New Orleans Noir. Joanna Wayne

crossed her long shapely legs.

      She was as stunning as ever, but she’d changed in ways that hurt deep in his soul. He felt it as much as saw it, though her expression was stony, her eyes a cold fire that froze and burned at the same time.

      “Why were you at Ella Grayson’s this morning?” Helena asked.

      Hunter crossed a foot over his knee. “I’d picked up some beignets at Café du Monde, and we shared them over coffee. She loves them heavy on powdered sugar—same as me—and she makes the best cup of coffee in town.”

      “I suppose I’m to believe delivering morning pastries to the elderly is a new service of the police department?”

      Helena was clearly not going to make this easy.

      “No official policy,” he said, “but we’re allowed to be decent.”

      Helena ran her fingers through her shoulder-length copper-colored hair, pushing it back from her bewitching face. “In that case, I apologize for doubting your motives.”

      “No problem. I’m not above playing good cop to get information if I need to, but this time it was all about the donuts and coffee. And the fact that she’s having a tough go of it.”

      He recognized the signs of depression. He’d grown up with them.

      “I plan to see her as soon as you leave,” Helena said. “We’ve kept in touch by phone since my grandmother died.”

      “She’s mentioned that.”

      “I don’t know why,” Helena said, “but she seems to feel at least partly responsible for the tragedy, though there was nothing she could have done to save Elizabeth. I keep reminding her that Elizabeth was a random victim of a demented serial killer.”

      Hunter leaned in closer. This was likely as good a segue as he would get. Might as well take advantage of it.

      “We’re not sure about the random element.”

      Helena’s brows arched. “Wasn’t she abducted while on her way to meet friends?”

      “Perhaps not. She’d told Ella that she was meeting friends, but her friends said the night out was planned for the following night. Elizabeth either confused the plans or lied to Ella.”

      “Do you think she deliberately met with the monster?”

      “A definite possibility.”

      Helena clasped her hands in her lap. “Why would she do such a thing? How could he persuade her to go with him?”

      “If we had the answer to those questions, we’d have a lot better chance of stopping him before he strikes again.”

      “Then you think he will strike again?”

      “I believe it’s possible.”

      “I can’t believe Elizabeth could be taken in by a murderous lunatic. She was so smart and sweet. She had plans and dreams. Mia said she talked about her future all the time.”

      Helena’s voice shook and her eyes grew moist with tears as the new reality sank in.

      Desire racked Hunter’s body. Not sexual urges, but just a need to touch her, to wrap an arm around her shoulders, to hold her close.

      But she made no move to indicate she wanted his comfort and he wasn’t about to risk being tossed out at this point.

      “Is there more I should know?” Helena asked.

      “Yeah,” he said. “None of it good.”

      “Tell me everything and start with the worst,” she urged. “Don’t spoon-feed me.”

      “You got it. Elizabeth’s killer or a person claiming to be him was in touch with Mia by phone in the days preceding Mia’s fall.”

      “The killer was contacting Mia? Why didn’t I know about that? Why didn’t someone tell me?” She straightened, her hands on her knees.

      “She didn’t want to upset you or disrupt your life when there was nothing you could do.”

      “I could have done something. I could have been here. She could have come and stayed with me. You should have told me.” She leaned forward, and he saw fire in her eyes.

      “She didn’t want you to know. I had no authority to go against her will.” Plus, she’d threatened Hunter eight ways to Sunday if he ignored her wishes and told Helena himself.

      “How many times did he call her?”

      “Three, over a three-week period.”

      “What did he talk about? Did he threaten her? Didn’t you wiretap her phone?”

      “How about one question at a time?” Hunter asked. “He admitted he’d killed Elizabeth.” He wasn’t about to go into the graphic way he described it to Mia in his first call. He hoped to hell Helena never had to hear those words and was relieved they hadn’t been recorded, which would risk her hearing them.

      “Did he threaten Mia?”

      “No, but he was clearly upset that she was raising award money for his capture and assured her that he would kill again and that he wouldn’t get caught.”

      “You must have traced the calls and found out who he was and where he was calling from. You can do that in minutes.”

      “You’ve been watching too many detective shows on TV. Real cops don’t work miracles. We did wiretap her phone—after she reported the first call. When she answered the next two, the calls went straight to the precinct where they were monitored.”

      “Then why couldn’t you track him?”

      “The calls were from different numbers. The wiretapped calls lasted less than a minute. By the time we could get to the location of origination, the caller and the phones were long gone.”

      “And Mia didn’t recognize the caller’s voice?”

      “No. Three different voices were used—two appeared to be male, one was female.”

      “Then three different people were in on this?”

      “Very unlikely. We believe a professional grade voice changer was used.”

      “Where is my grandmother’s phone now?”

      “In police custody. It hasn’t rung since her death.”

      “Then he must have known her well enough to know when she died,” Helena said.

      “Maybe, but it made the local news. Your grandmother was pretty much a legend in this area what with all her charitable and historic preservation work.”

      Helena massaged her arms as if she were cold, the facts no doubt chilling her to the bone.

      “I know this is not what you wanted to hear, Helena, but rest assured we’ll apprehend this guy sooner or later. He’ll make a mistake. Serial killers always do. And when he does, we’ll get him.”

      “But how many other teens or young women will he kill before he makes that mistake?” Helena asked.

      “I can’t answer that.” And that was what kept him up at night, what haunted his mind every hour of the day. That kind of evil had to come from devils residing deep in a person’s psyche. Even the killer might not know when he’d succumb to the darkness and strike again.

      “Had Mia not died the untimely way she did, she might have led us to Elizabeth’s killer,” Hunter said.

      “Poor Mia. So much to deal with. How horrible to spend the last few weeks of her life being intimidated by a madman who must have wanted her dead. Wanted it bad enough...”

      “I know what you’re thinking,” Hunter interrupted. The haunted look in her eyes and the angst in her expression made it clear. “Mia wasn’t