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  And that, he knew, was one of the reasons for his initial reluctance about using her on this case.

  But he wasn’t proud of the way he’d acted with her. He didn’t want to be like some of the cops he’d known in Boston—or like Chief Redfern, for that matter—who were willing to jeopardize investigations because of their petty squabbles and insufferable egos. A young woman was dead, and the killer was still out there somewhere. Cullen would do whatever it took to stop that maniac before he could kill again, and if his own pride got stepped on in the process, then so be it.

  He located the classroom where Elizabeth was conducting a lecture, and he slipped in quietly so as not to create a stir. Only a few students seated at the back turned to stare at him, and they probably hadn’t been paying attention in the first place, he decided.

  Elizabeth stood at the front of the classroom, her back to him as she scribbled something on the blackboard. She continued to talk as she wrote. “…relationship between mental illness and criminality, and the implications that psychiatric labeling of deviant behavior has on the criminal offender, both in and out of the courts—”

  She turned then and saw him. Her expression froze. Her body went rigid for just a moment as their gazes clung, and something electric leaped between them.

  Then she regained her composure and nodded briefly before continuing her lecture. She was in her element in the classroom. She seemed small, but perfectly capable. Utterly fearless, and Cullen wondered suddenly why he’d ever felt the need to come to her defense.

  He tried to concentrate on what she was saying. Evidently the topic was abnormal behavior and criminality, but he found his mind and his gaze wandering. He couldn’t stop looking at her. He couldn’t stop thinking about the other night at her cottage when she’d bent to pour the tea, how her breasts—firm and small and incredibly tempting—had been exposed by the cut of her gown. Before that night, he’d never seen Elizabeth wear anything remotely revealing. He’d never considered her as anything but mildly attractive. Certainly not sexy. Certainly not ravishing.

  But that costume had inspired all kinds of fantasies. If he’d gone to bed that night, Cullen was sure he would have dreamed about that dress. About slowly sliding it down her body, until more than just a tantalizing bit of cleavage was exposed….

  The room was warm, and he realized suddenly that he was sweating beneath his coat.

  When class was finally dismissed, the students pushed past him on their way to the hall. Some of them bumped up against him on purpose while their friends giggled and encouraged them. One slipped a note in his hand, and he glanced down to see a phone number and a smiley face sketched on pink paper. When he looked back up, a shapely blonde winked at him from the doorway.

  Heathrow, with its all-girl student body, was a frat boy’s wildest dream come true. But even though the girls weren’t that much younger than Cullen, certainly not jailbait, he wasn’t the least bit interested in any of them. He told himself it was because he had too much on his mind, but when he glanced up and saw Elizabeth waiting for him at the front of the classroom, he realized with a sinking sensation why none of the young women appealed to him.

  They weren’t Elizabeth.

  You can’t let this happen, a little voice warned him as he approached her warily.

  What did he have to offer a woman like her?

  “Hello.” Her smile was tentative, shy. Very appealing.

  Too bad she didn’t still wear braces, Cullen thought. Too bad she wasn’t still scrawny and annoying. Well, she could still be annoying. But she sure as hell wasn’t scrawny, he noted, his gaze traveling over her.

  She was dressed in gray wool slacks and a matching sweater that were not at all suggestive, and yet Cullen couldn’t help noticing the way the fabric clung to her gentle curves. The way her hair, pulled back in a bun, highlighted her smooth complexion. The way her hazel eyes glinted with intelligence.

  “What are you doing here?” she asked.

  He cleared his throat. “I came by to see Fortier.”

  Her brows lifted. “Did you talk to him? What did you find out? What did he tell you?”

  Cullen held up a hand. “Whoa. Slow down. No need to get so excited.” He saw her blush a little and thought how unusual in this day and age to see a woman so easily embarrassed. How different she was from the women he’d dated in Boston. She wore no makeup, but there was a natural glow to her complexion. A natural sparkle in her eyes even under such sobering conditions.

