With a serial killer on the loose.

And Regan Pescoli missing.

And power outages and icy conditions across most of the state.

And the press camping outside the door and the public in a near state of panic.

Alvarez plunked the tea bag into her cup.

"Hey, what have we got here?" Watershed asked, ducking his head inside the room. He eyed the platter where Joelle was meticulously slicing the cake and stepped eagerly into the kitchen.

"Fruitcake. But don't get too excited. It's from the store. I didn't have time to make my aunt Nina's like I did last year."

"Looks good to me...no coffee?" he asked, reaching for the gla.s.s pot, the bottom of which was discolored but dry.

"I haven't got to it yet! Give a girl a minute, would ya?"

Alvarez started to make a quick exit.

"I heard they found Pescoli's Jeep up at Horsebrier Ridge," Watershed said to her. "They've already sent up choppers to search the area, right?"

"Fingers crossed that the weather holds," Selena said.

"What?" Joelle's perpetual smile fell from her face. "Horsebrier Ridge? What are you talking about?"

But she'd already put two and two together and come up with four. Her hand flew to her mouth. "No..."

"That's why the reporters are here," she said.

"Sweet Jesus, I swear I didn't know. Hadn't heard. I was up half the night wrapping presents and signing the rest of my cards and just, you know, getting ready for Christmas and..." Her voice trailed off, her hand over her chest. "You think it's him because the woman they captured isn't the Star-Crossed Killer." Frantically, she sketched the sign of the cross over her chest.

Alvarez nodded grimly and glanced out the window. There were clouds in the distance, but they were high. For the moment visibility was good enough for helicopters to search for signs of Pescoli. It was too early to think that the killer, if he held her, would release her, but still, the pilots might see something. Anything.

"I'll put her in my prayers and call the church. They have a prayer chain," Joelle said a little shakily.

Alvarez hadn't put a lot of stock in prayer for a long, long while. After years of kneeling in front of a looming crucifix, listening to sermons in English and Spanish, believing with all her heart that Jesus would save her soul, she'd had an abrupt loss of faith.

Now she figured prayers wouldn't hurt, though she didn't send one up herself. Too many times G.o.d had turned a deaf ear to her prayers, so she decided not to waste her time. Or His.

"Oh, and Ivor Hicks wants to talk to you. Well, not you, but since the sheriff is out of town..."

Selena stopped short in her bid to leave the room. "Why?"

"I don't know." Joelle lifted her shoulders.

Watershed snorted. "Who knows what that old nut-job wants? Probably got another call from the general of the Reptilians or something." He chuckled a little meanly.

"I'll call him later," Alvarez said. Though Ivor had located Wendy Ito, the third victim, he was usually more of a pest than a help. More often than not he landed in the drunk tank and had to be released to his son Billy, who dutifully, if unhappily, took responsibility for dear old Dad.

Watershed might have a bad att.i.tude about the man, but for the moment, Alvarez didn't have time for any of Ivor Hicks's nonsense, either.

She left Joelle and Watershed and made her way to her cubicle but before she sat down she received two phone calls, one confirming that Pescoli's Jeep was going to be hauled into the garage and the other that Grayson had asked for, and gotten, a search warrant for Pescoli's house. "Time to rock and roll," she said, swallowing two gulps of the tea, leaving the bag to seep in the remaining cooling liquid, then heading outside again.

The place looked empty.

Regan's car was missing, but her kid's pickup was parked out front. Santana didn't have a key, but he knew where she hid one, had overheard her talking to her daughter once when the girl had locked herself out.

So he let himself inside and was careful not to touch or disturb anything. It was obvious the place was empty. Even the d.a.m.ned dog wasn't inside barking his little head off.

He felt a little odd walking through the rooms she called home. Pausing in the doorway to her bedroom, he imagined her lying back on the thick duvet, that wicked glint evident in her eyes as she slowly smiled and crooked a finger. "Since you're here already, you may as well make yourself useful." Or something similar.

He swore under his breath and realized just how much he missed her. "What the h.e.l.l happened?" he asked, just as the sound of a truck's engine cut through the morning air. He strode outside and stood on the front porch, expecting her Jeep to roll through the trees and the door to the garage to start cranking open.

Sure enough, a vehicle from the Pinewood Sheriff's Department came into view, but the license plate was off and the woman behind the wheel wasn't Pescoli. His heart sank as he recognized Selena Alvarez. Behind her, in another department-issued vehicle, were a couple of deputies.

"Don't move!" Alvarez ordered. She was reaching for her sidearm as she climbed out of the vehicle. "Hands in the air!"

He didn't argue. "I'm here looking for Regan," he said. "She's not here."

Alvarez gave him a we-already-know-that glare. "You don't know where she is?"

