Meryl Sawyer - Death's Door

She didn’t believe it, but the intensity in his eyes told her that he was dead serious. Madison liked to think she could take care of herself, and she could, but something cracked inside her. Knowing Paul cared appealed to her softer feminine side—the side she liked to deny having.

His expression darkened with an unreadable emotion. “So much is going on, a perfect storm of events, and you’re at the center. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

His look was so galvanizing it sent a tremor through her. The concern reflected in his eyes became smoldering desire. She was gathered against a warm, rock-solid body and he covered her mouth with his. He kissed her urgently, hungrily, as if he couldn’t get enough of her. She eased her arms around his shoulders and returned the kiss.

In a heartbeat her blood thickened to warm honey. Kissing him was even better than she’d imagined….

“Sawyer’s gift for building great and believable characters makes the danger they face all the more intense. Outstanding!”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Kiss of Death (4 1/2 stars, Top Pick)

“Sawyer spins a tale to captivate and entertain.…Wonderfully crafty and extremely entertaining.”

—Romance Reader’s Connection on Half Past Dead

“Nail-biting suspense punctuates this thrilling romantic adventure. The name Meryl Sawyer is synonymous with exceptional romantic suspense.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Better Off Dead

“A riveting work of romantic suspense…near perfection.”

—Publishers Weekly on Tempting Fate

“Meryl Sawyer has become a brand name known for taut, sexy and very intriguing romantic suspense.”

—Romantic Times BOOKreviews on Closer Than She Thinks

“A page-turner…glamour, romance and adventure on a grand scale.”

—Publishers Weekly on Promise Me Anything

“Count on Meryl Sawyer to deliver a fast-paced thriller filled with sizzling romance.”

—New York Times bestselling author Jill Marie Landis

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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This book is dedicated to Dave Wells

and to my close friends, Pamela and Ricki.

Where would I be without your friendship?

A special thank-you also

to the real Keith Brooks Smith

for his humor and his inspiration.

The best way to love anything is as if it might be lost.

—G. K. Chesterton

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

CHAPTER THIRTY

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

EPILOGUE

“THERE’LL NEVER BE another you.”

The killer’s words were spoken softly, almost lost in the darkness. The dead were lucky. Death stopped time and their mistakes were ended. They were forever young and unchanged in the minds of those left behind. They were immortalized. Especially beauties like the woman slumped across the floor nearby.

What might she have become?

That unfulfilled promise would be seared into the memories of her loved ones. So young. So sad. So tragic.

So necessary.

Death meant life everlasting. Didn’t it?

“Don’t look at her body. Don’t allow this to become personal,” whispered the killer.

Death divides time like nothing else. Closing doors irreversibly. Before and after. No doubt her family, friends, a lover—if she had one—would always say her name accompanied by those words. Never, ever would “before” return.

Silent as a shadow, the killer moved toward the door, unable to resist a quick look back. Inhaling deeply, the killer absorbed the sweet perfume of death.

Take it in. Make it last until the next time.

This murder had been much harder and messier than the others, but in a way the difficulty of the task—the challenge—made the kill more satisfying. Life did not go smoothly. Why should death?

Had the dead woman seen this coming? the killer wondered. People believed terrible things happened to others—not them. Still, humans did retain remnants of their ancestors’ primitive instincts. Fear—first among those vestiges of survival. She must have sensed…something.

THIRTY-SEVEN MINUTES earlier, at almost three in the morning, the victim had driven up the short, narrow driveway. Her front porch light must have burned out. She had turned it on before leaving, hadn’t she?

It was difficult to remember just what she’d done when she’d raced out of the house to meet the others. She’d been too keyed up to pay much attention to anything but what she had been instructed to wear. A black stocking cap to go with her black pants and T-shirt and black soft-soled shoes. They promised to provide the night-vision goggles and latex gloves.

She idled in the driveway, gazing at the burned-out light, and almost put the car in Park before remembering she’d had the garage door opener replaced last week. Thank heavens. She didn’t know if she had the strength left to hoist the heavy old door. The job tonight had been much more physical than anything they’d attempted in the past. Her body was in great shape, but working so strenuously against the clock consumed more energy than she’d imagined.

She pressed the remote control and the garage door creaked upward. “We’re home, big guy,” she told the dog on the seat beside her.

The retriever cocked his head slightly as if he understood every word. She gave him a quick pat as the Toyota rolled into the garage. His golden fur was matted and he smelled as if he needed a bath. Not your show-quality golden retriever, but he was precious just the same.

“Home sweet home,” she said to the dog when she stepped out of the small car and held her door open for him. The retriever hesitated, again tilting his head toward her as if expecting another command. “Here, boy. Come on.”

The dog lumbered across the driver’s seat, sniffed the humid air, then cautiously lowered himself to the garage floor. The single-car garage dated back to the twenties and had a dank, musty smell. The heat of the day was still trapped inside, making it like breathing through wet wool.