Forced Fear

By Isabel Rogan

Tristan Lucas, famous novelist and playboy finally meets his match in Detective Nic Dayle, both are instantly drawn to one another until a psychopath threatens everything that they've built. Tristan is ready for so much more than just physical pleasure with the sexy detective but Nic is hesitant to give her heart to him. She is afraid but won’t tell him why instead trying to keep the relationship casual.

Nic finds herself the center of a psychopath's fixation when he contacts her so they can talk. She will do everything in her power to protect the people closest to her. But will this be enough when the psychopath targets those important to her?

Tensions rise between Nic and Tristan when an old flame appears on the scenes. His one mission is to stop the psychopath at any cost. Working closely with an ex has Nic over a barrel especially when old feelings begin to surface. Added to the already climactic situation will Nic break under the pressure surrounding her or will she let Tristan help her deal with it all?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781326417529

Book preview

Forced Fear

Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold.

Written By

Isabel Rogan

Contents

Forced Fear…………………………………………………………………………………

Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. The fearful are caught as often as the bold………………………………….

Disclaimer…………………………………………………………………………………..

1 KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR………………………………………………….

2 INTRUSION…………………………………………………………………………….

3 HOW FAR WE’VE COME………………………………………………………….

4 MR FBI……………………………………………………………………………………

5 LIFE AFTER YOU…………………………………………………………………….

6 I LOVED HER FIRST………………………………………………………………..

7 CALM BEFORE THE STORM……………………………………………………

8 FLOWERS FOR A GHOST……………………………………………………….

9 INFERNO………………………………………………………………………………

10 HEAT OF THE NIGHT……………………………………………………………

11 WE ALL NEED SAVING…………………………………………………………

12 CRY…………………………………………………………………………………….

13 FACT FICTION……………………………………………………………………..

Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

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Although the author and publisher have made every effort to ensure that the information in this book was correct at press time. The author and publisher do not assume and at this moment disclaim any liability to any party for any loss, damage, or disruption caused by errors or omissions, whether such errors or omissions result from negligence, accident, or any other cause.

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1 KNIGHT IN SHINING ARMOUR

You had hot shower sex this morning, didn't you?

The coffee in Nic's mouth rocketed out, spattering all over the table and the Caesar salad in front of her. Some of it even came out of her nose. God, it burned. Nic stared up at Lucy Jones, medical examiner and best friend extraordinaire, who was sitting across the table from her in their favorite dumpy diner. If it was possible, Lucy's eyes would've burned a hole through Nic.

What?

Maybe not hot shower sex, Lucy said next, her expression thoughtful. Maybe just run of the mill, pre-work, bed sex.

Nic shook her head. Lucy…

Girl, don't you dare deny it. You waltz into the crime scene this morning with that look on your face, and you expect me to believe you didn't get lucky this morning? Nu uh. Not buying it. Lucy pointed her fork threateningly at the detective sitting across from her. Spill it.

Nic looked down at her salad. I wouldn't know what to spill.

Why don't you start with the name of the mystery man?

Tristan Lucas.

Oh God. It sounded shocking even in her head. She was sleeping with Tristan Lucas. Having mind-blowing, incredibly hot shower sex with Tristan Lucas. Because yes, she'd had shower sex that morning. Hot shower sex. Really hot shower sex. It had been three weeks since her and Tristan's truth or dare game had gotten out of control and culminated in a night that left Nic's muscles sore for days. They still hadn't been on a date. Not what Tristan called a real date anyway? They saw each other all the time. Aside from work, they spent the majority of their nights and weekends together.

Shannon was usually somewhere in the mix as well, since she was so over the moon that Nic Dayle was a more personal and less professional part of her father's life. Most of their time, however, was spent either in Tristan's loft or at Nic's apartment. Public places were off limits until they figured out what exactly they were, because the moment they stepped out into public together the tabloids would have them married and pregnant. It bordered on frustrating for Nic, but she couldn't really complain. The only reason they weren't official was her.

It wasn't like they were prisoners in their own homes, though. They had too much fun to think of themselves as trapped. They had managed an incognito trip to the Museum of Natural History, because Tristan was a closet history buff and Nic liked the Egypt exhibit. They'd had two movie marathons with Shannon as well, marathons that mostly consisted of Nic trying to focus on the movie while Tristan let his hands roam free under the blanket. They had dinner together almost every night; Tristan was a sinfully good cook. And, of course, there'd been quite a bit of sex. Great sex. But not a real date yet. No flowers. No PDA. No mention of the terms boyfriend, girlfriend, dating, or relationship.

