She shook her head slowly. "It was pouring rain. The streets were empty."

"What about at the bar?" Dunst asked. "Anyone new been hanging around?

Maybe paying extra attention to him?"

She thought of Michael. She should tell them about him. He could verify her story, confirm that Tommy had been alive when she had left him and account for her whereabouts for the rest of the night. But something told her that would be a mistake, so she just shook her head.

"After you came home, what did you do?"

She blinked slowly. "I went to bed. I didn't get up again until you two woke me just now."

"You didn't leave again? Say between four-thirty and 5:00 a.m.?"

She shook her head. "Is that... is that when it happened?"

They didn't reply. It occurred to her that telling them about Michael wouldn't do either of them any good anyway. Tommy had been killed after Michael had left here.

Tommy was killed after Michael left here.

She sank onto the sofa and looked up at them.

"Someone must have seen something. Someone must know who did this."

Dunst nodded. "If someone does, we'll find out."

She sighed and lowered her head. "I hope to G.o.d you do." The cops looked at each other again. Dunst shrugged. "We may have more questions for you later on, once we learn more. Don't leave town for a while, all right?"

She lifted her head sharply. "I'm a suspect, aren't I?"

"Everyone's a suspect until we rule them out. We haven't rule you out yet,"

Strickland said. He went to the door, opened it and stepped outside.

"I'll be right out," Dunst called. "I'm gonna get her alternate telephone numbers so we can reach her."

With a nod, Strickland left.

Officer Dunst knelt in front of the sofa. "Mary, this is between us, all right? We think Tommy might have been your stalker. Strickland thinks you found out and murdered him. I don't."

"I appreciate that."

"There was some evidence found at his place that links him to... some other cases. Unusual cases."

"You're being awfully vague, Officer Dunst."

"I'm sorry. I have to be." He took a card from his pocket and handed it to her.

"Theses people can help sort all this out. I know them. They're good people."

She glanced at the card. It had the stylized initials S.I.S. across the top, and underneath, in smaller type, it read Supernatural investigations Services.

"Supernatural?"

"You didn't get it from me, understand? This conversation never happened."

She nodded slowly. "What the h.e.l.l is going on, Office Dunst?"

"I don't know." He averted his eyes when he said it, as if maybe he did know at last a little more than he was telling her. "Give me your other numbers in case Strickland calls me on it."

She recited her cell phone number, which he scribbled quickly. Then he gave her a rea.s.suring smile and left. She stood in the doorway, shocked ad trembling, until he got into the car with his partner and drove away.

Then she closed the door, turned the locks and sank to the floor, shaking.

Michael could have done this.

Michael didn't have anything to do with it, and you know it.

He had time, after leaving her. He hadn't seemed to like Tommy. But why?

Why would he do such a horrible thing?

What if he were the stalker after all?

He's not. He can't be. But there was a stalker, and it couldn't be Tommy. The police were wrong about that. What if the real maniac had killed Tommy because he know of Tommy's crush on her? Was it a jealous rage of some kind? Had this so-called evidence been planted at Tommy's place just to make him look guilty?

Her mind whirled with questions, and one gruesome image she couldn't erase from her mind-that of poor Tommy Campbell, burning alive in his bed.

Chapter 5.

Something was wrong.

The bar was dark, only a single car in the parking lot beside his when he pulled in just after sundown. Mary's car. She tensed when his Jaguar's headlights illuminated her where she sat on her front step. He felt her fear rise up. It was palpable, even when he wasn't trying to read her thoughts. He quickly killed the engine and doused the lights, so she could see him.

Even then, though, her fear only eased a minute amount.

He opened the door and got out, and she got to her feet and came toward him.

Her face was puffy, eyes red, as if she'd been crying.

"What's happened?"

She held his gaze. "Tommy. You remember Tommy, from last night?"

He nodded.

"He's dead. Someone killed him."

He went to her, put his arms around her to pull her close, the instinct to comfort her overriding his certainty that she was afraid of him all over again. But she didn't let him. She pulled away, and he let his arms fall to his sides as a clod dread settled over his heart. She suspected him.

"The police suspect me," she said.

It was the last thing he'd expected to hear. "What? Why on earth...?"

He was killed around 5:00 a.m. they said. I was the last person to see him alive.

The last they know of, at least."

"My G.o.d."

She kept her eyes on her shoes. He looked past her, noticing the sign taped to the entrance. "Closed due to death in the family." He shook his head in disgust.

