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  She paused to catch her breath.

  She knew she shouldn’t.

  It was too big a risk.

  And yet, she couldn’t run another step until she got her breath.

  She crouched down behind a tree.

  It was the best she could do for protection, and she knew it wouldn’t do her any good. They’d find her. They always did.

  She gave herself just a couple of minutes to pull herself together and then she was moving again.

  She kept hoping that somehow, she could walk out of this.

  Find a way to freedom.

  But so far, she hadn’t.

  Maybe she was just running in circles.

  She very easily could be.

  She was hurt and tired and scared; she really had no idea where she was going.

  What she did know was that she couldn’t keep going much longer.

  Her injuries were building up—both the ones that had been inflicted on her and the ones she had inadvertently inflicted on herself.

  She ran again until her sides were burning, her chest heaving, her head spinning. Then she collapsed against a tree, letting it hold her up as she tried to calm her ragged breathing.

  Again, just minutes later, she readied herself to keep moving.

  Only this time her body wouldn’t cooperate.

  As she tried to take a step, her legs buckled beneath her.

  Try as she might, she couldn’t push back up to her feet.

  Instead, she sunk down to the ground, resting her aching head on a bed of scratchy leaves. She needed to rest. Even just for a few minutes.

  Closing her eyes, she prayed that they wouldn’t find her for at least a little while.

  She might not survive another round.

  She wasn't doing so well.

  She didn’t think she could last much longer.

  She roused herself once again when she heard the crunch of footsteps.

  A hand clamped on her shoulder, and then rough hands were pulling her to her feet.

  She thought about fighting back, but what was the point?

  It hadn’t done any good any other time.

  They were simply bigger and stronger than she was.

  “I missed you, Laura,” a voice mocked.

  And then she was screaming.

  An ear-piercing scream.

  The sound was so loud, she almost couldn’t believe it was coming from her.

  But it was, and it had snapped her awake.

  She’d been dreaming, but her screams had traversed the line between the dream world and the real world.

  It took Laura several minutes to calm herself enough to form any logical thoughts. She was ice cold and yet drenched in sweat. She was shaking uncontrollably. She hated nightmares. It had been a while since she’d had one. Months, maybe even a year or so. It was probably the police activity from yesterday that had gotten her subconscious thinking about it again.

  This was exactly why she didn’t watch the news or read the papers.

  Even a single reminder about crime could get her imagination flying into overdrive.

  Climbing from the bed, she headed for the kitchen to make herself some cocoa. It was about the only thing that could calm her when she got like this.

  It reminded her of her childhood.

  Of cozy winter nights when she, her parents, and her big sister would curl up on the couch. They’d collect all the blankets and quilts and pillows in the house and pile them all up in a huge snugly pile. Then they’d climb inside and drink cocoa and watch movies until she and her sister fell asleep.

  Those days were long gone, though.

  Her life wasn't like that anymore.

  It had all changed in an instant.

  She’d never realized before just how quickly things could change.

  And now she wasn't sure if she could ever get her old life back.

  She wasn't even sure she wanted it back.

  Or deserved it back.

  She took her mug of hot cocoa to the living room. There was no point in going back to bed. She wouldn’t sleep. Probably wouldn’t for days. And even if she did manage to fall into an exhausted haze, she would only have more nightmares.

  Laura hated nightmares almost more than she had hated the original events.

  Back then, she had hoped and prayed that things would end.

  And miraculously, they had.

  Only at the same time, they hadn’t.

  She still relived that horror in her dreams.

  Which didn’t seem fair.

  It should be over by now.

  Eleven long years and it should be over by now.

  She so desperately needed it to be over.

  Curling up in her favorite armchair by the window, she reached for her favorite book and opened it up. The blinds were closed and she contemplated opening them, but decided against it. She wasn't sure she could handle looking at the sky right now. The sky would just add to her stress. It was silly, she knew. The sky was everywhere. There was no point in being afraid of it. And yet, she was.

  With a sigh at her own stupidity, she began to read.

  And once again prayed that someday, someday soon, this real-life nightmare would truly end and she would be able to live again.

  * * * * *

  6:34 A.M.

  “Why did we get this one?” Jack asked as he approached Rose.

  Even though it was barely six-thirty in the morning, it was already nearly stiflingly hot. Summer had been brutal so far this year. They’d been getting hot weather since mid-March. Jack was a cold weather guy, not a hot weather one. He loved the snow. He had been skiing since he was three, had even done it competitively for a while in high school. Squirming uncomfortably in his shirt and cotton pants, he thought if he had to endure hot weather, he preferred to do it topless and by the pool.

  “Because of the location,” Rose replied, face tilted up to the sun. As much as he hated hot weather, his partner loved it.

  “But it was a rape, not a murder,” he protested.

  “Yeah, but it happened at the same apartment building where someone was murdered just twenty-four hours ago,” Rose reminded him.

  “Could be a coincidence,” he retorted. “Since when does someone go backward from murder to rape? Usually it’s the other way around. Someone starts off as a peeping tom, then when they gain enough confidence, they move on to rape and then to murder. It doesn’t usually go the other way.”