It was Nic's choice. She knew that one word from her and Tristan would be ready to have the talk. He'd wanted to have it after their first night, but Nic had sidestepped him. She'd been sidestepping him ever since. He didn't ask a lot; he seemed to know that pressuring her was a bad idea, so he settled for a casual reference every now and then. Nevertheless, she could read it in his expression. She didn't want to sound arrogant, but she knew it. Just knew it. Tristan wanted her to be his girlfriend. He wouldn't have let her anywhere near Shannon if he didn't. The question was did she want to be his girlfriend?

Possibly. Probably. Yes. The only problem was she was fucking terrified.

Hello? Earth to Nic.

Nic looked up at Lucy. Huh?

Lucy smirked at her from across the table. The sex is that good, huh?

Nic rooted her fork through her salad. Not everything is about sex, you know. Just because you're a sex fiend-

I'm a sex fiend? Girl, you must be out your damn mind! Lucy stabbed her fork in Nic's direction again. You better tell me that man's name before I fork it out of you.

Nic leaned back in her seat and sighed. I can't, Lucy.

And why not?

Because-

Oh, God. It's not FBI man, is it? Nic, you know you deserve better than that-

No, Nic interrupted. She waved the idea off with a flick of her hand. I don't even know if Will is still in New York. It's not him.

Well then who is it? What's the big secret?

Nic broke eye contact and looked out the window next to their booth. She didn't like keeping things from Lucy. Lucy certainly never kept things from her. But things with Tristan were so…good. Really good. She didn't want to mess them up. She didn't want any pressure to put a label on anything, or to let him in any faster than she already was. She just wanted things to stay exactly as they were. Things at work were no different than they had been before the game. Nic had warned Tristan explicitly that nothing was to change, and he'd held up his end of the bargain beautifully, annoying habits and inappropriate innuendos included. Outside of work, things were simple. Laughter, time with each other and time together with Shannon, and sex. It didn't get much simpler than that.

OMG. Nic looked back at Lucy as the M.E.'s fork clattered onto the table. Her eyes were the size of dinner plates. It’s writer boy, isn't it?

The hot flush that overpowered Nic's face suddenly was answer enough, and she knew it. She leaned over the table. You can't tell anyone.

Please. I wouldn't do that. But it's him?

Nic sighed. Yes. It's him.

Lucy squealed, actually squealed, and Nic rolled her eyes. It's about damn time! When was the first time? Last night? Another blush crept over Nic's cheeks. She shook her head. This weekend? Today was Monday. Nic shook her head again. Lucy's mouth fell open a bit. Last weekend? she tried again. Nic bit her lip and made a guilty face. Nic! Lucy cried. How long have you been sleeping with him?

Not long. Only like three weeks-

Three weeks? Lucy repeated incredulously. You've been sleeping with Tristan Lucas-

Shhh!

…for three weeks? And you didn't tell me?

Yes. A sudden look of hurt crossed Lucy's face and Nic felt a stab of guilt. Look, I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I wanted to. But at first, I wasn't sure it would last. I mean, he's Lucas, right?

But he hasn't hit the road yet?

No.

And neither have you.

Nic sighed. No.

So, you two are like…dating.

No, Nic said forcefully. We're not dating. We're…having fun.

Lucy knit her eyebrows. Did he say that?

No. I did.

Lucy crossed her arms over her chest and eyed the detective across from her interestedly. Let me get this straight. You've been sleeping with him for three weeks but you two aren't in a relationship because you don't want to be?

It's not that I don't want to be. I'm just…

Scared? Lucy supplied.

Nic shook her head. We work together, Lucy.

Yeah. So?

So, if we put a label on this, that means the label could come off someday. Which would make things really awkward at work.

Lucy shook her head. No. That's bullshit. When he got into your mother's case you had no problem kicking him off your team and out of the precinct. You'd do it again if you had to. This is something else.

Nic scoffed. Something like what?

Something like you like him. A lot. You're not afraid of how a potential break up could affect work. You're afraid of how a potential break up could affect you.

The shrill ring of Nic's phone stopped Lucy from finishing her thought. Nic reached for it. Dayle. Really? Okay. Be right there.

She hung up the phone and looked at Lucy. Duty calls. She dropped a twenty on the table.

We're finishing this later, Lucy warned.

Nic sent her best friend a smile as she got out of the booth and headed for the door. Whatever you want, Dr. Jones.

