Scene of the Crime Deadman's Bluff - By Carla Cassidy Page 0,33

were at the top of the suspect list and had been since the moment Tamara had been found.

Whoever the perp was, it was obvious, at least at this point in the investigation, that the only connection between the victims was the dark color of their hair, which probably meant he was playing out some sort of rage against a dark-haired woman who had negatively impacted his life.

It could be a mother, a sister or an ex-girlfriend. It could be a childhood friend or a woman who’d snubbed him in a way he found offensive. There was just no way of knowing at this point in the investigation.

He closed his eyes and tried to stay focused on the crimes, but his mind filled with the way Tamara’s eyes had sparkled in the dim light of the restaurant, of how easy and natural it had felt for the two of them to be out dining together.

It felt easy whenever they were together. Despite the fact that she had few memories of her past, they never ran out of conversation and he felt as if he could tell her almost anything and it would be all right.

Was that the way it had been with Linda and Mark when they’d first met? Had they felt a leap in their pulse each time they saw each other? Had they wondered what the other was thinking, feeling when they weren’t together?

How could a couple who had appeared so in love when they’d wedded come to hate each other so much in the ten years of their marriage?

Seth had seen too many divorces in his lifetime to believe that there was such a thing as lasting love. In any case, even if he did change his mind, Tamara was the wrong woman at the wrong time.

He drifted off to sleep and dreamed of the dunes. They rose up in a moonlight setting like an alien world he didn’t know. He wasn’t on his dirt bike but rather was walking.

Ahead he saw Tamara lying in the sand while a dark figure shoveled sand over her prone body.

She yelled his name, her voice filled with terror and he tried to run faster but the earth beneath him was suddenly like quicksand, sucking him down with each step.

He jerked awake, heart pounding with adrenaline, assuming it had been his own cry of fearful frustration that had pulled him from the nightmare.

Then Tamara screamed.

Seth grabbed his gun and raced down the hallway. He opened her door and flipped the light at the same time. He took in the scene in an instant...the missing screen, the opened window and Tamara in the bed.

“At the window,” Tamara managed to stutter. She clutched the sheet up tightly around her neck, as if the cotton was some magical material that could protect her from harm.

“Go to the living room,” he said curtly and then turned and bumped into Linda in the hallway. “Get her to the living room and stay there.”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but stalked toward the front door, hoping he wasn’t too late to find whoever had attempted to get into Tamara’s bedroom.

The night air was warm and humid, the grass beneath his bare feet damp with dew. He headed toward the back of the house instinctively knowing the perp would have run back that way rather than toward the street where there was more light.

Linda’s backyard wasn’t fenced, nor were her neighbors’, giving Seth a half a dozen options for pursuit. He jogged to the edge of the property and then stopped, listening to see if he heard the sound of running feet, sensed a presence hiding nearby.

Nothing.

As he gazed in all directions with narrowed eyes he figured the perp was long gone, having made tracks when Tamara had screamed.

God, that scream, coupled with his nightmare, still had the hairs on the back of his neck standing on end. He stood as still as a statue for several long minutes, then believing the danger passed, he walked back to the window to check out the damage. He stayed far enough away that he wouldn’t be contaminating any evidence.

The screen was on the ground and the window was wide open. If Tamara had slept another minute longer the person would have been in the room and on top of her. It would have been easy for her to be overwhelmed, perhaps drugged and then dragged out the window and into the night.

Dammit. He cursed himself soundlessly. He’d been so stupid. With