"I told you that yesterday. Things haven't changed..." But they had. He saw it in her eyes, in the purse of her lips. "Why are you here?" he asked as the two deputies in the second car approached and a third vehicle, a van from the crime lab, nosed its way into the wide parking area in front of Pescoli's house. "What's going on?"

"You first. Why are you here now?"

"I haven't heard from her, so I thought I'd start looking."

The deputies exchanged glances.

"What?" Santana demanded, fear growing inside him. "You know something? Where is she?"

Alvarez scowled at him and shook her head. "We found her vehicle."

"Where?" he asked, dread starting to pound through him. He lowered his hands.

"Horsebrier Ridge. Well, really in the ravine."

"She had an accident?" Panic tore through him. "Is she all right?" he demanded and caught the tightening of Alvarez's already grim lips. "What is this?"

His first thought that Regan was dead. But then, why the whole posse here at her house? Why the crime lab techs, who, bundled against the cold, carried cases and cameras in their gloved hands and started toward the house? "Can we all back up, please," one of them, a tall man suggested. "You touch anything inside?"

Santana shook his head.

"Just walked all over the d.a.m.ned place," Alvarez charged.

"Where's Regan?" he asked.

She stonewalled him, motioned him to leave the porch, her pistol still aimed straight at his chest. "Move it. Get out of the way."

"Is she dead? In the hospital? What?" His gaze moved to the two deputies. "Why the h.e.l.l is half the police force here?"

Alvarez said, "She wasn't in the vehicle. It was smashed all to h.e.l.l, but she wasn't inside. We think it was forced off the road."

"What're you telling me?" he demanded, dread worming through his soul. "Horsebrier Ridge, so she was on her way to her ex's? Is that where her kids are?"

"How did you get in here? You have a key?"

"I knew where she hid one."

"That could be construed as breaking and entering."

"I just need to find her."

She appeared as if she wanted to believe him but her common sense wouldn't let her. "Let's go down to the sheriff's office and you can make an official statement there. You can handle this?" she asked one of the deputies.

"No problem." A woman deputy was stringing out crime scene tape, carefully walking around the yard.

But she was wrong. The way Santana saw it, they all had a problem. A big one.

"It's your turn to feed him," Bianca complained as she worked and worked to get her hair into a French braid, just like the one she'd seen in one of Mich.e.l.le's glossy magazines. Sure it was retro, but Miley Cyrus had pulled it off on a recent red carpet and Bianca knew it would be perfect, P-E-R-F-E-C-T, for her date with Chris, if they could ever get together! Cisco was dancing at her feet, yipping and demanding food all the while giving Bianca fits and breaking her concentration. Her braid was a disaster!

"Jeremy!" she yelled, walking down the short hallway to the guest room/office where her brother was camping out. "Hey! Feed Cisco!"

Jeremy was flopped across the day bed that was way too short for him. Briefly he turned his attention away from the television where some army video game flickered-guys in camouflage with big rifles running around some burned-out Armageddon.

"s.h.i.t!" Jeremy yanked off his headset as the guy on the screen turned red with his own blood. "Look what you did. I just died! My whole company's under siege!"

"It's a game," she said in a withering tone. She was still working with her hair, her fingers winding strands together.

"So what's so d.a.m.ned important?"

"Feed the dog."

He pulled a face. "Oh, sure."

Cisco ran into the room and jumped on the bed.

"See, he wants some attention from you," Bianca declared.

"From anybody," Jeremy groused, but petted Cisco's little head anyway.

"Have you heard from Mom?" Bianca asked, trying not to worry.

"Nah, but she's p.i.s.sed at me."

"That doesn't stop her from calling."

"Or bossing me around."

"Exactly." Bianca looked over her shoulder, then quickly shut the door. "Do you think Dad and Mich.e.l.le know something and aren't telling us?"

"Like what?"

"Like, I don't know, she's hurt, got shot on the job, or had a wreck or...something really bad?"

"They'd have to tell us," he said, frowning.

Bianca gave up on her hair for the moment, let the unruly curls fall to her shoulders. "They're always trying to 'protect' us." She made air quotes to emphasize her point. "Mom's detective partner wouldn't have come out here unless it was really serious."

"I guess."

Jeremy scowled just as Bianca's phone dinged, indicating she'd received a text message. She clicked a b.u.t.ton and found a picture of Chris on the screen. Chris and two of his friends, all wearing Santa hats and making goofy faces. She grinned and for a second, she wasn't worried about her mother. "Just take care of the dog," she ordered, hurrying from the room.

