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suspected Travis was right about not playing a part in Carrie’s suicide, Rachel felt like she’d been sucked right back into the past. And she didn’t want to be there.
    What had the past ever done for her? Her childhood had been lonely and painful, her adolescence degrading. Her mother was a sad excuse for a human being; her sister had selfishly left her. All the past offered was heartache, shame, and anger. It had taken years of therapy to try to let it go, and now she was disregarding every shrink’s advice and delving back into a place she’d vowed never to return.
    “Ouch!”
    “Sorry, Misty,” Rachel said quickly, realizing she’d yet again stabbed her model. With a sigh, she placed the needle on the pincushion next to her. “Why don’t we take a break? I’m a little distracted, and I’m scared I’ll seriously injure you.”
    Misty didn’t answer, and as Rachel stood up and followed the young woman’s gaze, she saw why.
    Travis was standing in the doorway.
    “Who’s the hunk?” Misty said loudly.
    Rachel’s cheeks flushed again. “You do realize he can hear you?”
    “So?” Misty tossed her long, blonde hair over her delicate shoulders. “You’re a hunk,” she said to Travis, wiggling her eyebrows.
    “I know. My mother tells me that all the time.” The corners of his honey-brown eyes crinkled as a grin curved his wide mouth.
    Rachel felt a spark of attraction tug at her belly as she watched him cross the loft. God, he was such an incredible-looking man. He wore a navy-blue T-shirt that stretched across his broad chest and gave her a teasing glimpse of the ripples of his flat stomach. Faded blue jeans encased his legs, and a black sports coat was tucked under one arm. He looked good. Too good, she noted as her pulse quickened.
    “Do you have a minute?” Travis asked as he approached.
    Their eyes locked, and she almost trembled. She’d never believed all that junk about pheromones, but she could swear his scent was intoxicating. He smelled of spicy aftershave, Ivory soap and something that could only be described as masculine, and although they were standing feet apart, the delicious aroma tickled her nostrils and caused a lazy heat to dance across her breasts.
    “Sure,” she answered. She glanced at Suzanna, then Misty, and saw both females eyeing Travis with blatant longing. “Let’s go outside.” Where we can be alone, she added silently. The loft provided no privacy, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to focus on what Travis had to say when two pairs of eyes were undressing him.
    Once they were on the front steps of her building, Rachel breathed in the warm September air. They’d been blessed with an Indian summer this year, and she hoped the weather would stay this way just a little bit longer. The winter months always depressed her, reminded her of the cold, snowy days that had kept her inside her mother’s house to bear witness to the degradation around her.
    “So, what’s up?” she said, glancing at Travis.
    “Can you get away from the office for an hour or two?”
    She saw the serious look on his face and instantly knew this was about their investigation. “Where are we going?” she asked.
    “Woodland,” Travis answered, naming a small town about an hour’s drive from the city. “To see Layla Kincaid.”
    Rachel felt like she’d been gutted with a bowling ball. Layla Kincaid. She hadn’t heard that name in years. She hadn’t seen the owner of that name since Carrie’s funeral.
    “You tracked down Layla?” she finally said, struggling for breath.
    “I figured our best bet is to start with Layla. She was Carrie’s best friend, after all. If anyone might know the identity of BF, it would be Layla. I got her address through DMV records, and I thought we could drive over there today.”
    Rachel took a breath. “Let me get my purse.”

    In Travis’s gleaming silver SUV, Rachel wrung her hands together, feeling nervous at the thought of seeing Layla Kincaid