.

damn thing that might get me into trouble.” He curled his fingers into tight fists. “I just need to get my hands on something and work it out of my system.”

      “You need to forget.”

      “Yeah.” But he never would.

      To his surprise, she lowered the barrel of her shotgun and removed the ammunition. As she stuffed the unused slugs into her pocket, she looked toward the smaller log structure just east of the house. “There’s an apartment over the garage you can use if you need a place to stay. Since you’re on foot, I imagine it’d be more convenient.”

      Whoa. Sam shifted inside his dusty brown work boots. What just happened here? When had he missed the transition from Backwoods Annie to this efficient, articulate professional woman? “You’re giving me the job?”

      “I’ll call your Virgil Logan in the morning to double-check you’re who you say you are. If it pans out, you’re hired for a month. But I have a few rules.” She stepped back toward the double doors that led into the cabin. “You’re to come into the main house by invitation only. I’ll fix or provide three meals a day. You can eat on the porch as long as the weather holds, or up in your room. That apartment is small, but the mattress is new. It’ll hold a big guy like you. There’s a coffeemaker and small fridge for snacks or cold drinks. I don’t tolerate drunks, though.”

      Sam reached down and slung his pack over his shoulder. Now that he’d broken the ice, he was getting somewhere. Had her attacker been drunk? Had Kerry’s? He’d have Jessica Taylor sized up and spilling her secrets in half the time she’d offered him. “I haven’t been on a binge since college, and that’s been a few years,” he reassured her.

      “No guests, no parties—”

      “I don’t know anyone here.”

      “And no surprises. You give me one reason to doubt your story, and I’ll call the sheriff and my brothers. Three of them are K.C.P.D. cops, and my cousin is captain of his precinct. You don’t know overprotective until you’ve met them. Anything happens to me and they will track you down.”

      So why hadn’t they tracked down her rapist and put him behind bars yet? Maybe they weren’t as good as she thought. Maybe he was better.

      “Are we clear on the rules?” she demanded, drawing his thoughts back to his first need—establishing his cover. He’d clue himself in to whatever the Taylors had found out about their sister’s attack later.

      “Crystal clear.”

      She hesitated a moment longer, as if having doubts about her decision. “Did your sister really die?”

      Damn. Blindsided. He hadn’t seen that one coming. He couldn’t look at her. Not right away. Not until he got that instant image of Kerry’s chopped black hair, and the bruises and cuts that mangled her porcelain skin out of his head. With a sharp curse on a sharper burst of pent-up air, he slammed that door shut in his mind. “Yeah.”

      That was all she needed to hear?

      “I’ll get the key.” Before she opened the screened door and went inside, she paused. “Harry, stay.”

      After she disappeared inside, the hairy, black, monster mutt positioned himself squarely in front of the door, clearly reminding Sam of the stay-out-of-the-house rule.

      Sam braced a hand on his hip and leaned in. “You and I are going to have to find a way to get along, big guy.” If he wanted any chance to snoop through Jessica’s things or get close to the woman herself, Sam would have to get the dog’s permission. Or he’d have to find some way to get the furry guard beast out of the way. “Can I tempt you with a big, juicy steak?”

      Jessica felt sorry for him. She thought she was helping him through the grieving process by giving him the job and a place to stay.

      His lie must have been a tangible scent in the air. Because the damn dog glared at Sam, as if it knew he was going to take advantage of his mistress’s foolish heart.

      Chapter Two

      Walnut Avenue Tenement Hotel—Las Vegas, Nevada

      “Die, bitch.”

      He pulled the belt tighter and tighter around her neck, loving the invigorating strain that burned through the muscles of his forearms and biceps and chest. Sweat beaded on his skin. He was the man. The world was his to control.

      The voiceless words that formed at her cracked, swollen lips stopped as a dying sound gurgled up from her throat.

      “What are you saying, honey? Is that too tight?” He loved the power. At the slightest nod of her head he loosened the tourniquet. “There. Is that better?”

      Her breasts thrust up as she sucked in a deep gulp of air, but he was more intent on her face. Her lips sputtered one word. And he waited patiently for her to repeat herself. “Why?”

      Not please? Not sorry? Why?

      Damn her!

      He jerked back on the belt, pinning his thighs around her hips as he sat on top of her. She thrashed beneath him, her struggles only adding to her pain and his delight as she tore her milky white skin against the bindings at her wrists and ankles.

      He was almost giddy with the gluttonous rush of energy that pulsed through him. He was masterful. Thorough. He towered over her with his strength. “You don’t have so much to say now, do you?”

      He looked down on her as her eyes wept, beseeched, went blank, then closed.

      “That’s it?” he crooned in a soft voice, exhaling a dissatisfied breath of air. She should have protested more. At the very least, asked for his mercy. But this one had been too shocked, too damn full of herself to even scream properly. Disappointing. His entire body deflated as the energy that had jazzed him to yet another high dissipated.

      He slipped off her quietly, not wanting to disturb her imitation of slumber. He rolled up the stocking mask that had covered his face and dropped it into his bag. He hadn’t worried so much about hiding his identity as he’d enjoyed the symbolism of it all. He was man at his most base, his most powerful.

      And he’d been triumphant.

      A glance at his watch on the nightstand told him he had only a few hours before his flight. There wasn’t much time to savor his victory. But he couldn’t just leave.

      He picked up his black jeans off the floor beside the bed where he’d stripped, and reached into the front pocket. He pulled out a pocketknife with a polished, inlaid ebony handle. It was a thing of beauty, a true find for his collection. He opened it up and tested its weight, appreciating the feel of it in his hand.

      Padding across the threadbare carpet, he reached out and lifted a long, silky lock of her dark hair between his thumb and forefinger. Sawing delicately back and forth, he cut the lock from her scalp and lifted the fragrant strands to his nose. Beneath the odors of sweat and fear and that dusty mattress, he smelled the tangy scent of the woman herself.

      It would be an appropriate souvenir of their night together.

      “Unfortunately, I have to be leaving,” he whispered to her. He didn’t bother with meaningless platitudes. She’d served her purpose. There would be no next time for them. “Thank you.”

      He stuffed the hair and knife into his pocket and went into the tiny bathroom. He chased the roaches from the shower and quickly cleaned himself. In a matter of minutes he was dressed and packed and ready to depart.

      But he wasn’t done yet.

      She’d learned her lesson. She didn’t deserve to be found trussed up like a turkey.

      Sparing her a few precious moments of his time, he went to the bed and untied her. He pulled her legs together and crossed them at the ankles. Then he freed her bruised wrists and laid them neatly atop her naked belly. He pulled the blanket from the foot of the bed and covered her up, tucking the cover around her,