Jeremy, his video game ruined, watched her go. She didn't bother shutting the door, which really bugged him. But then everything and everyone was bugging him. Even Heidi Brewster, who kept texting him and trying to get together. He wanted to. Man, he wanted to. Heidi was hotter than hot and her mouth...holy c.r.a.p, what she could do with that. He got hard just thinking about it. But she was trouble, and right now he didn't need any more of that. So he didn't respond to her texts and was probably really ticking her off.

Too bad.

Ever since he'd gotten busted for Minor in Possession of Alcohol with Heidi, he'd been in a bad mood. Mom had grounded him, Heidi's jerk of a father had warned Jeremy to never see his daughter again, and now they were stuck here with Mich.e.l.le and Dad, which wasn't all that great.

In fact, he was getting sick of them. Lucky was either trying to buddy up to him or tell him what to do. Like he was his real dad or something. It was just stupid. Then there was Mich.e.l.le. Jesus, she was hot, too. Always running around in high heels and tight jeans and tops that showed off her b.o.o.bs. He'd even caught a glimpse of her coming out of the shower, her hair wet, no makeup, big b.r.e.a.s.t.s with tiny pink nipples standing at attention from the cold. He'd noticed, though, that she wasn't a natural blonde. The worst part was, he was pretty sure she'd seen him. Their eyes had met through the steam of the bathroom where the door was opened far enough to give him an eyeful. Since then he'd pretty much holed up in his room, and he was certain that when Mich.e.l.le talked to him, she was thinking the same thing he was. There was something in her eyes, and the way her tongue was visible against her shiny lips, that told him she knew he'd seen her naked.

He couldn't help but wonder if she'd set him up, if maybe, she wanted him to make a pa.s.s at her. She's your freakin' stepmom, b.u.t.thead. Don't think like that!

Rolling off the bed, he grabbed his boots. It was time to go and get his car, call a friend, and find out what the h.e.l.l had happened to his mother. He didn't want to tell Bianca that he was worried, too, but in this case, she was right. Something was wrong. Mom would never have just let Lucky tell her he wanted custody. No way would she have rolled over on that. She would have fought him tooth and nail. Jeremy had figured it was a good deal. He'd decided that Mom would have been so petrified of losing Bianca and him that she would have done anything to keep them happy and this whole stupid grounding thing would disappear. Afraid of losing custody altogether, she would have let Jeremy do whatever he wanted.

Oh, come on, who are you kidding? Mom would never allow that. She'll ride your a.s.s until the day she dies.

"c.r.a.p," he said under his breath, then texted his friend to come and get him. He needed to go home and look for himself, try to figure out where she was, then grab his truck so he had wheels, a way to get out of this overdecorated house with its gooey-looking pink Christmas tree and his stepfather's hottie wife.

Throwing on his oversized camo jacket, Jeremy jammed a stocking cap onto his head before walking into the kitchen. He found a bag of kiblets for Cisco, who had tagged after him and was so excited he was barking and making tight little circles near his dish.

"About time you woke up," Mich.e.l.le drawled. Dressed in jeans, high-heeled boots, and a tight turtleneck sweater, she strolled into the kitchen. Today, her makeup was in place, her platinum hair framing her face.

Cisco wolfed down his food as Mich.e.l.le snapped on the radio. Some Christmas carol started playing through the suddenly too-small kitchen. "Want some breakfast?" Was her voice breathy? Oh, G.o.d. She gave him that look again, the one that said I-know-what-you-saw, as she snagged an ap.r.o.n from a hook on the pantry and slid it over her head. It was a Mrs. Santa ap.r.o.n. Short, red, trimmed in fake white fur. She tied it around her slim waist and he couldn't help but imagine what she would look like without the jeans and sweater, just the ap.r.o.n and tall black boots.

"No breakfast," he managed as the dog finished. He automatically let Cisco outside, a breath of cold air racing into the stifling kitchen.

"You sure? I could make pancakes." She turned and faced him, one hand holding a spatula up, and for a second he caught an image of her spanking him with it. Or him spanking her. Lying across his lap, her rounded b.u.t.t red as she squealed in pleasure/pain. Oh, s.h.i.t.

"No," Jeremy croaked out. "Tyler's on his way over to pick me up."

"You're leaving?" Now she was pouting.

"Uh-huh." He had to get out of here and fast.

Cisco returned, bounding into the room, snow covering his whiskers. Jeremy slid the slider door closed as the phone rang so loudly he nearly jumped.

Mich.e.l.le pounced on it like a cougar onto an unsuspecting antelope. "h.e.l.lo?" she said into the handheld receiver. "Yes, this is Mrs. Pescoli...Uh-huh. Wait a sec, I'll get him." Her smile had fallen from her face and her gaze when she looked at Jeremy again had lost all of its teasing glint. She headed toward the archway leading from the kitchen and with her hand over the receiver yelled, "Luke?" No response. "Luke! Telephone! It's the police!"