“What’s that got to do with me? I’ve already told you everything I know about the victim’s tattoos.”

“It’s not just the tattoos I need your help with,” he said. “That room was loaded with symbolism.”

Sarah shrugged. “Anything I could tell you about those symbols you can just as easily find out on the internet.”

“Then be an ear. Let me talk it out. Sometimes that helps as much anything.”

“Why me?” Why not your wife? she wanted to ask him.

Sean smiled. “Because this is what we do, Sarah. I talk, you listen.”

His eyes were so penetrating, she felt herself slipping into a dangerous lethargy, and for a moment, it seemed as if every nerve in her body had gone crazy.

It wasn’t healthy, the effect he still had on her. It wasn’t right that a man like Sean Kelton—a man with the propensity to cause so much pain—should be so attractive and charismatic.

Sarah had known men like him before. Moody, intense, careless. The description probably fit her, too, but she’d always been more of a danger to herself than to anyone else. Not Sean. Sean didn’t disappear from your life without first leaving a mark on your heart.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” she said.

Something flared in his eyes and she could see how hard he had to work to suppress his impatience. “Anything that can help me find the whack-job responsible for slaughtering that woman is a good idea. Nothing else matters.”

“Right. Nothing else matters. Because you live to catch killers, don’t you, Sean?”

“Yes, I do. Is there anything wrong with that?”

“No, it’s admirable. What I don’t understand is why you keep trying to drag me into it. Why don’t you go do your job and leave me out of it? I can’t help you.”

“Sarah.” He took her arm when she would have turned away. “Don’t make this personal. This isn’t about us.”

She pulled her arm from his grasp. “Don’t kid yourself. Everything between us is personal.”

His sigh was heavy. “I know we still have unfinished business, but I’m asking you to put that aside for now. This guy is out there somewhere and for all we know, he already has his next victim in his sights. You know about those symbols. You know about tattoos. You even know about Rorschach inkblots, so you tell me who else I should be talking to about this?” He leaned toward her, his gaze deep and probing. “You can help me find him. You may be the only one who can.”

Even after living with the guy for two years, his intensity could still overwhelm her at times. Sarah had forgotten how unsettling his focus could be, and she tried her best to shake off the feeling of inevitability that his presence always evoked.

“Come on,” he coaxed. “Let’s just go down the street and have a cup of coffee. That’s all I’m asking.”

She stared at the flash on the walls for a moment, then let out a slow breath. “All right. But I can’t stay long. I have a client coming in at five.”

“Plenty of time,” he said with a smile. “Grab a coat. It’s warmed up outside, but the wind off the river’s still plenty chilly.”

* * *

Sarah and her partner’s studio was located on Decatur, not far from the French Market, but they bypassed Café Du Monde for a smaller, quieter coffeehouse a few blocks away. She buttoned her coat as they walked along. The sky was blue and cloudless, and the weak touch of sunlight in her hair made her long for summer.

There wasn’t much foot traffic on the street. The ice storm had kept most of the out-of-towners away, but by the weekend, if the temperature kept rising, the tourists would come back, perhaps not in droves, but enough to make life interesting again.

They walked side by side, hands in coat pockets, and Sarah couldn’t help noticing how careful Sean was not to brush against her, even when they had to move aside for the occasional pedestrian. She understood why. He was a married man now and appearing too chummy in public with an ex-lover wouldn’t be particularly helpful to his career or his marriage.

She knew she shouldn’t be bothered by his caution or his distance. She told herself it was understandable and all for the best. But as they entered the coffee shop and she caught him casting a wary eye around the booths and tables, as if to make certain the patrons were all strangers, she felt the weight of regret settle in the deepest part of her heart. Regret...and a fair amount of resentment.

She’d spent two years of her life on a man who’d walked out on her without a backward glance. She wasn’t going to kid herself about it, either. The only reason he was here now was because he wanted something from her. Needed something he felt he couldn’t get anywhere else.

Ever since he’d moved out, a part of Sarah had been living in denial, nurturing a tiny hope that, in spite of his hasty marriage—or even because of it—he would someday wake up and realize they were meant to be together.

That hope was gone now, and as she slid into the booth across from him, she felt herself slip almost seamlessly from denial into anger—as much at her own stupidity as at anything Sean had done to her.

“You okay?”

She gave him a hard glance that seemed to take him aback for a moment. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“I don’t know. You seem—”

“What?”

He shrugged. “Tired, I guess.”

“Which is code for ‘I look like shit,’ right?”

“I didn’t say that.” His gaze moved over her face, searching for something he couldn’t seem to find. Sarah took some satisfaction in knowing that her refusal to play the role in which he’d tried to cast her had left him bewildered. “You didn’t get much sleep last night and that’s my fault.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’m used to getting by on very little. Besides, I’m sure you were up all night yourself.”

“You know me. I run on caffeine and adrenaline. We’ve always had that in common.”

Which explained why their relationship had been so volatile at times. They were both wired too tight. Neither of them was the type to unwind with a glass of wine in front of the television, because for people like them, relaxation came at too high a price. You had to let down your guard for that.

