He rocked back onto his feet and looked over his shoulder to the murky corner. His eyes focused on the live woman, bound and naked, just waking up from a drug-induced slumber. Hers had been the voice he’d heard. Her terror was the emotion that had rippled through the room.
“Please…” she mewled again softly, and he smiled, feeling a renewed hope as he surveyed her musculature and facial features. The width of the forehead, the straight nose, the high cheekbones beneath big, frightened eyes. She was a dirty blond, but hair color was the least of his worries. Facially she was a near-match. His grin stretched wide, and the mess on the floor was instantly forgotten.
His next replica of Jenna Hughes would be perfect.
This pathetic creature, bound and begging for her life, was anatomically correct.
His anger subsided in an instant as he glanced to one window, where the barest hint of moonlight slipped through the panes. Snow was melting on the outer sill.
Winter was slipping away.
The spring thaw was already in the air.
He’d have to work fast.
CHAPTER 1
This Winter
“So you’re concerned about the coming storm,” Dr. Randall said calmly from the chair near his desk. He’d positioned his body so that there was nothing between himself and his client but an imported rug covering the polished wooden floor of his office.
“I’m concerned about the winter.” The response was angry, but coldly so. The man, tall and taciturn, sat near the window on a padded leather chair. He stared straight at Randall with a hard, unforgiving gaze.
Randall nodded, as if he understood. “You’re concerned, because—?”
“You know why. It seems that things always get worse when the temperature drops.”
“At least for you.”
“Right. For me. Isn’t that why I’m here?” Tension was evident in the stiffness of his neck and the bleached knuckles of his clasped hands.
“Why are you here?”
“Don’t patronize me. None of that psychobabble doubletalk.”
“Do you hate the winter?”
A beat. A second’s hesitation. The client blinked. “Not at all. Hate’s a pretty strong word.”
“What would you say? What would be the right word?”
“It’s not the season I don’t like. It’s what happens.”
“Maybe your concern about things being worse at this time of year is just your perception.”
“Do you deny that bad things happen in the winter?”
“Of course not, but sometimes accidents or tragedies can occur in other months. People drown while swimming in the summer, or fall off cliffs while hiking in the mountains, or become ill from parasites that only breed in the heat. Bad things can happen at any time.”
His client’s jaw became solid granite as he seemed to struggle silently with the concept. He was a very intelligent man, his IQ near genius level, but he was struggling to make sense of the tragedy that had scarred his life. “I do know that intellectually, but personally, it’s always worse in the winter.” He glanced to the window, where gray clouds were muddying the sky.
“Because of what happened when you were a child?”
“You tell me. You’re the shrink.” He cut a harsh glance at the psychologist before offering a bit of a smile, a quick flash of teeth that Dr. Randall supposed would be considered a killer smile by most women. This man was an interesting case, made more so by the pact that they had agreed upon: There would be no notes, no recording, not so much as a memo about the appointment in Randall’s date book to indicate that the two had ever met. The appointment was cloaked in the deepest secrecy.
His client glanced at the clock, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. He didn’t count out the bills. They were already neatly folded and tucked into a special compartment.
“We should meet again soon,” Dr. Randall suggested as the money was left on a corner of his desk.