Tommy had been young, early twenties at most. And while Michael had found the boy mildly annoying, he was certain the kid had done nothing to deserve this.

He looked at Mary again. She was barely holding herself together.

"How did it happen?"

"He was tied to his bed and set on fire." She met his eyes briefly. "You're supposed to be some kind of psychic. Why didn't you see this coming?"

He shook his head. "I don't see everything, Mary. I don't have any connection to Tommy." "You don't have any connection to me, either."

"Yes, I do. You know good and well I do. You feel it just as strongly as I do, Mary. Don't deny that. Not now."

She lifted her brows. "Why shouldn't I deny it, when you refuse to explain it to me! I know you aren't telling me everything, Michael."

He was silent for a moment. She wanted to know everything. The last mortal he'd trusted enough to tell everything to had blasted a hole though her own head in reply. Mary might not react as badly as that. But she would certainly pull away from him, and if she did, the killer would find her alone, unprotected.

He couldn't tell her everything. But clearly, he had to tell her something. "The bond we share is one of blood," he told her choosing every word with care. "The antigen."

"You have it, too?"

He only nodded. He would not tell her the rest... what he was. "Mary, I had no reason to want to harm Tommy."

She licked her lips "You shouldn't have come here, alone like this," he went on. "You could be in danger, you know that."

She shrugged. 'I brought the gun. I knew you'd be looking for me here. And I needed to see you. Besides, the police think Tommy might have been the stalker.

Apparently that's my motive for killing him."

"What makes them think that?"

She shook her head. "They wouldn't say. I'm not even suppose to know that much." Clearing her throat, she walked toward her car, parked beside his black Jag.

"The police wanted to know if anyone was with me when I dropped Tommy off last night.

Anyone who could verify that he was alive when I left him. But I didn't tell them about you."

It as good that she hadn't told them. He didn't need the kind of snooping and investigation that would have resulted if she had. But if it would clear her of suspicion...

"It wouldn't have mattered, anyway. He was killed after you left my place. You couldn't swear that I hadn't gone back and done this thing... any more than I could swear you hadn't."

He chose to ignore the latter comment. "What evidence do they have against you?" he asked.

"I already told you, I was the last person to see him alive, and if he was the stalker, then..."

"That's circ.u.mstantial. Is there anything physical?"

She frowned. "I don't know. How could there be, Michael? I was never there." "Never mind. I'll find out. But first, we need to get you somewhere safe."

She was dangerously close to tears. "I'm not suppose to leave town."

He thought about that a moment. If he took her away and the police couldn't reach her, their suspicion would increase exponentially. "Do you have a cell phone?"

She nodded. "And did you give the police the number?"

"Yeah."

"Good. I want you to get into your car and follow me back to your apartment, all right? We'll leave your car there, and you can come with me."

She shook her head. "I'm not going anywhere with you, Michael."

He held her gaze for a long time, then finally sighed, giving up. "You think it's me. You think I killed Tommy don't you?"

"No. I don't think that at all, but part of me thinks that maybe I should-that maybe this... this... chemistry between us is clouding my judgment." She sighed, shaking her head in frustration. "h.e.l.l, I don't know what to think. I only know that you're a stranger. As much as it feels like I've known you forever, you're a stranger to me, Michael. I don't even know your last name."

He swallowed hard. Why her lack of trust in him should cause him pain was beyond knowing. That it did was beyond denying.

"I don't suppose I an blame you for being cautious. You're right. G.o.d, it seems to me that you know me better than anyone ever has, but that's just... that's just this." As he said it, he trailed the backs of his knuckles over her cheek, and she closed her eyes, pushing closer to his touch Then she opened them again and met his. "Its' powerful, Michael. Everything in me believes in you. But I have to be sure." She frowned. "Isn't there some part of you that wonders if I might be guilty? If your feelings aren't clouding your judgment?"

His eyes probed hers. "No. Not in the least. But then again, I'm more used to trusting my senses then you are. All of them tell me you're no killer. And they've rarely steered me wrong." He nodded slowly. "We'll go back to your apartment. I'll see you safely inside and leave my cell phone number with you. Program it into your phone, so you can call me quickly if you need me. You can stay there, and I'll go see what I can find out about Tommy's murder, and then I'll come back and fill you in."

She blinked, clearly uncertain. "How do you think you can find anything out?"

He licked his lips, unsure how much to tell her. "I was a cop, Mary. For ten years, I was a cop."

"In New York?"

"In Chicago."

"Why did you quit?" He hesitated. "I was shot in the line of duty. The injuries were... life altering."