  “Fortier didn’t add anything that you hadn’t already told me,” he said. “He even sort of backtracked on the cult thing. Said he couldn’t swear it had been Bethany he’d heard some of the girls talking about.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  Cullen shrugged. “He’s hard to read. I’d swear he’s hiding something, but a lot of people get nervous and evasive when they talk to a cop.” He paused. “I actually stopped by for another reason. The preliminary autopsy report is in. I thought you might be interested in the results. We were right about that incision. Cause of death was exsanguination. The body was severely drained of blood.”

  Elizabeth shuddered. “What about the needle marks on her arm?”

  “The toxicology screen was clean, so it’s not likely she was shooting up. Nor was she injected involuntarily.” Cullen paused, not anxious to get into the more grisly aspects of the report. “According to the medical examiner, the incision was made on the superior border of the sternoclavicular notch, exposing the carotid artery. He thinks a large needle may have been inserted into the artery and was probably joined to a length of tubing connected to a pump. Evidently, it’s a procedure very common in embalming, where fluid is pumped in and the blood is flushed out. The whole procedure wouldn’t have taken long. While she remained alive, the victim’s heart would have helped speed the process.”

  Cullen saw the horror dawn in Elizabeth’s eyes, and he wished suddenly that he hadn’t brought her this news. He needed her help, but it didn’t seem right dragging her into something this gruesome.

  “My God, Cullen,” she said in a hushed tone. “Why would someone take that much blood from her? And what about the needle marks? Did he try to draw blood from her veins first? Did he try to keep her alive while he—” She broke off, her eyes closing briefly. “What are we dealing with here?”

  “A killer,” he said. “A pretty damn sick one.”

  But Elizabeth had already turned away from him and was pacing back and forth in front of the blackboard. She stopped suddenly and glanced up. “What about Ned Krauter? He would know about this procedure.”

  “So would every other undertaker in the county. And every doctor, for that matter. Any hospital or laboratory, as well as funeral homes, would probably have the necessary equipment.”

  Elizabeth nodded. “You’re right. They’d also have the facilities to dispose of the evidence. Still, it is a medical procedure. That could narrow the field.” She paused. “I keep thinking about those murders twenty years ago. Do you remember much about them?”

  Cullen shrugged. “Not really. I was just a kid at the time.”

  “I wasn’t even born when the first killing took place,” Elizabeth said. “It was Kat Ridgemont’s mother. At least, it was assumed she was the first victim. But cause of death was always a bit sketchy. The police refused to release certain details to the public for obvious reasons, one undoubtedly being they were afraid of a copycat killer.” She glanced up at Cullen. “Something tells me you need to get a look at those old case files. Do you think they’re still around?”

  “In the archives, probably. Or in the cold-case file. Let’s go take a look.”

  “Really?” She sounded surprised. “You want me to come with you?”

  “It was your idea.”

  “I know, but…” She hesitated, looking suddenly very young and unsure of herself. “I keep thinking you’ll change your mind. You won’t want my help.”

  He gazed down at her, feeling emotions he had
no business feeling. “I came here today, didn’t I?”

  She swallowed. “Yes, I guess you did at that. Does Chief Redfern know you’re consulting with me on this case?”

  Cullen’s expression hardened. “I don’t really give a damn what he knows. I’m not about to let what happened here twenty years ago happen again.”

  “Even if it means you have to collaborate with me?” she asked him shyly.

  “Even if it means I have to collaborate with the devil himself.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that,” she said in a completely serious voice.

  ELIZABETH STUDIED Cullen’s profile as they drove toward the police station. She still couldn’t believe he’d changed his mind about using her in the investigation, but she understood his reasoning. He was willing to do whatever was necessary to solve this case, even consult with her.

  But a secret part of Elizabeth still held out hope that it was more than just her expertise he sought. She wanted to believe that he trusted her. Respected her. That he might even be looking for a reason to spend more time with her.

