Another cool, rainy day, Rachel thought the next afternoon, closing the door on her darkroom. She just couldn’t face choosing to work in even more darkness—the persistent gloom of Silver Falls was hard enough. She’d actually gotten on the internet to check out weather patterns—maybe this was just an unusually rainy period. Surely the Pacific Northwest wasn’t always so wretched, or people wouldn’t be moving there.

The research was far from promising. The rest of the state, even some of the rainiest areas, averaged far less rainfall than this tiny little college town. Silver Falls consistently averaged twice the yearly rainfall of Seattle and Portland combined, and this year was ostensibly drier than usual. It was no wonder nothing ever seemed to dry out and it felt like mold was growing everywhere. It probably was.

She poured herself a cup of coffee and stared out toward Silver Mountain, shrouded with clouds as it always was. She and Sophie had planned to hike there on the next clear day, but that day hadn’t come.

It had taken all of Rachel’s resolve not to keep Sophie home that morning. Sophie, of course, had shrugged off the murder relatively well, thanks to the invulnerability of youth, but Caleb’s words kept echoing in her ear. The victim had been young and slender, with long, straight blond hair. She’d scoured the Silver Falls Sentinel for the gruesome details—Jessica Barrowman had been a student at the college, just eighteen years old. Her face haunted her.

She looked too much like Tessa.

She and Sophie had arrived back on the west coast after two years in Spain, and the cool, foggy atmosphere of San Francisco had been a welcome change from the sun and heat and bright blue sky. It had been easy enough to find a community—she had enough connections from her photography friends and it had been easy to find a place to live and a job, and Sophie ended up at the local alternative school in the Fillmore District just outside of Japantown. Sophie settled in quickly, aided by her usual ability to make friends, the closest one being Tessa Montgomery, a girl three years older than she, just sixteen, and almost a clone. They were always being mistaken for sisters as they wandered around the big, fascinating city.

But then Tessa had a boyfriend. A mysterious one she met in Golden Gate Park. He was older, she said, and rich, and romantic, and sexy, and he was going to wait until she was old enough to get married but Tessa didn’t want to. She’d spilled all this to Sophie, her best friend, and Sophie had been taught by her mother not to gossip and not to repeat secrets.

It wasn’t until Tessa didn’t come home one day that Sophie finally told Rachel about Tessa’s secret lover. And when Tessa’s body had been found six days later Sophie had been inconsolable.

Rachel wasn’t sure how they would have gotten through that time if it weren’t for David. She couldn’t even remember how she’d met him—one day he was just there, calm and friendly, a college professor on sabbatical, doing research. He had a sublet nearby, and his quiet, gentle manner was the perfect antidote to the anger and despair that filled her community. Even Sophie liked him. She was more like her old self when he was there, able to laugh at his admittedly pathetic attempts at a joke.

One thing Rachel liked about him was that he never pressured her for sex—he was an exquisite gentleman. In fact, she was the one who finally instigated them going to bed together, and it was…pleasant. No fireworks or earth moving, but very nice, despite David’s almost virginal shyness. And the next morning he’d asked her to marry him.

She might have said no, until she looked at Sophie. Unlike her amazon mother, Sophie had never been particularly sturdy, and she was looking almost frail, her pale skin translucent, and on impulse Rachel had said yes, anything to get Sophie out of the city that was now synonymous with death. The accelerated math program had been the icing on the cake, clearly this was meant to be.

The sun had been shining the day they’d arrived in Silver Falls, Washington. As far as she could tell it hadn’t been seen since.

And now this safe place seemed suddenly dangerous. Tessa and Jessica looked too much alike. They’d both been molested and strangled. Though Tessa’s body had been found in the Bay, and Jessica had been tossed over the waterfall at the head of the mountain that loomed over the small town like a gargoyle.

If that wasn’t bad enough, Jessica wasn’t the first. There had been others. The Sentinel printed the timeline, and Rachel read it over with grim fascination. The first was more than twenty years ago—just before David’s mother had been killed. The next was four years later, then a stretch of safety for seven years before another young, blond woman had died. And since then, nothing. Until a few days ago. Around the time when Caleb Middleton had returned to town.

It had to be coincidental. Didn’t it? Except hadn’t he himself said it wasn’t?

Suddenly the house felt oppressive, smothering. There was only a light mist today—liquid sunshine, David used to say playfully. For the next seven hours Sophie was safe at school. She had clear orders not to leave until Rachel picked her up, and she had no choice but trust Sophie’s good sense. Sophie was far from docile—there were times it was clear she thought Rachel was the fragile one, but in fact the two of them were alike. Strong-minded and not prey to bullshit. But she also loved her mother enough not to worry her by failing to follow orders. At least, she hoped so.

