Another woman had died last night.Another one the killer had gotten away with.Was Jean-Paul blaming himself? Beating his head against the wall wondering who might be next?Hating her for letting him believe that she had been on the streets the night before?She had almost picked up the phone a dozen times to call him and confess the truth. A longing to be part of a big happy family like Jean-Paul’s had made her ache all night. Then another longing—one to comfort him.But pride and fear had kept her home alone. Better not to open her heart and take the chance on him breaking it. Besides, it was best for him. How would it look for a hero cop to hook up with a girl who’d grown up on the streets?Especially one who’d taken a man’s life.No, her only involvement with Jean-Paul pertained to the case.But the feel of his touch, his lips, still lingered like a phantom lover, and she feared it might already be too late for her, that she was falling desperately in love with him.Regardless of her personal feelings or needs, she had to help him stop this killer.Had he sent her a picture this time?