  “Well, given that someone was murdered at the same building, just one floor down from where a woman was raped, and both happened within the space of a day, Belinda wanted us to look into it. Check to see if there’s any chance the two are connected.”

  Jack sighed but didn’t bother offering another objection.

  He couldn’t really argue with the fact that it was a huge coincidence for a rape to occur in the same building, just one floor up from where a murder had occurred the day before.

  However, coincidence was most likely all it was.

  Theoretically, it was possible that if the man who had killed Tarek Milford was one of his ex-parolees and a sex offender that he had simply seen and latched on to Judith Barclay while he was in the building. Still, Jack couldn’t help but feel that was unlikely.

  “She been to the hospital?” he asked Rose as they walked into the lift.

  “Yes, they did a rape kit,” she replied.

  “They discharged her already? What time did it happen?”

  “She called it in around one.”

  “Hospital discharged her already?”

  “She discharged herself, said she didn’t have any injuries and there was no need for her to stay.”

  “Did she speak with someone from psych before she left?” Jack sincerely hoped she had—the longer you put off dealing with something the harder it got to deal with it at all.

  “She refused.” The look in Rose’s green eyes indicated she had the same feelings on dealing with trauma as he did. “Maybe we can convinc
e her otherwise, give her the names of some counselors.”

  “CSU already been here?”

  “Stephanie just left,” Rose answered.

  “She get anything?”

  “Fingerprints on the tape he put on her mouth. And apparently, he didn’t use a condom, so there’s DNA, too,” Rose explained.

  “Any hits in AFIS or CODIS?” Hopefully the automated fingerprint identification system or the combined DNA index system popped out a suspect.

  “Nothing yet.” Reaching Judith Barclay's apartment, Rose rapped on the door.

  A minute later, it was thrown open by a pale young woman. Dazed brown eyes studied them for a moment, then cleared. “You're the cops, right? The hospital said that some cops would be by to talk to me.”

  “That’s us,” Jack confirmed with a smile. “I'm Detective Jack Xander and this is my partner, Rose Lace. Can we come in?”

  With a defeated sigh, she shrugged and held the door farther open. “I guess. So long as you don’t mind watching me pack.”

  “You staying somewhere else for a few days?” he asked as they followed her into the apartment.

  “Nope.” In the living room, she resumed what she had obviously been doing before their arrived—packing all her things into boxes. “I'm moving. I can't live here after what happened.”

  While he completely understood where Judith was coming from, it probably wasn't the best idea to be making major life decisions on the back of a major trauma. He was definitely going to push her on seeking help before they left. “Do you have someone you can stay with?” She shouldn’t be alone right now.

  “My sister. I called her from the hospital, she said I can stay with her as long as I need to.” Judith proceeded to throw things into boxes.

  Getting answers out of her while she was distracted wasn't going to work. “Ms. Barclay,” he kept his voice gentle, “why don’t you sit?”

  “I need to keep moving,” she protested.

  “I understand, but we want to catch this guy, so we need you focused.”

  Judith continued to throw books and ornaments into boxes for another minute before she reluctantly paused. Then with a weary shrug, she gestured at the three sofas grouped together around the TV. “Let’s get this over with.”

  “Did you hear about what happened downstairs?” Jack asked, wanting to search for any possible connections as well as ease into what had happened to her last night.

  Nodding slowly, she replied, “Not until last night though. The cops who showed up when I called 911 mentioned it.”

  “You didn’t see all the cops and forensic techs?”

  “I wasn't home that night. Sometimes I stay over at my sister’s when I work late, so I didn’t get home until around eight last night,” Judith explained. “Do you know who hurt Mr. Milford?”

  “No, I'm sorry. But we have some leads and some forensics; so hopefully, we will soon,” he assured the young woman. If Judith Barclay hadn’t even been home when Tarek Milford had been murdered, then it wasn't very likely that whoever had attacked her last night was the same person who had killed Tarek. Veering the conversation back toward her assault, he asked, “Did you notice anything off when you got home last night?”

  Judith gave a single shake of her head.

  “Are you sure?” Jack pushed. “Anything, no matter how small, could be important.”

  Looking overwhelmed now, Judith gave her head another shake.

  He decided to walk her though it. “Did you notice anyone following you home?”

  “No.”

  “Anyone watching you when you came inside?”

  “No, I parked in the parking lot under the building and then came up in the lift, I didn’t see anyone at all.”

  “What about when you got to your floor? Did you notice anyone?”

  “No.”

  “Was your door locked?”

  “Yes.”

  “When you got inside your apartment, did anything seem off?”

  “No, everything was the same as usual.” Her brown eyes were looking back at him helplessly.

  “What’s the first thing you remember about your attack?” he asked gently.

  She swiped at the tears that were welling up in her eyes. “A hand on my mouth and something cold against my head,” she raised a hand and rubbed at her temple as she spoke. “At first I thought I was just dreaming. But then I realized it wasn't a nightmare; it was real. There really was a man in my bedroom. He was on the bed. On top of me. I wanted to scream, to fight him, but I realized the cold thing at my head was a gun. I was scared he would shoot me if I fought him.”