Rachel shoved two of her cameras into the gypsy bag, grabbed her raincoat and headed out the door. She was tempted to drive until she found sunshine, but the likelihood of getting back in time to pick up Sophie was remote. For now she just needed to get away from everything and everyone, into the dark, forbidding woods that surrounded the town. It wasn’t like she was in any danger. The local victims had all been a decade younger than she was, with long, straight blond hair and no curves. No one was going to have any interest in a curvy redhead with a temper.

She headed east, toward Silver Mountain. She was wearing her hiking shoes—she could climb up to the falls and look out over the valley. Maybe from that height she’d see sunshine somewhere in the distance.

By the time she parked her car at the start of the trail the rain was coming down a little more enthusiastically, pelting the thick canopy of leaves overhead. She had no intention of letting it slow her down. In the four months they’d been living there she’d learned that if she waited for a sunny day she’d never leave the house. The ground was slippery beneath her feet, but she moved carefully. She’d hiked all over the world, with Sophie strapped to her back and her cameras in her hands. This puny little mountain wasn’t going to be any kind of challenge.

There was something oddly liberating about climbing. Even with the muddy terrain beneath her feet and the wet branches slapping at her, her spirits began to rise. The water from Silver River was rushing down the hill, and she realized she’d never seen the waterfall that gave the town its name. She had more than enough time to make it up there and be back to pick up Sophie.

The rain came down more heavily, and she pulled up the hood of her rain slicker. “Do your worst,” she said out loud, looking up at the dark, angry sky. A crack of thunder was her answer, and she froze.

Maybe climbing in a thunderstorm might not be the smartest thing she could possibly do, but once she set a course she wasn’t likely to turn back, whether she’d made the right decision or not. She was no quitter, even when things got a little rough. Besides, she hadn’t seen much of thunder and lightning during the constant rainstorms, and for all she knew it was just God with a twisted sense of humor. She waited, but there was no sound but the heavy beating of the rain on the lush, overgrown greenery surrounding her, and the rush of wind through the trees, echoed by the roar of the waterfall up ahead.

In the end she almost gave up. Each rise looked like it would be the last one, but the mountain reached higher and higher. Her hiking shoes were caked with mud, her jacket turned out to be water resistant, not waterproof, and the wind picked up, lashing rain into her face and eyes. She kept climbing, trying to follow the omnipresent sound of rushing water, but it seemed to come from all around her. It had been too long since she’d climbed—she was out of shape, but she was damned if she was going to let this weak-ass mountain get the better of her.

But it was getting late, and not even pride would keep her from getting back to Sophie on time. She’d almost given up hope of finding the actual falls when she suddenly came upon a clearing in the dense undergrowth. The heavy torrent of rain had slowed to a sullen mist, and as she moved to the steep bank she pushed the hood off her head. The thunder of the waterfall had been muffled by the jacket, and she moved closer to the steep edge, peering into the dark, foamy water.

The pounding noise would drown out any sound a woman could make. A scream would be swallowed up in the rush of the river, and she shivered, taking a step back. She didn’t want to think about it, think about the poor girl caught in the branches of the Silver River. Old folk songs were slipping around in her head. “I met her on the mountain, there I took her life.” Had Jessica Barrowman met her murderer on this mountain, expecting a lover’s tryst and finding only death? Was that what had happened to Tessa?

What drove men to seduce women only to kill them? What strange, twisted need did that meet? Was it Freudian, reaching back into the womb? Maybe they felt abandoned by their mothers. Or maybe they had gender issues or were acting out their fears. Or maybe, just maybe they were sick fucks who got off on pain and suffering. In the long run she was better off not knowing. She could happily live the rest of her life without ever understanding the inner workings of a killer’s mind. She had no intention of getting any closer to one than reading about it in the newspaper.

Mist was rising, swirling from the water as it sluiced down the hillside, and for a moment she thought she could see something, a ghost, a memory, and she took a step closer, blindly. The earth crumbled beneath her feet, and she was falling, the mud slick beneath her, the water coming up to meet her, and she tried to scream—

The hands on her were rough, yanking her back from the precipice, strong arms around her, and she fought, kicking back until they released her. She went sprawling in the mud, sliding backward until she ended up against a tree, the wind knocked out of her, and all she could think was that she was going to die.

She looked up as she struggled for breath, staring at the dark, hooded figure that loomed over her, his face obscured. He reached down for her, and she tried to say something, tried to scream. It didn’t matter that he’d just saved her—he was going to throw her over into the deadly falls and when his hand caught her arm, she lunged at him, trying to fight him off.

He shoved her, and she fell back onto the muddy ground. Her breath came back with a sudden burning tear at her lungs, and she tried to get up again.

“Don’t make me hit you,” Caleb Middleton’s cool, laconic voice came from beneath the rain hood. “I’m trying to save your goddamned life and I don’t appreciate being attacked for my efforts.”

