Tidings of Fear. Ericka Scott

fax in front of him to confirm her last name before continuing, “Morgan. I know that name from somewhere.”

      “So you should. She’s the bestselling author of a personal security book, Safe and Sane Rules for Single Women. Perhaps you’ve read it, the rules work for single men as well.”

      Jared shook his head. “No, but some of the women in my class were discussing it last semester. Didn’t Sylvie work for the government?”

      Mark cleared his throat. “Well, she did.”

      “Won’t they get involved because of her disappearance?”

      “Unfortunately, no. Sylvie worked for a rather, um, secret branch of the government. In fact, if anyone were to try to look up her record, the government would vehemently deny she worked for them at all.”

      “Wouldn’t they be afraid that some clandestine terrorist group had snatched her?” Jared asked.

      “No. All of the security protocols used are outdated. She wouldn’t be able to tell them anything they couldn’t find out on the internet.”

      “If there is a serial killer at work, someone needs to know. The police, the government, the press.”

      “So far, there’ve been no ransom demands. More importantly, no bodies,” Mark shot back. “Believe me, I’ve jumped through all the hoops and no one cares. Sylvie is on her own. Hopefully she and her son aren’t dead.”

      Something about the conversation convinced Jared of the man’s conviction. A woman and child had disappeared and could be in mortal danger. Warming to the idea, he theorized, “Even with no bodies, that doesn’t prove these women and their children are still alive. It could simply mean the killer is smart.” Jared tapped the stack of papers in front of him. “Okay, so the guy left his victims’ names in the paper. Did he leave any other clues?”

      “I don’t know. That’s what I want you to find out. Can you tell who devised these puzzles?”

      “Did you call the paper?”

      “Yes, and hit a dead end. This particular newspaper is a community effort. Residents write the columns, a local psychic does the horoscopes and this puzzle is sent in by a Kris Kross. I ran a check on the name, although it’s obviously fake. The mail is delivered to a post office box.”

      “The post office requires identification when they rent those boxes,” Jared offered.

      Mark nodded. “Yep, they do. Unfortunately, the box is registered to Sylvie’s partner, Margaret.”

      “Did you ask her about the crosswords?”

      “I did. She swore she didn’t rent a P.O. box, and that she didn’t compose any puzzles for the paper.”

      “And you believed her?” Jared didn’t.

      “I did.”

      Jared blew out an impatient breath. “So you’re sure the police…” The figure of a woman entering the coffee shop captured his attention. Her heart-shaped face framed by a riot of dark curls reminded him of someone he’d once known. Once loved. She turned and his heart thudded in his chest. Could it really be her?

      Without ordering, the woman sank into a seat by the door. Her expression and posture practically shouted her distress. Her almond-shaped brown eyes held unshed tears and her full, very kissable lips, trembled.

      Intuitively, he put two and two together. Lia Morgan. Sylvie Morgan. Could the two be related?

      He barely had time to finish the thought, for Mark had already stood and was striding with long confident steps toward the woman.

      “Lia?”

      At the sound of her name, the woman looked up. “Mark? Oh, thank God.” She stood and threw herself into Mark’s arms, sobbing.

      It seemed as if the whole world stilled while Jared watched them. He couldn’t seem to draw a breath and his heart clutched so tightly he feared it would never start beating again. It had been seven years since he’d seen her last. A long time to wonder what he’d done wrong and why she wouldn’t answer his calls. Too long to pick up where they’d left off.

      Mark made some ineffectual shushing noises and patted her back.

      “They won’t tell me anything,” she wailed.

      “Who won’t?”

      “The police. I went straight to the station this morning. The officer in charge told me they had the case under control and were following some promising leads. But when I asked what those were, he wouldn’t tell me.”

      “They don’t want to compromise the investigation,” Mark murmured.

      More like they don’t know a damn thing.

      Lia pulled back from Mark’s embrace. “Have you seen Margaret?”

      “From what I understand, she’s staying at Sylvie’s house, in case the kidnapper calls.”

      “What happened to her and Margaret? I didn’t even know Sylvie didn’t work for the government anymore until I did a search for her on the internet. Even then, all I got were hits on her book. I didn’t know who to call. But you’re here, so the FBI or someone should be taking over the investigation. Right?”

      “Come, have a seat.” Mark tugged on her arm to turn her toward the table.

      She reached up to knuckle the tears out of her eyes as she walked. God, she still hadn’t seen him. What should he do? Run? Or would it be better if he simply dropped to the floor and slithered away? His heart began to beat all too hard now. It hammered against his chest wall and the blood roared in his ears.

      What would she say? What would she do?

      She stopped.

      Mark paused, puzzled, and then looked over at him.

      “You know him?” Mark asked.

      Lia simply nodded. Then she seemed to pull herself together. The false smile she plastered on her pretty face hurt more than a scowl would have.

      “Professor Trimble,” she said. Her voice, the same soft caress she’d used to seduce him years ago, set off a reaction of want and need inside him. Just for a moment, he remembered what it had been like to hear her whisper his name in the dark after they’d made love, or to pick up a voice mail message from her where she’d describe exactly what she planned to do to him with her mouth, fingers and body.

      “I haven’t seen you in years,” he managed to croak out. “How are you?”

      Only after he’d spoken did he realize how ludicrous the question sounded. Her sister and nephew were missing, how the hell did he expect her to be?

      However, she’d interpreted it as polite lip service.

      “I’ve been well, up until now.” Her brown eyes shot back to Mark. “I didn’t know you two knew each other.”

      “We don’t, didn’t.” Mark said. He pulled up a chair from a nearby table. “I got a strange fax and suspect it’s from Sylvie’s captor. So, I called in an expert.”

      “An expert? Shouldn’t you be calling the FBI?” Her voice quavered. “I’m not sure what you think an anthropologist could do.” Her words stumbled to a stop. “Oh, God. You think Sylvie is dead. But I still don’t understand why you’d need him. It’s not like she’s been missing for years and is decomposing somewhere.” Her voice ended in a sob. “And despite what you might think, I know my sister is still alive.”

      “No, he didn’t call me in as an anthropologist, but for the crossword puzzles. I…” Jared began, but the moment she looked at him, his mind went blank.

      “Professor Trimble has won the American Crossword Puzzle Tournament three times. When I found out he lived in the area, I gave him a call.”

      Lia