The waitress came over, and Sean ordered coffee while Sarah asked for hot tea. When the cup was in front of her, she concentrated on the tea bag so that she could avoid Sean’s gaze.

“There’s something I’d like to ask you,” she finally said.

“What is it?”

She looked up, expecting to find his eyes on her, but instead he was staring out the window, his mind seemingly a million miles away.

He barely knows I’m even here, Sarah thought. She could have been anybody.

“What does Catherine think of your tattoo?”

That caught his attention. His expression turned wary and anxious, like a soldier confronted by a potential minefield he knew he had to somehow navigate. “She doesn’t like it much.”

“Does she know what it means?”

“She knows it’s an infinity symbol over my heart. So, yeah, I’d say she’s probably worked it out. But if you’re asking whether she knows what it meant to us...why I got it...no, I’ve never talked about it. That’s just between you and me.” His gaze burned into Sarah’s until she had to look away.

“Well, I guess whatever it once meant really doesn’t matter anymore, does it?”

“It matters,” he murmured.

Sarah glanced away. It was all well and good to tell herself she’d finally accepted their breakup, that she could now even admit that it was all for the best. But when Sean looked at her as if she were the only woman in the world, when he made her remember the good times—and there had been quite a few—moving on wasn’t so easy.

A man came into the shop and the frosty air that followed him in chilled Sarah. She thought about putting her coat back on, not so much to ward off the cold, but because she wanted to use it as another layer of armor between her and Sean.

“I don’t know why I even asked,” she muttered. “That’s not why we’re here, is it? You want me to help you find a killer. Should I be flattered that you think I have some sort of insight into a psychopath?”

He smiled. “Well, we all have our talents.”

He was trying to use humor to defuse the tension, but he’d sadly misjudged Sarah’s mood. All he’d done was piss her off even more. “And we both know what your talents are, don’t we, Sean?”

“Do we?” He sounded amused.

“You’re a master at avoiding confrontations. Leaving me a note when you moved out. Sending Danny around to tell me that you’d gotten married. I think the term I’m searching for here is emotional coward.”

His smiled vanished and he gave her a cynical look. “That’s pretty harsh coming from the queen of denial.”

“Go to hell.”

Her retort was punctuated by his angry silence. “Feel better?”

“No,” she said bitterly. “Not even close.”

He sat back against the booth and watched her. “Then by all means, continue. Let’s get this over with.”

“That’s all this is to you, isn’t it? A nuisance. An inconvenience. Something to be dealt with so we can move on to your agenda. I don’t know why I never noticed before.”

“What?”

“How easily you can switch gears. The looks, the smiles, even that poignant little revelation about your tattoo. It matters,” she said in a mocking tone. “It’s all very calculated, isn’t it? But once in a while, the real you slips in. Like now.”

He shook his head. “You’ve lost me. But if you want me to admit that I handled things badly when we split up, then fine. Yes, I did. I went about it in just about the worst possible way. Sending Danny to tell you about my marriage...that was a shitty thing to do and I’ve regretted it ever since. But believe it or not, at the time, I thought it would be easier coming from him.”

“Oh, I’m sure it was easier—for you.” She folded her arms on the table.

“I thought it would be easier for you, too. In case you haven’t noticed, you and I have a hard time even being in the same room together.”

“Luckily, that’s not something we have to worry about anymore. Or it wouldn’t be, if you’d just leave me alone.”

“I didn’t have to twist your arm to get you to come here.”

The smug note in his voice made her want to slap him.

“That’s a lapse in judgment I can easily fix.” She picked up her coat.

“Sarah, wait.”

He put his hand over hers, and his fingers were warm and strong and reassuring. An unexpected gentleness that jolted Sarah to her very core. She wanted to cling to his hand, draw his fingers to her lips, hold on to his warmth for as long as she could. The intensity of her longing both shamed and repulsed her, and she snatched her hand away.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Please don’t go.”

She drew a breath.

“Look, I realize under the circumstances this is asking a lot. I don’t have any right to expect your help.” He glanced down at his coffee, frowning, as if he didn’t quite know how they’d gotten to this point. “But it’s like I said earlier. This isn’t about us. It’s about finding this guy before he kills someone else.”

“How can you be so sure that he will? You’ve only found one body.”

“Call it instinct. Hell, call it paranoia, but I have a very bad feeling about this one. What he did to that woman wasn’t rage or passion. It was a compulsion.”

“And you think I can somehow help you figure out what it is that’s driving him? I’m a tattoo artist, Sean, not a psychic.”

“But you also know about the occult. I remember all those books you had lying around the house. Some of them unnerved the shit out of me.”

She glanced up. “Really? You never said anything.”

“What was I supposed to say?” His fingers drummed an impatient staccato on the tabletop. “He’s into that stuff, too, only he’s twisted it somehow. I can’t explain it, but I know this guy is deeply fucked-up in the head. And I know he’s not finished.”

His words filled Sarah with the kind of dread usually reserved for her nightmares. She suddenly remembered the feeling she’d had standing on her frozen porch the night before, watching the snow. She’d had the distinct impression that her dream had somehow unleashed Ashe Cain. And that he might be coming for her again.