She managed to get to her feet, ignoring the searing pain in her chest. He stood between her and the falls, and she wondered whether she dared try to rush him again, to tip him over into the deadly water. She’d do anything to stay alive for Sophie’s sake, and she eyed him warily.

“Don’t even think about it,” he said. “You try to shove me over the falls and I’ll take you with me.” He shoved the hood off his head, and he looked annoyed, not deadly. “In case you didn’t notice I just saved your life. You might at least stop looking at me like I’m a monster. Believe it or not, I’m one of the good guys. At least for the moment.”

She was just beginning to breathe naturally, and common sense came back in a rush. Of course he didn’t want to kill her—he had the perfect chance and instead he’d pulled her back. Besides, what possible reason would he have to want to hurt her?

Unless of course he was a serial killer. And in that case, she was a sturdy redhead in her thirties, not a young, willowy blonde, and therefore safe.

“So, have you decided? Do you want to keep sitting in the mud or do you want to go somewhere and get dried off?”

“Where?” She didn’t trust him, but they were at a standstill.

“My place. It’s not far—”

“You live up here?”

“On the rare occasion when I’m in the States, yes. Where else would I live? My brother isn’t about to welcome me with open arms and Stephen Henry and I do best with a polite distance between us. I’d offer you my hand but you’d probably bite it. Get to your feet on your own and you can come and get warm.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“Spoken like a redhead,” he said. “Though, right now you looked more like a drowned kitten than a mother lion. If you try to walk down the mountain in your condition you’re likely to fall and twist your ankle. Even if you kept upright you wouldn’t make it to your daughter’s school by three o’clock, and I’m sure that’s what you had in mind. If you come back to my place and dry off I’ll give you a ride to your car and you’ll be there in time.”

She tried to ignore the sudden ice in the pit of her stomach. “How do you know when my daughter gets out of school?”

“I grew up here, remember? School has always let out at three. And you better move quick—I’m not going to stand out here forever, waiting for you to make up your mind.”

He was right—it was late. As usual, time had gotten away from her. Rachel scrambled to her feet with as much dignity as she could muster, keeping a wary eye on him in case he made any sudden moves.

“I’d appreciate a lift into town,” she said. “I can dry off there.”

“We can argue about it once we’re out of the rain. I don’t suppose you want to hold on to me while we climb down there? It’s a little rough.”

“I’ll follow you,” she said, wary. “If you tell me how you happened to be up here just as I was about to fall into the water.”

“I could say it was fate, but the fact is you’re about as delicate a climber as a grizzly bear, and I could see the bushes moving as you thrashed your way up here. I came out to see who was tearing up the hillside—hell, maybe I’d catch the killer at work. You’re just lucky I was curious, or you might be floating down the stream like an elderly Ophelia.”

“Elderly?” she said, furious.

“Ophelia was around Juliet’s age—fifteen or sixteen. I believe you’re well past that.”

“Fuck you. Maybe I’ll push you into the falls just for the hell of it. Even if you aren’t the serial killer, you’re no great gift to society. My husband would probably thank me.”

“Yes,” he said, amused. “He probably would.” He spread his arms out. “Give it your best shot.”

The last thing she wanted to do was put her hands on him. “I’m not going to bother. Sooner or later some irate husband will blow a hole in you.”

“The only married woman I’m interested in is you.”

She froze. He was looking at her out of those sharp, dark eyes, and illogical as it was, she believed him. She just wasn’t sure why.

The rain had stopped, at least for the moment, and she looked at the path she’d used. If she hurried, she might make it in time, without subjecting herself to any more time in Caleb Middleton’s uncomfortable presence.

But she couldn’t put Sophie at risk. “Stop talking and show me where your car is,” she said, keeping her voice clipped and unemotional.

The faint hint of a smile played at the corner of his mouth. “Yes, ma’am. Follow me.” He disappeared into the woods, and she hesitated. He disturbed her, on every level, and willingly putting herself in his company felt like a very bad idea. The only thing worse was having Sophie get tired of waiting and walk home.

She started after him, pushing past the wet branches, following him down the steep, muddy path. She slid once, landing on her butt, and he glanced back at her but didn’t slow down. She got to her feet once more and hurried on, trying to keep him in sight without getting too close.

Her first image of the house was the bright blue of the tarp covering the half-finished roof. The trees had grown up all around it, and she could see lines and angles, oddly familiar. It was more of a ruin than a half-finished house, and yet she couldn’t rid herself of a feeling that she’d been there before.

“Lovely,” she said in an undertone. “Do you even have a telephone?” Maybe she could call home when she got there, see if David could pick Sophie up. Except then she’d have to explain where she was, and who she was with. That, or lie, and neither of those choices was acceptable. There was nothing wrong with what she was doing—she just didn’t feel like having to explain it to David.

“Of course I do.”

