Prologue

He was sitting at the Manhattan coffee bar in a dark corner, his back to the wall, his laptop on the wooden table, when the waitress set his coffee down and quickly departed without a word. The oversized white mug rested on a saucer and held plain black coffee. He didn’t believe in flavors and sweet things, unless they came in the form of soft, womanly curves the kind he liked to have beneath him, on top of him, and then quickly out of the way. Used and disposed of, and therefore incapable of creating problems he didn’t need, or want, in his life.

Discreetly, he snagged the small data stick that the waitress had slipped onto the saucer, popped it into his computer, and took a sip of hot coffee.

A few punches on his keyboard and the image of the familiar auburn-haired female who’d become the reason he lived, the reason he got up every day, along with details of her habits, memberships, likes and dislikes, appeared on the screen. Details on a wire to his offshore account scrolled across his page. His gaze shifted to the table directly across from his, and he almost laughed at the assumption that he could be bought, that he wanted the paycheck offered. This was about so much more than money. Because at that table so close he could almost smell the vanilla scent of the shampoo he knew she kept on the edge of her shower was his target, a delicate little flower even if she didn’t know it, even if she played tough in the courtroom. But she’d know when he was done with her. She’d know, because he was going to tear her apart, one petal at a time, and relish every moment of it, too. He’d profiled her, just as she profiled the suspects in the cases she took to trial for the District Attorney’s office. After all, he didn’t earn the name ‘Dirt Diver’ without merit. And just as his target used her suspects' habits, their perceived weaknesses, against them in court, he’d use hers against her. He’d taunt her, announce he was coming for her, and watch her pretend indifference, watch her stupidly stand alone. He was going to touch her world, as she’d touched his. Draw out her torture, make her scream his name. Make her beg for her life. And then, and only then, he would kill her.

Chapter One

“What you need is a man.”

Lauren Reynolds groaned at her best friend’s far too loudly spoken suggestion, feeling as if one of the elegant chandeliers of the fancy New York ballroom had just become a spotlight. “Keep your voice down before someone hears you.”

“Touchy, touchy.” Julie chided, her baby blue eyes brimming with as much mischief as the deep V of her sparkling blue gown. “Why do you care what these people think?”

“I have to care, and you know it. These people are my father’s friends and colleagues, who happen to be here to celebrate his birthday. And enough with this ‘you need a man’ stuff you’ve been harping on all week. We can’t all be Marilyn Monroe look-a-likes who can thumb through men like a mailbox full of advertisements. I guess blondes do have more fun and us brunettes are stuck with chocolate and Marie Claire magazines.”

“How very boring.”

“Boring works for me. Between my father’s career and my work, I’m up to my neck with male egos and still sinking.”

Julie set her glass down on one of the several bars in a spacious room with tables filled with delicate finger foods, and plenty of spotlight chandeliers dangling above them. “Finally, we get to the root of the problem. Clearly, you’ve been locked up and sheltered in your daddy’s world too long. You’ve forgotten real men are not politicians.”

“I work for the District Attorney’s office, Julie,” Lauren bristled. “I’m about to go to trial on a murder case with the death penalty on the table, and it won’t be my first. I hardly call that ‘locked up and sheltered.’ And I’m hardly surrounded by nothing but politicians.”

“Oh, please. The DA is not only an elected position, this particular DA is all about playing the game of politics, and you know that.” She studied Lauren a moment, her expression and tone softening before she added, “Look, honey, your lack of male companionship aside, I’m worried about my best friend. You need to get some rest and have some fun. Ever since you started prepping for this trial, you’ve been working around the clock. And before this one, there was another.”

“This one is big,” Lauren argued. “It’s-”

“They’re all big to you,” Julie disputed. “That’s why you’re getting assigned murder cases, not petty theft cases. You work insane hours without complaint, then pull ‘daughter’ duty like some sort of robot.”

“It’s his birthday, Julie.”

“Tonight I understand,” she said. “It’s the many other functions and I do mean many that he insists you attend, that you need to put a stop to.” She lowered her head and softened her voice. “You need a life that isn’t his, which brings me back to the ‘hot male’ category of this conversation, and no, I’m not talking the email version.”

“I just got out of a relationship. I don’t need another.”

“You didn’t just get out of anything. You dumped your cheating ex-fiancé, who was hotter for your father’s power than he was you, more than six months ago. And not without bruises to your emotions and your confidence, which makes me want to find the man and give him a good knee to the balls. I’ll just settle for helping you get back on the horse.”

“Julie,” she ground out. “I’m going to hurt you if you don’t zip it.”