowed lower over tight abs.

Her throat went dry, and she turned toward the kitchen, pushing all images of him out of her head.

She’d already started coffee by the time he, in his sweater and jacket and boots, walked over the old linoleum to the back door. “I’ll take the dog and take a look,” he said, whistling for Bonzi, who seemed eager to go. “Once I know everything’s secure, I’ll be on my way.”

“Okay. I’ll be heading to the hospital after I take care of some chores.”

She nodded and glanced at the clock, noting it wasn’t quite six.

“And the authorities?” he asked softly, almost inaudibly.

She nodded. She planned on contacting them but wasn’t sure exactly when.

While he was outside and the coffee was dripping through the maker, she ran through the shower. Within five minutes she was dry, half dressed, and winding her hair into a quick knot that she pinned to the back of her head. Today she applied only a slap of lipstick, a brush of mascara, then slid into slacks and a sweater before returning to the kitchen. Trace was just stomping the snow from his boots on the back porch. He opened the door, and Bonzi, fresh from relieving himself and, it appeared, running through the snow, bounded inside.

“Nice morning,” Trace said as he stepped over the threshold, shaking his head to let her know he hadn’t seen anything outside. She poured two cups of coffee and handed him one. They shared their drinks in silence for a few moments, acutely aware of the microphones.

Finishing his coffee, Trace put his cup in the sink. Kacey followed suit as he asked, “You leaving now?”

“Yep.” She grabbed her keys. She might not completely trust Trace, but she really didn’t like the idea of being alone in her house, Bonzi or no Bonzi.

CHAPTER 26

Water dripped onto the floor of his listening post. Snow melting off his clothes. He’d hurried back from Acacia’s, where he’d spent the night watching the back of her house through his night-vision goggles. O’Halleran had spent the night with her! He’d circled around and seen the man’s truck while snow came down heavily, obscuring his tracks almost as he made them. He’d circled back and waited, the big flakes silent and cold, a slow, hot fury taking hold inside him at all the things she’d learned and told O’Halleran.

A light had come on in Acacia’s room, and he’d quickly moved farther into the brush and jogged to his car. It had been a short drive to his lair, and he’d hurried inside, eager to listen in, but there was nothing more than what he’d heard the night before.

His blood burned through his veins. He wanted Acacia to die. Soon. Now.

He ripped out the earbud and threw it down. If only he’d heard more! The first part had been clear, but then they’d turned up the volume on the television and the radio.

Had they guessed? Had they found the tiny microphones? Been aware of him listening in?

Couldn’t be!

In frustration he’d left this morning to go to her place, and the only thing he’d learned was that O’Halleran had never left. She had an ally. O’Halleran! Leanna’s ex. How had that happened? He wasn’t sure, but he knew they had to die together. Somehow.

Leanna . . . He ground his teeth together. Acacia had found a lot of the names of the women. Too many!

And O’Halleran had told her about Leanna.