Ryland searched through the drawers and found a laminating machine and thick card stock. There was an index box of cards already laminated, and each card had precise instructions detailing a murder: the name or names of victims, address, how the victims had to be killed, and the time frame allotted. There were points awarded for each detail, and at the bottom of the card, there was the total number of points each murder could accumulate. Ryland had found the actual game, along with a website he was building for an online game.

Dunbar, being as neat and as precise as he was, had filed the game cards already used along with the total points for each team in the index box. The points were totaled in a fussy little hand and attached to the team’s cards. In another drawer were drawings and notes on a proposed video game, titled Murder Game. There was no doubt that Dunbar had his cover already in place should any suspicion fall on him. The man was so precise, Ryland wouldn’t have been shocked to find a neatly signed contract for each contracted murder filed away, along with a ledger and books for his banking.

On the floor beside the table was a wastepaper bin, and he could see a torn box with “James R. Dunbar” written clearly on it, the label Tansy had spotted. Ryland let out his breath. He was in the right place. There was no mistake. He made his way through the backyard until he came to the house. Shrubbery and flowers were well manicured. The lawn was mowed and the patio in the back was extraordinarily clean. Each window was screened and the screen was free of dirt and debris.

Ryland pried one loose and set it aside to be replaced later. The window wasn’t locked, nor did Dunbar have an alarm, a testament to how safe he felt—how superior. There was no need for such things. The man probably believed it would only make him appear more innocent should any of the murders ever be traced back to him. With the proposed video game in various stages, he might actually get away with claiming the serial killers had seen his idea and had decided to implement it for their own purposes.

Ryland slipped through the window and eased his weight onto the floor. Dunbar was reputed to live alone, with no pets. He was a man who would never want dog or cat hair on furniture or clothes. Each room was immaculate, everything in its place. Ryland made his way to the bedroom.

James Dunbar lay on his bed in full uniform. He stared unseeing up at the ceiling, his body jerking and shuddering, in the throes of his dream. Ryland crept up beside him, knife out, waiting. Minutes ticked by. Dunbar’s eyes suddenly bulged and wheezing gasps escaped. One hand waved in the air and then went to his throat as he choked and fought for air. Ryland stepped up, a dark shadow, looming over the figure on the bed. The eyes found him, there in the dark, and recognized death when they saw it. Ryland cut his throat.

“Puppet master down,” he whispered softly, and walked away.

Tansy woke gasping for air, her throat raw and swollen, her lungs burning. Her heart pounded in her ears, and for a moment she was completely disoriented. Her chest hurt, felt bruised and battered, as if someone had been pounding on her. She touched her throat as she turned her head searching for Kadan.

He stood across the room from her, his back to her, strapping on a belt and shoving knives and guns into every conceivable loop. He pushed extra clips into a zippered pocket and reached for more.

She opened her mouth to call to him, but nothing came out, her throat was too raw and damaged. She reached with her mind, connecting, wanting him, needing him, only he wasn’t there. In his place was something else, something not quite human. Ice-cold. A machine bent on destruction. Where there had been cool logic and distance, there was now utter chaos. He was no thinking person. Tansy doubted if he even knew what he was doing. He simply reacted. His warrior persona was his most familiar, and he took it like the chameleon he was, wearing the outer skin when his mind was fragmented.

He thought I was dead. He had probably watched her die. Her heart clenched. She couldn’t imagine watching Kadan die. Tansy pressed a hand to her heart. He’d probably tried to revive her. She was fairly certain her chest was bruised.

Kadan. She sent his name to him wrapped in love as she sat up a little unsteadily.

He didn’t turn around, the ice block in his mind an effective barrier.

She reached again, filling his mind with her, with the scent and taste of her—of cinnamon. Of love. She poured warmth into his mind. His entire body could be ice and she’d find a way to warm him. She tried to stand, needing to go to him, her body swaying weakly.

A small corner of his mind thawed just enough to let out raw pain. It burst from him in a rush of agony, so intense, so strong, it drove her to her knees. Kadan whirled around, gun in his fist, his eyes piercing cold, remote, distant, sorrow etched deep into the lines of his face.

Kadan. She whispered his name again, calling him back to her. She pushed her way deeper into his mind, filling him full of erotic images, of heat and love and her wrapped in the same skin with him. The scent of cinnamon grew stronger. Look at me. Really look at me.

His glacier-cold eyes flicked over her face, still remote, still distant, as if he didn’t know who she was, as if he didn’t see her. His hand tightened around the barrel of the gun.

She pulled herself up, hanging on to the bed. His mouth stiffened. His mind rejected what he was seeing. She forced her taste into his mouth, her scent into his nostrils, deeper, into his lungs. Breathe me in, Kadan. Let me in.

Fear flickered in his eyes and he took a step back. He shook his head slightly. He wasn’t going to let himself feel that raw pain, no matter how real the hallucination was.

Tansy smiled at him. Gentle. Warm. She stepped closer, pushing aside the gun to move in close to him, to circle his neck with her arms and press her body, soft and pliant and so familiar, against his. He stiffened, both hands locking on her h*ps to push her away. She could feel the outline of the gun pressed tightly into her skin. There was only a thin shirt between them, and her warmth slid into the palm of his hands.

Does this feel like a hallucination? She stood on her toes and lifted her face, finding his mouth to brush her lips back and forth persistently over his. Does this?

He didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His eyes, like a cat’s, remained wide open and staring, focused on her face, but he wasn’t seeing her. The denial in his mind was loud. He wouldn’t go there. He wouldn’t feel.