“Where’s your car?” she said when she reached the level ground. She stared up at the house. There was a long series of rickety-looking steps leading up to the front door, and there were two wings spreading out from either side. Eerily like David’s house, which she still couldn’t think of as her own.

He was already halfway up the steps. “Around back. It’s a rental, and I’m not about to let a mud rat in it. Come inside, Rachel. I promise I won’t strangle you.”

She didn’t move. “Don’t you think that’s a little tasteless?”

“I’ve never been troubled by matters of taste, and if my intended victim were a yappy broad like you the first thing I’d do is shut you up. Either come in and clean off or get down the mountain on your own. I’m getting tired of all this.”

“You’re a son of a bitch, aren’t you?”

“Yes.” He kept climbing the stairs, and she had two choices. Make it on her own, and go with him.

He was arrogant, dangerous, rude and much too good-looking for her peace of mind. She liked gentle men like David, not bastards like his brother.

She looked up at the half-finished, prairie-style house, and she had the odd feeling that she was at the point of no return.

She put her foot on the first step and began climbing.

He whistled beneath his breath as he drove into the garage and closed the door behind him. The women of his household were gone—Sophie was at school, Rachel had gone looking for his brother. He’d known she would—women couldn’t keep away from Caleb once he decided to lure them, and he’d been watching Rachel with those dark eyes of his.

David had driven by the parking area at the base of Silver Mountain, just to be sure. Rachel’s Volvo was parked there, the car he’d given her for a wedding present. He couldn’t help it—he chuckled. She was so easy to manipulate, so transparent. His brother would probably have her on her back in record time.

An ordinary man would have been disturbed. Not David. He’d known almost immediately that he’d made a mistake in marrying Rachel. She’d seemed the answer to everything—she calmed him when his needs flared, and he thought she’d be perfect. By the time Sophie reached the right age he might even have moved past his darkest desires. He’d been having a harder time controlling them recently. He’d never felt the need to strike only six months apart. He could keep Rachel as the perfect wife, the perfect cover. And he could watch Sophie grow into the young woman she was meant to be. And when that happened, maybe this strange cycle, that had lasted more than twenty years, would come to an end. Something would happen to Rachel, and he could live out his life with Sophie, serene and brilliant.

In the meantime, Rachel was proving a sore disappointment. He kept hoping he could train her, but she ignored his hints, and he understood human nature well enough to know that she wouldn’t respond well to direct orders. There was nothing he could do about it, except get rid of her in as timely a manner as possible.

But first he had to make absolutely certain that Sophie would be his.

He knew that she wanted him. Her careful way of avoiding him, of never meeting his gaze, of being studiously distant and polite, simply covered the same longing he felt for her. He had to be very delicate about it. She was young and shy, despite what her mother said. Her friend had been easier—older, more self-assured. He could bless Tessa for bringing him to Sophie. This was who he’d been waiting for, the one to make him complete. Not her mother. And it had all been sheer luck. He’d found Tessa, and she’d been perfect for a time, and when he’d finished he should have been able to go back to his normal life.

But he couldn’t keep away from the funeral, and the moment he saw Sophie, he knew she was meant for him.

For a short while he’d hoped he could be like other men. That Rachel would be the answer until Sophie came of age.

But his needs were growing stronger.

He opened the trunk of the car and took a step back, assailed by the stench. Rotting flesh. He should have dumped her weeks ago, but for some reason the chance never came up. He had to admit that a certain part of him enjoyed knowing she was back there, wrapped in a tarp. He liked driving Rachel around, telling her about the bloated deer corpse he’d accidentally run over. She’d believed him, the silly cow. Because she adored him.

He took the cans of air freshener and sprayed them liberally through the trunk. He should have gone up to Costco and bought a case—it was taking forever to get rid of the smell. But then, someone might have noticed, and he was a very careful man.

He closed the trunk again, then opened the back door of the garage to release some of the lingering odor. It was getting close to three o’clock—if she wasn’t back to the car then he’d be able to pick up Sophie. He always liked those moments. She would sit beside him in the car, her hands clasped in her lap, her long legs beneath the school uniform deliberately enticing him. Maybe he’d take her for a drive, talk to her about how depressed her mother had been. He’d explain that Rachel had been hiding it from her daughter, but that she was indeed a deeply troubled woman.

He needed to be careful, though. Sophie was smart as a whip, and devoted to her mother.

There was no hurry. At least, he hoped not. He was making very sure that all his bases were covered, now that Caleb was back in town. And if he was lucky, he could ride this for another few years.

But he wasn’t quite sure if he could tolerate Rachel that long. She seemed to accept his departure from their marriage bed with good grace, and she hadn’t minded when he’d withdrawn more and more.

Maybe she’d behave herself, learn her place, preparing her daughter.

Otherwise, one slip and the falls could take her. And no one would ever know he’d been the one to push.