  “You did the right thing, Judith,” he assured the girl. She would blame herself, it was all but inevitable, despite the fact that there was nothing she could have done to prevent what had happened from happening.

  The look she shot him indicated she didn’t believe him.

  “What happened next?”

  She drew in a shuddering breath before continuing. “He told me not to be stupid.”

  “Did you recognize his voice?”

  “I don’t know. I was too scared.”

  “Okay. Keep going, you're doing great.” He offered her another encouraging smile.

  “He tied my hands behind my back with a plastic tie. Then he put some tape on my mouth. Next, he pulled my T-shirt up, and he…” She paused and licked her lips. “… he raped me.” Tears spilled out, trickling down her cheeks. “I didn’t fight him. I just laid there.”

  He placed a comforting hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It wasn't your fault, Judith. He had a gun. You did what you had to do to survive.”

  “I feel so dirty,” she cried. “As soon as I came home, I got in the shower, but it didn’t help.” Sobbing in earnest now, she threw herself against him.

  Feeling awkward, Jack held the girl as she cried. He may have some knack for eliciting trust from victims of crime, but that didn’t mean he felt comfortable around traumatized people. He didn’t. He felt completely out of his element. He wanted to palm her off onto a professional who knew what to say and do to help her while he focused on finding the man who had hurt her. Still, he did what had to be done. “Judith, have you told your family what happened?”

  The head on his shoulder shook in the negative.

  “Not even your sister?”

  “I told her I was scared to stay here after the murder,” her muffled voice explained.

  “I think you need to tell them. You're going to need their support to get through this.” As he said the words, which he truly meant, Jack couldn’t help but feel like a hypocrite all over again. He hadn’t told his family when he’d gone through a traumatic experience. He had tried to struggle through it on his own. He was still trying to struggle through it on his own—three years later.

  “I don’t know,” Judith murmured. “I'm ashamed.”

  “There’s nothing for you to be ashamed about,” he told her firmly. “And your family would want to know. They would want to be there for you.” Jack knew that if his own family ever found out what had happened to him, they would be extremely hurt that he hadn’t told them.

  “Yeah, maybe you're right.” Judith sat herself back up and looked apologetically at the wet stain on his shirt. “Sorry about crying all over you.”

  “Nothing to be sorry about,” he assured her. “You may also want to consider talking with a professional. The hospital said you didn’t want to wait to talk with anyone there, but maybe we could give you the names of some people we know who work with victims of sexual assault.”

  Indecision battled in her eyes, but her common sense obviously won out because she nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

  “Good, we’ll give you some names and numbers before we leave. Judith, can you think of anyone who would want to hurt you?”

  She thought about this for barely a few seconds before her brown eyes grew wide as if realizing something for the first time. “He knew my name. When he told me not to be stupid, he used my name.”r />
  “So, he knows you. Did you get a look at his face?”

  “No, he wore a ski mask.”

  “And you're sure you didn’t recognize his voice?” Unless this was a stalker who had fixated on her over some minimal or imagined contact, Judith most likely knew her attacker.

  “I don’t know, like I said, I was scared.”

  “Is there anyone you know who might want to hurt you?” Jack asked again. Judith was holding something back; he was sure of it.

  Chewing on her lower lip, her hands fidgeted nervously with the edges of the white bandages circling her wrists, covering the cuts she’d gotten from where the zip ties had gouged her flesh. “I was dating this guy about a year ago. He was cute and smart, and I thought he might be the one. Only, I wasn't ready to sleep with him yet. My freshman year of college, I slept around a bit. I wasn't proud of it. I promised myself I would wait until I was sure that the next guy I slept with was the one. But Harry got mad. He tried to pressure me, but the more he did, the more I knew I didn’t want to sleep with him. Then one night, he turned violent. He knocked me around and tried to force me. I fought him, and I screamed. Mr. Milford from downstairs heard me. He came and he saved me.”

  He glanced at Rose, whose excited eyes told him she was thinking the same thing he was. “So, your ex saw Mr. Milford?”

  “Uh-huh,” Judith answered, brushing at fresh tears. “Mr. Milford knocked down my door. When he came in, Harry had me on the bed. Mr. Milford threw him off me. Harry tried to hit him, but Mr. Milford was tough. He blocked the punch and Harry just ran.”

  So, it was possible that the two cases were related after all. If Judith's ex had come back to finish what he started that night, he could have seen it as a two for one. Get what he wanted out of Judith and kill Tarek Milford for intervening. “Have you seen Harry since that night?”

  “No.”

  “Did you report it?”

  Cheeks reddening, she said, “No. I was embarrassed. And Harry had been drinking that night. And he didn’t do much more than hit me a few times; all I had were some bruises. I just wanted to forget about it and move on. I should have, though. I just didn’t think he’d come back. I thought he’d just leave me alone. And he did. I haven’t seen or heard from him since, and it’s been almost a year. Mr. Milford told me I should report it, I should have listened to him.”