With one hand wrapped around the nape of his neck to keep him close to her, she unbuttoned her shirt with the other. His arm was heavy, but he didn’t resist her when she cupped his palm around the warm, soft, inviting mound of her breast and pressed her hand over his to hold him there. Is this a hallucination, Kadan? Come back to me.

He blinked. She felt his mind move against hers. Tentative. Raw anguish. Fear mounting to terror. A tendril of hope. He inhaled, drawing the scent of cinnamon deep into his lungs, as if he could trust his sense of smell, but not his mind. The cold receded just a little more.

His hand moved against her breast, an involuntary reflex. His thumb brushed over her nipple, sending a shiver of awareness down her spine. She went up on her toes again and kissed his mouth. “Kadan.” His name came out. A croak. Her throat protested, but she got his name out, aching for him, for that man crouched behind a wall of ice. A man shielded by the cold.

And then he crushed her. His arms whipped up and around her, nearly breaking her ribs with their strength. The gun landed on the chair, and the momentum of his body took her backward until she hit the wall. He enveloped her, his body so tight against hers she could barely breathe, his mouth in the hollow of her shoulder, his face wet against her skin. His body shuddered, wracked by silent sobs. He held her for a long time, just held her, without speaking, his mind in a turmoil, wild and unrestrained.

When he moved, his hand whipped up to span her throat, this time gently, but his thumb tipped her head back and he took her mouth, and there was nothing gentle there. He was rough, possessive, taking over, wanting to crawl inside her.

Tansy went pliant and accepting, kissing him back, letting his marauding hands tug away her shirt so he could slide his hands over every inch of her skin, whatever he wanted, whatever he needed. His mouth left hers, trailing kisses over her chin, down her throat, to her breast. She circled his neck with one arm and arched into him, a little helplessly as he took, frantic for the taste and feel of her.

“I have to be inside you right now,” he whispered hoarsely. “Right now, Tansy.”

The urgency in his voice, the mesmerizing need and desperation, had her tugging at his belt, his jeans, shoving them partway down his h*ps even as his mouth pulled strongly at her breast and his teeth tugged at her nipple. She was suddenly nearly as frantic as he was, her body clenching and dripping with liquid heat.

He lifted her, hands hard on her bottom, fingers digging deep as she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles tight. She could feel him pushing at her entrance, driving through tight folds to stretch her with his invasion. He didn’t give her time to adjust, but thrust upward as he dropped her down hard, her sheath enclosing him like a tight fist. She dug her fingers into his shoulders, throwing her head back, a moan escaping.

Kadan turned, angling her body so her back was against the wall and he could slam hard and fast, pounding deep in a frenzy of need to be part of her, to know she was alive, surrounding him with silken walls and scorching fire to melt away the last of the cold. He didn’t allow himself thought. He wanted only to feel. To know she was alive by touch, by sound, by scent. He didn’t trust his own mind, but his body knew hers, his hands and his burning, aching shaft as he thrust into her over and over.

“Look at me,” he commanded. He needed to see her eyes. Her eyes always told the truth.

Tansy’s gaze immediately jumped obediently to his. She looked sexy, eyes glazed with passion, her expression almost tortured as he rocked her body over and over with his pistoning hips. Her breath came in ragged gasps and her br**sts bounced, but, as always, she held nothing back from him, moaning softly, her muscles tightening around him, riding his frantically bucking body with the same matching fervor as he rode hers.

Heat rose from his toes up his thighs to center in his groin. The fire raced through his bloodstream, burned in his belly and up through his chest, until it filled his mind with a rush of pleasure so intense it burst behind his eyes like streaking rockets. His body jerked and her muscles tightened to a stranglehold, gripping him with her fiery, silk-lined sheath. Jet after jet of hot seed soaked deep, triggering more violent ripples around him.

Kadan pressed her against the wall, his face buried in her throat while he gasped for air. Mostly he just savored the feel of her in his arms, his body surrounded by hers. When he could breathe a little, he managed to get to the edge of the bed and lay her down, his body collapsing over hers, still buried deep, holding her h*ps locked with his.

“I swear I’m going to live here—fucking live here forever. I’m not letting you go, Tansy. I’m staying inside you, part of you, where I know you’re safe every minute of the day.” He buried his face against her breast, the warm, soft, inviting flesh she never kept from him. Never hid from him. “I thought you were dead. I held your body in my arms and thought you were dead.” A shudder ran through his body.

“I know,” she whispered, her hands caressing his damp hair. “I’m so sorry, Kadan.”

He shook his head, his shadowed jaw sliding sensuously between her br**sts. “You shouldn’t be with me. I don’t know what I would have done. I looked at myself and saw all those killers standing right beside me. I wanted to kill. I even needed to.”

The shame and guilt and absolute loathing in his mind broke her heart. Tansy caught at his head, jerking him up, so that he was forced to look at her. “You’re nothing like they are. Not a single part of you. You feel so much, so deeply, and your mind shuts that off to protect you. You aren’t a cold, unfeeling monster, Kadan, you never have been. That part of you is necessary, it keeps you from losing your mind. It’s a protection. Without it, you couldn’t do the things you need to do to keep the world a safer place. I know that sounds silly and trite, but it’s still the truth.” She brushed her mouth gently over his eyelids. “I love you exactly the way you are. I love that cold warrior who keeps this man—you—sane and alive and coming back to me.”