Lawman-in-Charge. Laura Scott

Katie’s death was nothing more than a horrible nightmare.

      But it wasn’t. Katie was gone.

      Her church pastor tried to tell her Katie was in a much better place, but she didn’t buy that theory. The real question was why hadn’t God stopped her sweet sister from being murdered? Why hadn’t he taken her, instead?

      Desperately trying to get a grip on her rioting emotions, she paused outside Rose’s Café and glanced once again toward the Gas N Go station, where the black car had pulled in. There was no sign of the vehicle now. With a frown, she scanned the entire area, including the various businesses.

      The black sedan had disappeared.

      Or she’d imagined the whole thing, just like she’d imagined she’d heard Katie.

      Exhausted and shaken, Megan slumped against the building, putting a hand to her throbbing head, and swallowed hard against another wave of nausea. “No. No way. I absolutely refuse to be crazy.”

      “You refuse, huh?” A tall man stepped forward, blocking her view of the sun. He stood with his arms crossed over his uniformed chest, looking down at her with an arched brow. “So how’s that working for you?”

      She grimaced, realizing she’d spoken out loud. Wasn’t it true that insane people didn’t believe they were crazy? Shaking off the bitter fear that plagued her, Megan straightened and belatedly noticed the crisp tan uniform along with the shiny badge pinned to the stranger’s chest.

      A cop. Great. This was not what she needed in the middle of her nervous breakdown. She strove for a light tone. “So far, it’s working fine, thanks. Excuse me.” She ducked past him, seeking refuge in Rose’s Café.

      She slid onto the only vacant stool at the counter, figuring she wouldn’t be there long. The main reason she’d come at all was to get a good look at the guy driving the black car.

      “What can I get for you, sweetie?” Josie, the middle-aged waitress, called all her customers “sweetie.” Megan suspected Josie thought the term was easier than trying to remember so many names, especially in the height of the tourist season.

      “A cup of coffee, please.” She glanced back in time to see that the cop who’d followed her into the diner had joined another officer in one of the booths that lined the wall. She turned her attention back to Josie. She wasn’t paranoid enough to think he’d followed her inside to keep an eye on her. Cops had to eat too. “Cream, no sugar.”

      “Is that all?” Josie arched an exasperated brow, propping a hand on her plump hip. “Sweetie, you picked the middle of the lunch rush to order a measly cup of coffee?”

      Josie obviously wasn’t pleased she’d taken a seat that an otherwise paying customer may have occupied. Since Megan wasn’t sure her legs could hold her weight if she left, she tried to recall the menu. “Ah, I almost forgot. I’ll take a grilled chicken sandwich too.”

      “Coming right up.” Josie poured her coffee, pushed a container of cream at her, and then disappeared to give her order to the cook.

      Megan sipped her coffee, trying not to notice how several of the locals stared at her with obvious suspicion. Since she’d taken over her aunt’s property, a small cabin on the north shore of Crystal Lake, her status was barely one step above the tourists, but not by much. She’d moved here from Chicago, and people in the town of Crystal Lake, Wisconsin, seemed to carry a grudge against people from Illinois. She should be used to the sensation of being the unwelcome newcomer by now.

      Crystal Lake wasn’t a large town, but it was right in the middle of Hope County, which made it the hub of all county activities. The courthouse, the post office and the sheriff’s department headquarters, to name a few. Her tiny log cabin was located ten miles outside of town on a very deserted road with an awesome view of the lake, nice and private, the way she preferred. So what if the general population of Crystal Lake considered her little more than a weird hermit? She didn’t care.

      Except when she was being followed.

      She turned her head to peek at the pair of cops seated behind her. The taller of the two had impossibly broad shoulders and black hair kept military-short, which did nothing to soften his broad, rugged features. His square jaw was strong and firm, but his nose looked as if it may have been broken at one point. He had dark eyes and tanned skin that made his teeth look shockingly white when he smiled. He was definitely attractive, if you appreciated a tall man in uniform. Since the other cop was much older and shorter and had a slight paunch around his middle, she knew it was the taller man who’d overheard her talking to herself outside. With the sun glare in her eyes, she hadn’t gotten a very good look at him.

      What would he say if she went over to announce she thought she was being followed? Probably not much, since she’d also practically told him she was insane.

      So how’s that working for you?

      Her cheeks burned and she ducked her head, deciding not to bother. There was no point when she hadn’t even managed to get a simple license plate number. Once she had something solid to give them, she’d go to the authorities.

      She took another sip of her coffee, reveling in the warmth of the mug despite the sunny day outside. A group from the back of the diner passed behind her on their way out. An elbow hit her hard in the back, causing her to spill her coffee down the front of her green blouse.

      “’Scuse me,” a gruff male voice muttered as the group left.

      She clenched her teeth against a wave of annoyance and dabbed at the stain. A moment later, Josie set her chicken sandwich in front of her.

      “Need anything else, sweetie?” Josie asked, automatically refilling her coffee cup.

      “No, thanks.” She forced a smile and gave up on her blouse. Josie slapped her bill upside down next to her plate and sashayed away to attend to her other customers.

      She didn’t want to believe the jab to her back had been done on purpose, but she couldn’t help but think so. Why she’d become a target, she had no idea. She wasn’t hurting anyone. She wasn’t even in town very often. She was either in her cabin or working her part-time and rather mundane job of processing DNA samples at the State Crime Lab in Madison.

      Obviously, her level of paranoia was already several standard deviations from the mean. Picking at her chicken sandwich, she took only a few bites before pushing her plate away.

      Post-traumatic stress disorder. Diagnosed by her psychologist after she’d testified against the serial killer who’d strangled Katie as his last victim. PTSD brought on from being the lead crime scene investigator in a series of murders that included her sister’s. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw Katie’s body lying sprawled on the asphalt with the bright orange hollow-braided rope wrapped around her neck.

      The image would haunt her forever.

      Her boss had forced her to step back from being the lead investigator, but she’d continued working on the case in the lab until she’d gathered enough evidence to nail the man who’d killed her sister. It was small consolation to know Paul Sherman was serving a life sentence in a high-security Illinois prison as a result of her work.

      Megan sighed and scrubbed a hand over her eyes. She needed to get a grip. She wasn’t being followed. The people of Crystal Lake weren’t out to get her. And Katie, the sister she’d raised since their parents had died in a tragic car wreck, wasn’t ever coming back.

      She’d come to Crystal Lake to heal. To take a break. To find herself. Somehow, she needed to get over her loss. Now that the trial was over, she couldn’t seem to find something to focus on. She tossed down some cash to cover her tab and Josie’s tip before sliding off the stool and heading toward the door.

      She really, really didn’t want to believe she was going crazy.

      Because if that were truly the case, sheer determination might not be enough to prevent the inevitable.

      Lucas Torretti watched the petite