I know where you live! Lucy called after her. She was answered by the door to the diner slamming shut. Lucy picked up her fork and rooted around her salad. Three weeks, she muttered to herself. Damn sex fiends.

Jordan watched from across the street as Detective Nic Dayle exited the diner with a smile on her face. She really was a beautiful woman. His eyes swept over her wolfishly, trailing up her long jean clad legs, over the toned midsection hidden by her coat, and rested on her face. Her hair blew in the wind, and she brushed it out of her eyes absently, then returned her hands to her coat pockets. She weaved her way in between the people on the sidewalk purposefully, and he had to walk a bit to keep up and not lose sight of her.

His eyes still rested on her face, her head. The mind inside of her head captivated him. So many solved cases, so many accomplishments. She was brilliant. She could've been anything; her savior complex had pushed her into the police academy. Such a shame. She could've been great. There was so much going on inside that pretty head of hers. He wanted to be inside her head. Wanted to see how it all worked, see how she viewed the world. He had a pretty good idea. But he wanted to know it all.

Something about her made his heart thump faster. Maybe it was the memories. Maybe it was his plans for the future. Jordan curled his fingers into a fist, wishing he could curl his fingers around her instead. Soon. Soon the world would know her as a different kind of muse than it currently did, and soon she would be on her knees begging him to save her again.

In the meantime, there was another Nic waiting for him.

The day she died; Tara Rosenberg made six phone calls. Three to her husband, one to her mother, and two to an unidentified number that's untraceable. Ramone handed Dayle the copy of the phone records. We're going to look at some other angles; see if we can figure out who owns the phone.

Nic scanned the numbers. Good. Show it to her husband and her mother, too. See if they recognize it.

Ramone nodded and then Ashby stepped up. We got a hit on the license plate of the green Chevy. Belongs to a guy named Devon Andre. He's got a record. Possession with intent to sell, some assault charges. Want us to bring him in?

Yes. Do that now. We can do the number recognition later.

The boys nodded and disappeared, off to bring her a new suspect to interrogate. Nic sat down at her desk, still eyeing the phone records.

I had a daydream that you had your wicked way with me in the break room.

The voice in her ear was low, throaty. Nic didn't turn around but found herself smiling as she looked down at the phone records. The smell of Tristan's cologne filled her nose. Oh yeah? In your dream did I tell you there are cameras in there?

Yes. But you didn't care because you just had to have me right then and there.

Nic smirked and finally turned her head to look at Tristan, who was leaning over her shoulder. His face was close, close enough to make her heart thump a little bit faster. Because you're so irresistible, right?

He grinned. Well, that's what you were thinking this morning. You know, in the shower right before you-

Don't finish that sentence, she warned, holding up a finger. He stopped, held her eyes meaningfully for a second, and then plopped into the chair next to her desk. Nic turned back to her phone records.

Where are the boys going?

To bring me a suspect to interrogate.

Yesss. I love interrogations.

Nic didn't answer. After a moment Tristan casually lifted his feet and rested them on the corner of her desk. Nic promptly shoved them off but didn't look up from her papers. Another few seconds passed in silence as Nic put the phone records down and reached for some other papers. She could feel him watching her just as much as she could feel her heart thumping a step faster than normal.

Lucas. She still didn't look at him.

Yes, Detective?

Stop staring.

But-

It's creepy. Stop it.

She knew he was pouting. A faint smile tugged at her lips. She tried to resist, but she couldn't. At last, she looked up at him. She leaned toward him, setting a piece of paper on her desk where he could see it. She pointed at it. Look at this. As soon as he leaned forward and they were both looking at the paper, Nic lowered her voice. Is Shannon still going to the Student Council lock-in?

Yes.

And your mother?

With Chet. You want to have dinner? My place?

Are you cooking?

Would you find it sexy if I did?

She stifled a grin and shuffled the papers, so they were looking at but not really seeing a new one. Make me dinner, and I'll make it worth your while.

Deal.

Nic was pacing around the interrogation room, weaving a story that Lucas would've been proud of. Tristan's eyes were on her every step of the way, enthralled, but she was more concerned with the suspect, Devon Andre, at the moment.

So, you killed her, she finished. You stalked her, and you killed her.

Andre shook his head. You got it all wrong, lady. You're pretty and all, but you don't know shit.

Nic was tired of the come-ons. Andre had been after her since she'd walked in, thinking it would throw her off her game. All it did was piss her off. She was a bit worried about Tristan though; judging from the way his jaw tightened every time Andre said something inappropriate, he was trying his very hardest to keep his mouth shut.

