Her Darkest Nightmare by Brenda Novak Page A

if he hadn’t caught her. But she didn’t dissolve into a puddle of tears or get sick. She came up kicking and swinging—at the vehicle, the telephone pole beside it, the mounds of icy snow piled at the curb, anything within range.
    When he grabbed hold of her to stop her before she could injure herself, she even tried to hit him .
    *   *   *
    â€œWhere could the rest of her be?” Her knuckles were bleeding and her toes were aching, but Evelyn finally felt calm. She stared out at the snow-draped trading post–style buildings that lined Main Street, working to put what she’d seen behind her, while the sergeant drove her to her car. Thanks to the murder, he had a lot yet to do, so Jack Call, who owned a small repair shop one street over, was meeting them at Quigley’s to be sure she could get her Beamer started.
    Briefly, Amarok studied her before returning his gaze to the road. She guessed he was trying to reconcile the woman who’d wanted to make love to him last night with the crazy person who’d just lost control and wouldn’t stop fighting until he hugged her so tightly she couldn’t get her arms up or gain enough distance to land an effective kick. “I have no idea,” he said. “But I’m hoping that will change. Soon.”
    So was she.
    Seeking consolation in the mundane, Evelyn forced herself to take particular note of the progress the locals had made in getting back to normal life. Hilltop handled the many storms that rolled through so well, so quickly. According to dialogue that’d come through on the sergeant’s radio, even the phone lines were back up.
    But one thing wasn’t the same and never would be.…
    Evelyn flinched as the image of Lorraine’s head, with all its contusions and bruising—and one missing eye—conjured in her mind. That sight would haunt her for the rest of her life, just like the equally gruesome memory of finding Marissa Donovan, and two more friends, covered in blood, stripped naked and erotically posed. After twenty years that vision hadn’t faded one bit, and probably never would.
    â€œShock value,” she muttered.
    Amarok unzipped his coat. “What’d you say?”
    It hurt just to draw breath. She wasn’t sure why. “That was what the killer was going for: shock value,” she said, louder, more certain. “What’s worse than finding a dead body?”
    He didn’t answer, but she could tell he was listening.
    â€œFinding a body part,” she filled in. “And what’s worse than stumbling across an arm or a leg?”
    â€œA head,” he replied. “I get it. And I’m sure it adds insult to injury to remove one or both eyes.”
    â€œExactly.”
    â€œBut there was no ‘stumbling across’ this. The killer put her head on a broom handle and stuck it in the snow at the back door of the only bar in town.”
    â€œBecause he didn’t think he could get away with doing it at the front.”
    â€œAnd if you’re right, if he was going for effect, it’s a bit more sinister to do it in an alley.”
    â€œVery Jack the Ripper–ish,” she agreed. “Which arouses a great deal of fear.”
    When he rubbed his jaw, she guessed he was as tired as she was and felt guilty for keeping him up as long as she had last night. Hilltop, and Lorraine, needed him so badly today.
    â€œYou’re very familiar with the type of person who would do this,” he said.
    â€œI should be.” She’d been studying and interviewing killers, serial and otherwise, for over a decade. And that was in addition to her personal experience. Not only had she been victimized by a murderer, she’d also been in love with one, which gave her a much closer look at the behavior and the reality.
    â€œYou could be valuable to the investigation—if you stay.”
    â€œIf I stay ?”
    â€œLast