“Yeah, babe,” Tate said softly. “Also took all her hair he could get with that knife. Only cut Sunny’s. Like he bunched it in his hand and sheared it off in one slice. But he didn’t take it all.”

“What does that mean?”

“The whole show is f**ked, all over the place. Part of it is an effort at humiliation. Takin’ the hair, leavin’ ‘em na**d and exposed. Part of it is sexual. All the victims had se**n on them. Not in them, on them.”

“Oh God,” I whispered torn between sick disgust and horror.

“Yeah, f**ked up shit. It’s brutal but every single one of them is left positioned the same. On their side, knees to their chest, hands tucked under their cheek. Gentle, almost respectful. Remorse. Remorse after he uses that knife instead of his dick and gets off on it. Remorse after he jacks off on them during or after.”

“Sunny?” I whispered.

“Didn’t violate her or come on her. Another change, he left a blanket with her. My guess, it was hers. She’d crawled, blood trail shows she got about fifteen feet, took the blanket with her but then she lost consciousness. The blanket, at least, offered some protection from exposure.”

I closed my eyes. “Thank God.”

“So we got DNA from the se**n, we just got no matches. And that’s all we got. It’s like this guy doesn’t exist. Now we got boot prints and maybe more DNA on the blanket. They find somethin’, they’ll know if it’s the same guy.”

“You think he’s local?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you know anything about him?”

“Profilers think he’s able to assimilate. He’s one of us.”

I turned my head and stared at Tate, whispering, “What?”

“Not one victim, outside of Sunny, showed signs of struggle. We don’t know how he got them we just know he didn’t kidnap them, it wasn’t violent. He either knew them or he doesn’t pose a threat. He comes off as friendly. He might even be attractive. A good flirt. Turn a woman’s eye. Thinks she’s gonna get her some, not havin’ any clue.”

“So why did he struggle with Sunny?”

“He doesn’t act on instinct. He hunts. She was not planned. The urge hit him and he acted. Maybe she didn’t know him so she fought him. Shambles and Sunny picked that place because it’s off the beaten track. Not a lot of people come around there unless they live up the way. Even if they did, they’d have to be lookin’, the clearing is far enough from the road. He probably surprised her.”

“They didn’t question her,” I told him something he knew.

“She’s been out. They will soon’s they can.”

“Then it’s done? They’ll find him?”

“Unless I’m wrong, he didn’t come prepared. She’ll have seen him or somethin’ that identifies him. He f**ked up. They always f**k up and he f**ked up. Cops’re hopefully keepin’ an eye out. He knows he f**ked up and he’s probably gone.”

“But he had a knife,” I pointed out.

“He uses a hunting knife. Probably keeps it clipped to his belt.”

“I still don’t get it. Why would he –?”

“Sometimes even monsters can feel the touch of a good soul,” Tate said gently. “Sunny’s a good soul. He’s convinced he’s doin’ right, teachin’ bad girls a lesson. He knew he had a good girl. He knew he was doin’ wrong. He did her there, right where we found her, left her bike, left her clothes, left the evidence of the struggle, left a trail. He’s smarter than that. Maybe he was freaked out or maybe, after what he did to Sunny, knowin’ she wasn’t his usual prey, that he hurt a good girl, he wants to get caught.”

I looked out the windshield as Tate turned into his drive. The entire time he drove down it and swung into the garage he opened with the remote, I thought about Sunny being a good soul but still finding herself attacked by a monster.

Tate switched off the truck, I grabbed my purse, hopped out and then opened the backdoor to reach in and grab one of our bags. Tate had the other one. He waited for me to precede him, I skirted my car in the garage and went to the mudroom. I dumped my purse and the bag on the floor the instant I got in.

“Toss that there, honey, I’ll worry about them tomorrow. I need a shower,” I murmured, not looking back as I walked into the hall. I kept going, flipping on the light switch by the dining room table.

Buster came out of the bedroom and stretched in the hall, booty in the air, paws straight out in front of her. She righted when I got close and asked a questioning “meow”.

I cooed nonsensically at her, leaving her for Tate who she preferred anyway. She liked me well enough but she definitely knew who her daddy was. I went into the bedroom, right to the nightstand where I switched on the light.

I started for the bathroom but got waylaid with an arm around my belly. I was pulled back, turned into Tate’s body and his arms curved around me.

“Tate,” I said looking up at him and putting my hands on his pectorals, “my hair is straggly, I still have chlorine on me. I need a –”

“You love me.”

My breath caught and my fingers automatically curled into fists against his chest.

“I –”

“Love me.”

“Tate,” I whispered.

“You said it, Ace.”

“It was the moment,” I quickly (and somewhat desperately) half-lied. It was the moment but it was also the truth. “I was having a good time with you and Jonas and I –”

“You protected him.”

I blinked then asked, “What?”

“When Neeta was there, f**k, before she even got there you had hold of him but after she did what she did, you got hold of him again and used your body to shield him.”

“That was messed up,” I said softly. “Anyone would do that.”

“Wasn’t anyone doin’ it, it was you. It was you doing handstands with him in the pool and you makin’ him eggs too.”

“Tate.”

“And bringin’ me coffee.” He paused, his face changed, shifted, that tender look came into it, not the soft and warm one, the tender one that was so sweet it made my heart stop beating and he kept talking quietly. “Long’s I can remember, he wakes rough. Takes him awhile to shake it off. You brought me coffee and left so I could be with him.”

“I didn’t know that, I just… I’m a waitress,” I explained lamely. “I bring people drinks. It’s instinct.”