Nic stopped next to the table and crossed her arms over her chest, looking down her nose at Andre. Devon. Can I call you Devon? She didn't wait for an answer. Listen, I've got half a dozen witnesses who saw your car outside of Tara Rosenberg's apartment every day the week before her murder. They even saw you outside her building the day she was killed.

I told you, I wanted to talk to her.

About what?

What do you care?

Nic gave him a haughty smile. You know, it doesn't really matter if you tell me. I've got a witness in holding. He knows exactly what you wanted to talk to Tara about. In fact, he knows all kinds of things about you. He's very talkative. Maybe I'll just talk to him.

You're lying.

She lifted a shoulder carelessly. Maybe. Guess you'll have to wait and see.

She was headed toward the exit of the interrogation room when Andre called after her. Wait. Nic turned around expectantly. It was about money. She owed me money.

For?

Drugs.

You were her dealer?

No. I just knew him.

Nic started toward Andre again. She planted her palms on the stainless-steel table, leaned down inches away from Andre's face, and looked him straight in the eye. Don't lie, Devon. It pisses me off.

You know I could do better things to you than piss you off. Things you'd really like.

She caught Tristan shifting in his chair out of the corner of her eye. She didn't blink. Why don't you start with the name of Tracy's dealer?

How about I get you out of those clothes first? Andre raked his eyes over her figure, and Nic felt a rush of vomit pushing against her throat. God, he was disgusting. Andre met her eyes and grinned. You know with an ass like that-

She saw his hand darting toward her, ready to grab her ass, but she was too quick for him. Her hand flitted out, caught his wrist, and used it to pull his arm behind his back the same way she would if she were cuffing him. She shoved and his face went careening forward, smacking against the stainless-steel table. She tugged his wrist and heard a satisfying crack, followed by a yelp of pain. She leaned down and put her mouth by his ear.

Next time you want to grab someone's ass, I'd recommend choosing a woman who isn't a cop. Andre was blissfully silent. Nic straightened and let go of his wrist. Enjoy your night in a cell, Devon. We'll talk tomorrow.

She headed toward the exit, walking sideways so that she could keep an eye on Andre. It was a good thing, too; he rose from his chair as soon as she let him go and headed toward her. She knew that Ramone and Ashby were probably already bolting for the room, but they wouldn't make it before Andre got to her. Nic set her feet, ready for the attack, but as Andre pulled his fist back and sent it lurching forward, Tristan was suddenly in between Nic and Andre's fist.

The fist connected with a sickening crack and Tristan staggered backward, his hands flying up to clutch his face. Nic was distracted momentarily, but she couldn't miss how Andre's eyes settled on her instantly. He started for her, and she ducked another punch before sweeping his legs out from under him with her foot. He was struggling to his feet again when the door to the interrogation room burst open and Ramone's booming bass voice roared.

Freeze! Hands in the air!

Andre stopped. Ashby hurried forward, slamming Andre onto the table and cuffing him with way more force than necessary. Once Andre was cuffed, Nic turned to Tristan.

He was hunched over, still holding his face. Nic put a hand on his back and leaned down toward his face. Lucas? You, okay?

He straightened and she did too. He had a hand over his left eye, but his right eye squinted at her. Ow.

She tilted her head sympathetically. I know. What were you thinking, jumping in front of him like that?

He was coming at you-

I'm a cop, Lucas. She watched as Ashby shoved Andre toward the door. I can handle myself.

Yeah, but-

Nic sent him a look. She knew exactly where he was going, and Ramone was still in the room. Definitely not the time. Tristan fell silent and looked at the floor. Nic felt bad; he was only trying to protect her. It was completely illogical, seeing as she was an armed cop and he was just a novelist, but the intention was sweet. And God he was cute when he was all hurt and dejected. She put a hand on his arm. Come on. Let's get you an ice pack.

So, I was really chivalrous, right?

Nic rolled her eyes as she got the ice pack out of the freezer in the lounge. She didn't know why they kept ice packs in there, but they did. Lucky for Lucas.

Yes, Lucas. Very chivalrous.

And brave?

She smirked at him as she walked toward him. He was leaning against the counter in front of the espresso machine, still holding his face. At least he wasn't wincing anymore; now a goofy, lopsided grin dominated his face.

Yes. Very brave.

And manly?

Nic batted Tristan's hand out of the way, lifted the ice pack, and pressed it against his face. He squealed. Nic grinned and lifted her eyebrows. What were you saying about manly?