  Then again, maybe he wasn’t, she thought as she contemplated his grim expression. Maybe all that was on his mind was finding a killer, and that’s what she should be concentrating on, too.

  He turned suddenly, catching her gaze, and her heart tilted inside her. There it was again, that flutter of awareness, that tingly thrill that coursed through her body every time Cullen looked her way. Every time he came near her. If this was a schoolgirl crush, she showed no signs of outgrowing it.

  His gray eyes, brooding and sexy, watched her for a moment before he turned his gaze back to the road. “When did Fortier first come to Heathrow?”

  “A few years ago.”

  “Can you be more specific?”

  “Well, let’s see.” Elizabeth thought for a moment. “He came at the beginning of my first full-time semester, so it must have been five years ago.”

  Cullen glanced at her. “Just before Claire Cavendish was abducted.”

  “Yes, as a matter of fact.”

  “Do you happen to know if she was in any of his classes?”

  “I’m pretty sure she was. I remember the girls talking about him. Kat, Brie, Tasha and Claire. They were all freshmen that year, and technically I was, too. It was my first year on campus, but I already had enough credits to take senior-level classes, so I didn’t have Fortier. I was only fifteen at the time, and pretty naive. I may have misconstrued some of the innuendo, but I think he may have hit on one of them.”

  “Claire?”

  “I don’t know. I suppose I could ask Brie and Kat if they remember.” Although she rarely spoke to her old friends these days. Not that they’d had a falling out or anything. They’d all just drifted apart. She’d heard Brie had started back at school, but Elizabeth never saw her.

  “What about Professor LeCroix?”

  Was it her imagination, or had Cullen’s tone changed slightly? She gave him a sidelong glance. “What about Lucian?”

  The corners of his mouth tightened. “It’s Lucian, is it?”

  “He is my colleague.”

  “So is Fortier, but I don’t hear you call him by his first name.”

  Elizabeth shrugged. “I’ve never liked Dr. Fortier.”

  “But you do like LeCroix?”

  “I don’t know him well enough yet to make that determination, but he’s interesting. And charming.” And if Elizabeth didn’t know better, she’d swear Cullen was displaying subtle signs of jealousy, but that was probably hoping for too much.

  He glanced at her, his gaze cool and appraising. “Has it occurred to you yet that you discovered Bethany’s body on the day Lucian LeCroix arrived in town?”

  Elizabeth stared at him in surprise. “You’re not suggesting he had something to do with her death, are you? Bethany died days earlier before I found her.”

  “We don’t know for sure when she died. The M.E. was unable to make that determination.”

  “But…we have a pretty good idea, judging by the condition of the body. And besides, Lucian didn’t even know her.”

  “That’s a fairly broad assumption, Elizabeth. You can’t know that, either.”

  “But you said yourself, he arrived in town on the day her body was found. If she died days earlier—”

  “What makes you think they didn’t know each other from somewhere else? Boston, maybe.”

  “Was Bethany from Boston?”

  “As a matter of fact, she was.”

  Elizabeth folded her arms in an unconsciously defensive gesture. “But that doesn’t mean they knew each other.”

  “It doesn’t mean they didn’t, either. Bethany was from a wealthy family, and so is LeCroix, from what I’ve been able to gather. Who’s to say they didn’t know each other? Who’s to say they weren’t involved?”

  “I don’t think they were,” Elizabeth insisted.

  Cullen gave her a frowning glance. “Why not?”

  “Because he was involved with a married woman before he accepted the job at Heathrow. That’s why he came here. He left a tenured position at a prestigious university because this woman, whoever she is, decided to stay with her husband.”

  “What a noble guy,” Cullen muttered. “LeCroix told you all this?”

  “Most of it. Some of it I heard through the faculty grapevine. Evidently, Lucian’s mentor and Dr. Barloft, the president of Heathrow, are old childhood friends. That’s how Lucian knew about the position here.” She paused, her gaze on Cullen. “Why are you so suspicious of him? He hardly fits the profile of our killer.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Because he doesn’t have a medical background.”

