âI want to take you to an FBI safe house.â
âIs this one of those protected witness programs? Where you give up your identity?â She shook her head, sending ripples through her black hair. âThatâs unacceptable.â
âItâs the only way to be sure youâre safe.â
âI canât pick up and leave. I have responsibilities.â
Denial was one thing. This attitude was insanity. âWeâre dealing with a serial killer. Make no mistake, Cara. Heâll come after you again.â
Her forehead pinched together in a frown. âBut there must be another way. I donât want to be at a safe house. I want my life back. I donât want to be aloneâ¦.â
âYouâre not alone.â Dash sat on the edge of the bed. His hand rested on her shoulder. âIâm here.â
Thanks to my daughter, Kersten, for her help on all things
anthropological. And, as always, to Rick.
For Cassie Miles the best part about writing a story set in Eagle County near the Vail ski area is the ready-made excuse to head into the mountains for research. Though the winter snows are great for skiing, her favorite season is fall when the aspens turn gold.
The rest of the time Cassie lives in Denver where she takes urban hikes around Cheesman Park, reads a ton and critiques often.
Cara MessingerâA 32-year-old, half Navajo archaeology professor who is the only surviving victim of a serial killer.
Dash AdamsâAfter a privileged upbringing, he chose to become an FBI special agent. His current assignment is to investigate the serial murders and protect his witness.
The JudgeâLegendary serial killer from the San Francisco area who is now active in Mesa Verde.
Russell GraffâAn archaeology grad student who is obsessed with Cara, his former professor.
Flynn OâConnerâFBI special agent in charge of the Mesa Verde safe house.
Jonas TreadwellâA psychiatrist specializing in criminal psychology. He works with the FBI to profile the killer.
William GraffâThe wealthy, powerful father of Russell Graff is determined to thwart the investigation.
George PettyâArchaeology professor supervising the dig site near Mesa Verde, where Russell worked.
Alexander SterlingâRenowned forensic anthropologist who unlocks the secrets of the bones.
Joanne JonesâArchaeology student having a dig-site romance with Russell Graff.
YazzieâCaraâs big, fat, yellow-striped tomcat.
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Cara Messinger hated coming home to an empty house. Especially after dark.
At 11:22 on a Thursday night, she parked at the curb in her quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of Santa Fe and glanced toward her house. Two front windows stared back as if mocking her hesitation. Shadows from the windswept shrubs and piñon pines skittered across the white stucco walls like a thousand spiders gone wild.
She wasnât usually so nervous. Cara thought of herself as being responsible, strong and resourceful. A bit of an overachiever. At age thirty-two, sheâd been an archaeology professor for three years. Sheâd supervised digs and published academic papers. Other people respected her. Young women wanted to be her. Why was she crouched behind the wheel of her car, afraid to go into her own house?
It had to be the e-mails. For the past two months, sheâd been receiving weird e-mails from someone who called himself the Judge. He was watching her, stalking her.
âWell, watch this,â she muttered as she shoved open her car door.
The night brought a chill to the thin air of the high desert even though it was springtime. She shivered as she gathered her briefcase and books from the back seat. When she slammed the car door, the sound echoed. From somewhere down the block, a dog howled.
Her keys jingled in her hand as she hurried up the sidewalk, and her sense of apprehension grew stronger. She was not alone in the night. Someone else was here. Something else. She felt a heavy jolt against her ankle and staggered backward. Her books fell on the concrete porch.
Two unblinking yellow eyes stared up at her. âYazzie.â
The big orange-striped tomcat yawned.
âYazzie, you scared me to death.â
The twenty-pound tom threaded his bulk between her arms and batted at a strand of her long black hair as she bent down to retrieve her books. His purr rumbled as loud as a motorboat.
âYou really are a pest.â Sheâd never intended to have a pet, but Yazzie had adopted her. When heâd been only a kitten and the name YazzieâNavajo for âlittle oneââhad still applied, heâd shown up on her doorstep and had claimed this territory as his own. She really shouldnât complain; the big orange tom was the closest to a relationship sheâd had in months.
Inside the house, she flicked the switch by the door. A soft overhead light shone on her earth-tone sofa, chairs and coffee table. Being home usually soothed her; this place was her sanctuary. Instead, her tension deepenedâa possible result of the two cups of espresso sheâd had with her students to celebrate her last evening lecture of the semester. This academic year was almost over. She should have been relieved.