It's cold, he pouted, giving her his best puppy dog face.

Well, you should've thought about the consequences of your actions before you dove in front of the stalker guy trying to punch me.

Hey, I was trying to protect you. Some creep comes at my… he trailed off. Nic felt a flush rise to her cheeks, and she moved her gaze from Tristan's eyes to the ice pack. Tristan shifted his weight from one foot to the other. He was all over you, he murmured after a minute.

Nic met his eyes again. Lots of suspects are all over me, Lucas. It's part of the job.

I don't like it.

You don't have to. It's not your job, it's mine.

She looked back at the ice pack again. She didn't know why she sounded so irritated. Tristan's hand was suddenly on the small of her back, pulling her flush against his body. Nic. Can you look at me please?

She looked at him and held his eyes as she wriggled free of his hand on her back. Work, she muttered.

He sighed and lowered his hand. It's not like I don't know you can take care of yourself, okay? You could kick that guy's ass to Mars if you wanted to.

Nic nodded. Okay.

Daaayyllllleeee, he called. His voice was low and affectionate, the kind of voice that he used when he was trying to coax her into doing something that she thought was ridiculous. Don't be mad at me, okay? It was just a reaction. He trailed his hand over her cheek. Besides, your face is much too pretty for a black eye.

She finally smiled. She moved the ice pack and lifted her fingers to press against the shining bruise forming around his eye. You're going to look like a raccoon, she observed.

Are you okay with sleeping with a rodent?

Nic shoved him, but she was smiling still. She put the ice pack back on his face. The door to the lounge suddenly opened, and Nic scooted a more socially respectable distance away from Tristan while still holding the ice pack to his face. Captain Jacobson appeared, looking frazzled.

Dayle. You… he trailed off and stared at the detective and the writer, puzzled. What happened?

I got punched, Tristan answered.

By you? Jacobson asked, looking at Nic.

Nic laughed. No. Although I can't say I haven't thought about it… Lucas pouted and Nic smirked. It was a suspect, she clarified.

Jacobson stared at Nic like she'd grown a second head. And you're icing it for him?

Oh shit. Nic shifted into panic mode, but as always Tristan was smooth and ready with an excuse. Guilty conscience. It was sort of her fault.

Jacobson nodded, but Nic couldn't ignore the way his eyes were darting between her and Tristan. She cleared her throat. Did you need something, Captain?

I just got a call from the 15th precinct…they've got a body. 125th and Chester. Pretty gruesome.

Okay…is it related to Tara Rosenberg's case?

No, but the detective in charge is asking for you. They want you over there now.

Why?

Jacobson slid his hands into his pockets. Apparently the killer left a note addressed to you. Specifically requesting you, in fact. Get your ass over there. And take the boys and your wounded shadow with you.

I need to speak with Detective Quinn, please, Nic said to the uniform standing guard at the door. They were in a middle-class apartment building, standing outside of apartment 313, where the uniform downstairs had directed them to go.

The officer Nic had spoken to looked her up and down casually. You Detective Dayle?

Yes.

Quinn is expecting you. He's in there.

Nic nodded her thanks and was halfway into the apartment when she heard the uniform tell her team they couldn't follow. She turned around. They come with me, Officer.

Detective Quinn told me that a limited number should go through the scene-

And I'm telling you my team comes with me. Let them through.

Her voice had an authoritative edge, the kind of edge that made Lucas and the boys stand a little straighter. The uniform went ramrod straight and nodded dumbly, motioning for her team to follow. Nic turned her back on him and started through the apartment without saying thank you.

Bam said the lady! Lucas murmured in her ear as they walked through the foyer of the apartment. The boys and I are touched by your loyalty, Detective.

Ramone and Ashby snickered and Nic rolled her eyes. Shut up, Lucas.

They crossed the threshold of the foyer and were met by the opening of the apartment into a living room. Nic stopped dead in her tracks, only to have Lucas run headlong into her back, followed by Ashby and Ramone.

Jeez, Dayle, you could've… Lucas trailed off. Nic didn't have to wonder why.

The living room was covered in blood. It was spattered on the walls, pooling on the floor, dripping from the coffee table. The white couch in the center of the room was no longer white, stained crimson from the blood of the woman sitting dead on the center cushion.

God, Nic whispered, her eyes coming to rest on the dead woman. She was sitting on the couch, her head tilted back over the top edge. Her throat was slit, revealing a rather gruesome vision of the inside of her neck. Nic looked closer and realized the woman's wrists, which were facing upward by her sides, were also slit. The stench of a dead body and blood hit Nic's nostrils next, and it was all she could do not to throw up.

