Scene of the Crime: Black Creek. Carla Cassidy

turned and headed down the street, leaving the two to their “romantic” meal. What they didn’t know was that he was on to them.

      They had no clue that all of their preparations, all their anticipation of his next move was for nothing. Oh, yes, he was on to them and all that meant was that it was time to change his pattern so he could take them down.

      The fact that they were FBI agents didn’t matter. What did matter was they were a perfect couple…that she was the perfect woman to take away his rage…at least for a little while.

       Chapter Four

      Cassie awoke just before dawn, superaware of Mick in the bed next to her. The scent of his spicy cologne lingered faintly in the air and even though he was several inches away from her she imagined she could feel the warmth of his body radiating outward to embrace her.

      She’d been awake for most of the night, afraid that somehow in her sleep she’d roll over against Mick or worse, snuggle against him while dreaming.

      She’d known it would be awkward and it had been, at least for her. Thankfully, when they’d returned to the cabin after dinner she’d gone directly into the bathroom, where she’d changed into a pair of navy blue short-sleeved cotton pajamas, and when she’d come out Mick had already been in bed wearing a T-shirt and a pair of boxers.

      She’d slid beneath the sheets on her side of the bed and had held her breath. She had no idea what to expect from him, was afraid that he might try a repeat of what they had shared months ago.

      Instead he’d murmured a good-night and within minutes his light snores had filled the air and Cassie had tried her best to relax.

      But “relax” didn’t seem to be in her body’s repertoire of tricks, and sleep seemed out of the question altogether. The day’s events played and replayed in her mind. Had the killer already seen them? Was he at this very moment deciding the right time to somehow attempt to gain entry into their room and commit murder once again?

      She knew the door was locked and both she and Mick had their service revolvers on the nightstands on either side of the bed. If somebody came through the door they’d be faced with the business end of two guns and the additional support of the three agents in the next cottage.

      Then there was the issue of the physical contact with Mick throughout the afternoon and evening. It had been difficult. Each touch of his hand had evoked memories of what they’d shared that single night six months before.

      She didn’t want to think about that night, when for a brief moment in his arms she’d finally felt at home, that she was where she belonged. It had been a feeling meant to fool her, to beckon her to let down her guard. And that would be a huge mistake.