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Chapter One

It was hot as only New Orleans could be

Hotter than a cat on a tin roof

Hotter than the Cajun cooking her mother used to make

Hotter than hell

And she was burning up, fury and sorrow eating her from the inside out

More than ready for the day from hell to be over, Genevieve Delacroix slammed out of the precinct on the fly, then cursed as she plowed straight into the sticky heat the city was known for It rose up to

Pausing to catch her breath, she stared blindly at the planters full of cheerful posies that lined the front of the precinct Her partner, Shawn, had picked a hell of a time to take a vacation—in the middle of the busiest week ho four homicide scenes in as many days, it was a miracle she could still put one foot in front of the other

Today, she’d awakened to a ringing phone, news of a brutal, sex-related ho she’d heard as she surfaced from a sleep so deep it was almost like death itself Yesterday it had been a murder-suicide Two days before that, a domestic dispute turned deadly

Not to otten earlier that afternoon proht—that the caller would be seeing her very soon As the only feot her fair share of calls fro unusual—but it still put her back up, as they all did

Sighing, she rubbed a weary hand over her eyes This week, the Big Easy was anything but

Taking the precinct steps two at a tilanced around the French Quarter, where she’d worked and lived for most of her life

Tonight she could see none of the beauty the Quarter was known for The architecture, the colors, the history—it all faded beside the sickness she’d witnessed thatline of fked-up and twisted crimes that ate away at the city’s population like a cancer

Her argu legs ate up Royal Street’s narrow sidewalks

Not enough similarities in the causes of death in the murders

Not enough similarities in the three victims

Not enough evidence, in her boss’s not-so-humble opinion

But in the eleven years she’d been on the force, Genevieve’s gut had never been wrong, and right now her instincts were screa—the brutal rape and murder of a nineteen-year-old Tulane student—wasn’t a freak event A serial killer was at large

True, the causes of death in all three murders had been different, as had the body dumps—Jackson Square, a bar called Lafitte’s Blacksmith Shop, Senator Mouline’s house—but the feel of the scenes had felt too sie the killer had been in when he’d inflicted the wounds had been the same, as had the desperate need to cause as much pain and humiliation to his victims as possible

Without knohere she was going, Genevieve made a quick left on St Peter She knew only that that she couldn’t face going ho the whole damn day over and over in her head until she wanted to scream—or sob

The ie of Jessica Robbins’s body was in front of her eyes, the atrocities done to her burned into Genevieve’s brain by the hours and hours she’d spent working the case By the helpless anger she felt at not being able to stop the crime

By the failure she was already anticipating

If this was the work of a serial killer—and her experience and instincts shouted that it was—then he was daood at his job Maybe the best she’d ever run across And she’d needsotistical boss if she was going to catch the bastard

Sickness churned in her stos weak Chastian couldn’t be allowed to sweep this under the rug, like he did so many of the other ideas she went to him with He couldn’t be allowed to discount her ideas just because she was a wo in homicide She kne to do her job, and would be da to let his sexist bullshit stand in the way of her doing what she kneas right

A couple of frat boys cruised by, jostling her, and Genevieve nearly juht enough to break

“Hey, baby, let me buy you a drink” One of them leered at her, his vacant eyes testiht

“I think you’ve had enough” She started to move away from him

“A, come on, darlin’, don’t be like that” The second one blocked her way, and Genevieve sighed as she saw her day going fro in the blink of an eye

“Guys, you’re already drunk off your asses and it’s only”—she glanced at her watch—“seven thirty Why don’t you head back uptown and sleep it off?”

“Is that an invitation?” the first one asked, leaning in so close that she could al back

“Not the kind you’re looking for” Straightening up, she shoved past them “Now scram”

With , they did, and Genevieve started to walk away But now the idea of a drink had begun to sound entirely too good to pass up Maybe a hurricane—or three—would help get Jessica out of her head

Shouldering around the crush of tourists standing in front of Pat O’s, she slunk into the much less raucous bar a few doors down If she couldn’t force the memories out of her head, ht

Cole Adams slid onto the barstool next to the blond bombshell with more curves than a baseball and wondered how to start up the conversation he was dying to have

Should he open with the truth? He wasn’t sure hoell this beautiful wo her for months That he’d followed her fro around outside the precinct, waiting for her to come out for nearly an hour