Whoa, Lucas murmured from his position next to her.

Nic glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he was going to be sick. If she thought she was going to be sick, there was a fair chance he actually would be. He looked pale, and she lowered her voice so that her boys couldn't hear.

Lucas, maybe you should wait outside…

He looked at her. No. Please? I'm okay.

You look pale. I can't have you throwing up in my crime scene.

The words sounded harsh, but her voice was gentle. He knew what she meant. He always did. I'm okay.

Detective Dayle? Nic turned her eyes to see a man in a suit standing in front of her. He was the same height as her and heavy-set, a thick blond mustache and goatee adorning his face. I'm Detective Quinn.

Nice to meet you, Nic said, shaking his hand. This is Detectives Ashby and Ramone, she gestured over her shoulder, and my partner, Tristan Lucas. Uh-oh.

She'd never called him her partner before. Ramone and Ashby caught it instantly. They looked at her in amazement, and Nic cleared her throat. He consults on our cases, she tried again.

Quinn nodded. I'm aware. Your reputation precedes you; your team has the best arrest record in the city.

Nic smiled. Thank you. Is that why we're here?

Not quite. Quinn turned to face the dead body. Whoever did this left a letter addressed to you.

I heard. Who's the vic?

Twenty-six-year-old second grade teacher. She was engaged to be married next month.

Nic found it odd that Quinn didn't start with her name. And her name? she prompted.

Quinn turned his attention back to her. He cleared his throat. Her name is Nicola Dayle.

Nic stared at him. Her name is what? Lucas said from next to her, his voice not just surprised but…angry? Was he angry? Jesus. He was getting protective again. As if on cue, she felt Ramone and Ashby step up closer behind her, close enough that she felt like her personal space was being invaded. What was with these guys and their frickin' protective instincts? She was a homicide detective, for God's sake. She didn't need bodyguards.

Let me see the letter, Nic said irritably, holding out her hand to Quinn.

He obliged and set an envelope in her hand. Nic looked down and read the writing on the front of the envelope, momentarily forgetting how annoying it was to have three men reading over her shoulder.

The enclosed letter is for Detective Nic Dayle NYPD Precinct 12. Bodies will be found every hour if she isn't put in charge of this case. Nic frowned. What the hell?

Seems you're not the only one who's heard of us, Ramone said to Quinn. Dayle ignored him and opened the envelope, unfolding a white piece of paper with the same neat, flowing script that was on the front of the envelope. She read it carefully.

My dear Detective Dayle,

It's terrible, isn't it? Seeing a murder victim who shares your name. I'd suggest it may be a little scary as well, but not much scares you. I'm a fan of yours, you know. A big fan. You are incredibly complex, and it captivates me. Captivates me to the point that I want to see what you're made of. I want to play a game. The rules are simple: you have to find me. Until you do, people will die. People like Nicola Dayle. Until you do, I will put every ounce of my energy into breaking you. I suggest you find me soon, before there's more blood on your hands and before I bring you to your knees. Help me save you, Nic.

Game on.

Nic stared at the letter when she was done reading, trying to process. The first thing that came to her mind wasn't fear or anger or determination, but more of a stunned disbelief. What the hell was happening here? When had she fallen onto the radar of a serial killer? She wracked her brain, trying to remember if she'd ever run a case with a serial killer before. There was one, a year before Lucas, but he was in prison for life. It couldn't be him. She didn't generally keep company with psychopaths, so a list of possible suspects wasn't exactly coming to mind either. He said he was a fan, that she captivated him, which implied that she knew him. But Nic didn't know anybody capable of this. Why would a man she had never met before fixate on her? He claimed he would break her, bring her to her knees. Who was this guy? It was the second to last line that really got her, though. Help me save you. Save her from what? There was nothing to save her from. Nothing except himself, maybe.

Have you ever dealt with a guy like this before? Quinn asked.

Nic looked up at him. No. Never. I've only dealt with one serial, and he's in for life. I have no idea who this guy could be.

Well, he seems to be quite enamored with you, Lucas observed. Nic could hear the tightness in his voice. It made her want to kiss him. She resisted, thank God.

What else can you tell us about Miss…Dayle? God, it felt weird to say her own name. Of course, that's probably what creepy psycho man was going for.

"Not much. Doorman doesn't remember anyone unusual coming in or out,