Before The Dawn. Cynthia Eden

nodded. “I don’t think she lived on the streets.”

      “That doesn’t mean she wasn’t running from someone,” Anthony continued doggedly. “Hell, just ask Dawn. People come here for a fresh start. ’Cause they are trying to escape someone or something.”

      Tucker’s shoulders stiffened. “I know plenty about Dawn.”

      “No,” Anthony denied, “I’m not so sure you do.”

      The guy was pissing him off. He took a breath, focused. Keep your control always. And a dick detective wasn’t going to get beneath his skin. Tucker motioned toward Macey. “Dr. Bradford, my partner, Macey Night, has her medical degree.”

      Julia’s brows rose. “So you want to review my findings?” She jumped right to the point, but didn’t seem upset or territorial, responses that Tucker had certainly seen in the past.

      “I’d like to assist you,” Macey clarified. “Because when it comes to serials, I have experience.”

      That was an understatement.

      “Sometimes I can see things—particularly relating to a killer’s signature—that might be missed during the course of a normal exam.”

      Julia nodded her head toward a box of white exam gloves. “Help yourself. I’m not into any pissing match, so you want to help me find justice for this woman?” She nodded grimly. “Then I appreciate the help.”

      And while Macey was working with the coroner, Tucker had plans of his own. “Thanks for your time, Doctor,” he said to Julia. Then he made his way outside. Anthony was right behind him. He waited until they’d left the coroner’s building, when they were outside—and then he turned on the guy. “Just what is the nature of your relationship with Dawn Alexander?” The words came out quiet, flat, as he stared at the other man.

      Anthony blinked. His expression was bemused. “Excuse me?”

      “Do you have a personal relationship with her? Because that’s something I need to know about.” Right the hell then.

      Anthony’s face tightened. “Look—”

      “No, you look. We have a killer imitating the Iceman in New Orleans, the same city that the Iceman’s only surviving victim just happens to live in. And then we have you...the detective who found the body based on a tip. Then I learn that you and Dawn... You two seem close. I’m thinking the killer knew that, too, and that’s why he chose you to receive the tip.” His breath felt cold in his lungs. “So I’m going to ask again, just what is the nature of your relationship with Dawn Alexander?”

      A muscle flexed in Anthony’s jaw. “We’re friends. I help her on cases and she helps me.”

      Friends. “Nothing more?”

      Anthony’s mouth opened.

      “No, nothing more.”

      That had not been Anthony responding. Tucker glanced to the right and saw Dawn step from the side of the building. She came toward him with slow, determined steps.

      “Eavesdropping?” Tucker demanded.

      She tucked a strand of hair behind her left ear. “I’ve found that cops don’t always want to share directly with me. But you’d be surprised what you can pick up from folks if you just stop...and listen.”

      And hide out of sight.

      “I need to get back to the station,” Anthony mumbled. “Captain Hatch is going to be wanting a report from me. Agent Frost, we’ll finish this conversation later.”

      “Nothing left to finish,” Dawn said. “I think I gave him a solid answer for us both.”

      “Dawn...” Anthony’s voice had a warning edge. “Watch your step with him. The FBI might not play as nicely with you as the NOPD does.”

      She didn’t speak until Anthony was gone. Then she swept her gaze over Tucker. “I asked you to play nicely before, but you shut me out of the investigation.” She shook her head. “That’s okay. I don’t give up easily.”

      Obviously not.

      “You followed me here?” Tucker asked.

      She smiled. For an instant, he could have sworn that his heart stopped.

      “Don’t be silly. I know where the coroner’s office is. Julia and I go out for beignets every Thursday.” She paused. “And po’boys on Tuesdays.”

      So she had an in with the coroner. “You’re planning to get her to tell you what she’s learned on the case?”

      Her smile dimmed. “I was actually hoping you would tell me what you learned.” She paused a beat. “Is it him?”

      Him? And he found himself reaching for her. This time, he was prepared when she flinched away from his touch, but he still kept his hands wrapped around her shoulders. “Jason Frost is dead.”

      “Was the MO the same? Was the pattern of slices the same?”

      “Yes,” he ground out, “but...”

      “Was she alive when he put her into the freezer?”

      He didn’t speak but he could tell by the way her face paled that his silence was answer enough.

      “So...” Dawn licked her lips. “If this is a copycat, we’re dealing with someone who has closely studied Jason’s work. To get all of the wounds just right, to attack with a knife that many times...”

      “I’m going to find the guy,” Tucker swore. “I will stop him.”

      Her thick lashes swept down, concealing her gaze. “Right. That’s what you do now, hmm? No more out saving the world by fighting the secret missions you couldn’t talk about with me. These days, you go after monsters much closer to home.”

      Because I had monsters in my home.

      “I want in on this investigation.” She was still not looking at him. “I need in on it.”

      “I get that you want closure.” Oh, hell, yes, he got that. “But the FBI doesn’t pull in civilians when—”

      Her gaze flew up and he saw the anger burning in her eyes. “I’m not a civilian. I’m a PI. My specialty is missing person cases, and I am very good at my job.”

      And I don’t want you in danger. Not on my watch.

      “You’re going to say no again.” She backed away—no, pulled away.

      His hands fell to his sides.

      “Why can’t you see that I’m not the same broken woman you knew before?”

      Her words pierced right through him. “I never thought you were broken.”

      “Then why did you leave? Why did you leave me?”

      He took a step toward her. “Dawn—”

      “Someone has been watching me.”

      For a moment, all he heard was the thunder of his heartbeat. Again, too loud. Drumming in his ears. Nearly bursting. Rage heated his blood. “What?”

      “It started a few months ago. I felt someone watching me.”

      He grabbed her arm and pulled her with him, moving too fast, knowing that his touch was too rough, but not able to help himself. He steered her to the side of the building. The same spot she’d been hiding in before because that spot gave them perfect privacy. “Why the hell are you telling me this now? It should have been the first damn thing you revealed—”

      “I have no proof. If I’d had proof, I would have brought the evidence to the police long ago. If I go to them with nothing, I’d look like the woman crying wolf. With my past, folks would jump to the conclusion that I’m suffering from PTSD. I have built a solid reputation