The Betrayed (Krewe of Hunters) by Heather Graham Page A

thought he’d wander out of the convention center!”
    Muscles was defensive and obviously felt bad—as well as ineffectual and guilty. He and his crew had been Richard’s personal security detail.
    Richard had ended up dead, his body violated.
    Now, Aidan had a room one floor below Richard’s aides and guards. It was a suite with a large work area, but he understood from Jackson Crow that they’d be using his room as their local base when he was joined by fellow agents.
    Late today, his floor would be hosting more of his new coworkers, who’d be booked into adjacent rooms. He’d specifically asked for a forensic artist—Jane Everett—because he didn’t like the computer-generated image of the dead woman that was going around; he wanted a new one. Once they learned who she was, they would at least know if she’d been killed because of whatever relationship she might have had with Richard—or if she’d somehow been caught up in the situation.
    Knowing her identity could be a major key to solving the murders. Unless she’d been a random bystander, but all the indications suggested the opposite.
    He stood. He hadn’t had many hours of sleep, and what he’d managed to get had been restless. But it was now eight o’clock, and he wasn’t due at the task force meeting for another two hours.
    Leaving his hotel room, he headed for the elevator. He started out the main door, paused, went back to get a quick coffee from the hotel’s complimentary station, then hurried out. He wasn’t even sure where he was going at first. After a few minutes, he realized he was driving to the cemetery.
    When he got there, he parked and walked past gravestones and monuments, cherubs and angels, until he reached the yellow crime scene tape that still marked off the tomb. The place where they’d discovered Richard’s body—and that of the unknown woman.
    An autumn breeze moved through the trees. The day wasn’t blue and wasn’t gray, but somewhere in between. He stood there, staring at the tape, at the flattened grass where police, the medical examiner and a dozen crime scene techs had walked. He was certain they’d found all that could be found.
    “Lizzie grave?” he asked aloud.
    His voice was carried softly on the breeze. But if he’d hoped for an answer, he didn’t get one.
    He shook his head. “Richard, you old bastard! You haunted my dreams, and now...”
    Now what?
    He’d denied a thousand times over that he saw or heard anyone who wasn’t there, wasn’t
alive.
He often told himself that something in his mind had led him to find victims. It wasn’t
images
he saw moving before him. Or voices he heard from the shadows. He’d been uncomfortable with his transfer to the Krewe of Hunters, afraid that it revealed and made all too evident a truth he’d rather deny. But he loved his job too much to turn it down. He didn’t want to get stuck behind a desk for the next thirty years.
    And now...
    He remembered the day before. Remembered it almost as if he were seeing it again.
    Maureen Deauville, running after the giant wolfhound...literally falling into his arms as they discovered the body. Uncanny. He remembered the pretty brunette with crystal gray-green eyes staring up into his. He remembered feeling that the moment was charged, that she had an elusive quality that had instantly seemed compelling. Yes, she was very attractive, well-spoken, and she had a certain grim courage about her, a strength that drew him. But then, later, as he’d seen her, as he’d befriended the dog, he’d known.
    There was something else about her, too. It wasn’t just the dog; it was her.
    He curled his fingers into his palms until the nails cut his flesh.
    One great thing about his position now was that he could call a tech at the office and get anything he needed, ASAP. In less than a minute, he had her address.
    He checked his watch as he walked down the hill to his car. There was still time before his meeting. Driving to her home, he