  “How do you know he wasn’t a premed student before he changed his major?”

  She glanced at him sharply. “Do you know something about him I don’t?”

  “No,” Cullen admitted. “There’s just something about that guy…” He scowled at the road.

  “What?”

  “I don’t know.” He lifted his hand from the steering wheel to massage the back of his neck. “He’s a little too smooth, if you ask me. A little too perfect.”

  “He’s very handsome,” Elizabeth commented, eyeing Cullen carefully.

  “If you like that type.”

  “I imagine a lot of women do.”

  Cullen said something under his breath as he whipped the car into a parking space in front of the police station, something Elizabeth was quite certain she wasn’t meant to hear.

  He killed the engine and turned, his expression closed, his gaze shuttered. “Be careful with that guy, Elizabeth.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve seen his type before. He’s a real player. And a girl like you—”

  She cut him off with an icy glare. “A girl like me, what?”

  “You could get in over your head, that’s all.”

  Anger washed over her, and she turned toward the door, reaching for the handle. “Thanks for the warning, but I can take care of myself these days. In case you hadn’t noticed, I’m all grown-up now.”

  “Oh, I noticed,” he said grimly. “I noticed all right.”

  IT WAS LATE by the time they decided to call it a night. They’d searched through the archives for hours, but they hadn’t been able to locate any of the case files from the murders twenty years ago. The archives had been moved several years ago into a new building after the old facility had been damaged by fire. Elizabeth supposed it was possible the files had either been destroyed or lost, but it seemed odd no one had noticed they were missing until now.

  She tried to remember everything she’d heard about the murders, but the only thing that stood out in her mind was the suspect. David Bryson. In the ensuing years, he’d become a wealthy man. Now he had enough money to protect himself from a police investigation, Elizabeth thought. To hide away in his fortress until the smoke cleared.

  As they drove back toward Heathrow, Elizabeth laid her head
against the seat and thought about the recent murder. About the lack of evidence and the lack of suspects. What they needed, she thought wearily, was a break in this case, and soon. Before the killer struck again.

  The night was very dark, with heavy cloud coverage blocking the moon, and a pea-soup fog that had rolled in from the sea. Cullen drove cautiously, his frowning gaze on the road. He didn’t speak. He appeared so deep in thought that Elizabeth wondered if he’d forgotten her presence entirely.

  She turned her head on the seat, studying his features in the dash lights. His jaw was firmly set, his mouth thin, his eyes slightly narrowed as he watched the road. There’d always been something about him that girls were riveted to, even when he’d been considered a bad boy. And in truth, that had probably been part of his appeal. But now, even wearing a badge, even on the right side of the law, he was still very attractive. Maybe not as smooth and polished as Lucian LeCroix, but the rough edges and a faintly sinister past only emphasized his masculinity and made Elizabeth all the more drawn to him.

  She thought about what she knew of his childhood. His mother had left the family when Cullen was only five or six, and he’d been raised by a father who’d spent long months at sea. Elizabeth had no idea who’d taken care of Cullen during his father’s absences, but she had a feeling he’d pretty much been left to his own devices.

  She supposed they had that in common, although she doubted Cullen would see it that way. She’d been brought up in the lap of luxury. She’d grown up in a beautiful home, raised by a nanny with impeccable credentials. No expense had been spared when it came to Elizabeth’s physical well being and to her education. And yet the thing she remembered most about her childhood was the loneliness. The hours spent by herself, waiting…just waiting….

  Had Cullen experienced that, too? That aching feeling in the pit of his stomach, that terrible suspicion that no one cared much whether he lived or died?

  He turned suddenly and caught her watching him. “What?”

  “What, what?”

  He smiled. “I think we’ve had this conversation before. Why are you staring at me like that?”