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thrive grew stronger. She had to keep Viola at bay. Because Viola liked to steal her nights and days, just as Skid had done for years.
    Just a few months ago, she had finally killed Skid. She refused to let another personality dominate her.
    She glanced at the bulletin board on her wall, at the article Brenda Banks had written about the Commander. Brenda had portrayed him as a cruel, depraved man who’d preyed on innocents.
    Amelia intended to show the world that he hadn’t destroyed her, that she wasn’t the nutcase everyone thought.
    That she would survive, in spite of what Arthur Blackwood had done to her.

Chapter 4

    N ick checked the dead man’s eyes and saw definite signs of petechial hemorrhaging. The acrid odor of body wastes and death permeated the room, but he’d have to wait on the ME to establish time of death.
    He glanced around the motel room, searching for clues to the killer’s identity. A tacky orange flower-print bedspread on the floor. A dusty, ancient TV. A cheap painting of a grizzly bear on the wall. A bathroom with a rusting toilet and cracked tile flooring that needed cleaning badly.
    No personal items. No toiletries left behind.
    “Did you touch anything, Brenda?”
    “No.” Brenda fidgeted. “Well, nothing except the doorknob.”
    “Was the room locked when you arrived?”
    The color was finally returning to her face. “No. I considered going to the manager for a key, but figured since I received the text that the door was probably unlocked.”
    Nick nodded. “Go on.”
    “I scanned the perimeter outside, just in case I was walking into a trap. A pickup truck and an RV sat in the parking lot, but the lights were off in all the rooms, including this one.”
    “So you did touch the lamp?”
    “Yes, the light by the door didn’t work,” Brenda said. “The stench hit me, and I…had to see what had happened.”
    “Then what?”
    “Then I found the body,” Brenda said in a shaky voice. “And I called you.”
    “So the room looked exactly like this when you arrived?” Nick asked. “You didn’t see any clothing or a wallet?”
    “No—I understand the importance of not tampering with a crime scene,” Brenda said in a defensive tone.
    Nick yanked a pair of latex gloves from his pocket, then checked the bedcovers, the dresser, and the bath again. “No clothing anywhere. No wallet. Not even a condom.”
    “Whoever killed him probably took everything to foil forensics,” Brenda said.
    Nick grunted. “You sound like you know a lot about a murder scene.”
    Brenda shrugged, then gripped her phone and started to punch in the newsroom number.
    Nick pressed a hand over hers. “Wait, you can’t air this on TV. We have to determine the victim’s ID, notify next of kin. Process the crime scene.”
    Brenda glared at him. “This is news, Nick. I found the body, it’s my story.”
    “Yes, but we can’t tip the public on crucial aspects of the crime.”
    “Fine,” Brenda said. “I know the boundaries and will make sure my people follow them.” Still, she snatched her phone and began snapping pictures.
    “Brenda,” Nick growled.
    “I promise you nothing goes into print without your permission. But you can’t shut me out, Nick. The killer invited me to this crime for a reason.”
    He cursed. “Because the killer wants publicity.”
    “You’re probably right—the coverage will give him notoriety.”
    “She,” Nick clarified.
    “How do you know the perp is female?” Brenda asked.
    “Instinct. Just look at the setup.”
    “Still, it’s possible the killer is male. Maybe a gay male.”
    “Or confused sexually,” Nick conceded. They couldn’t rule anything out at this point.
    A siren wailed in the distance. Jake was on his way, and hopefully the ME and crime unit.
    “All right, it’s your story,” Nick said, giving in. “But listen to me, Brenda—you have to run everything by me first. If you become a problem, I’ll arrest you for interfering with a homicide