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entrance, lay a small foyer that opened up on either side to large sitting rooms. Each room boasted a massive stone fireplace, hardwood flooring, and dark wood paneling. In the room to the left, trophy deer heads hung on either side of the fireplace; in the room to the right, mounted and framed prize catches from the Tennessee River lined the walls, three fish on either side of the fireplace. She had not seen the upstairs bedrooms, but she assumed that they, too, screamed macho domain, no women allowed.
    The thought of facing Judd, of looking into those cold, topaz gold eyes, kept Lindsay from leaving the warm safety of her SUV. Repeatedly, she had told herself that she didn’t love him, that she never had. She had felt sorry for him, wanted to comfort him, tried to help him. Besides, any woman would be sexually attracted to Judd. He was so overpoweringly masculine.
    All those introspective, come-to-Jesus talks she’d given herself over the past six months had convinced her that what she felt for Judd Walker was a combination of sympathy and lust, not love.
    So, if she didn’t love him, why was she so afraid of seeing him again?
    You can’t put it off forever, you know. Get out of the car and go knock on the door. Face your fears. Prove to yourself that Judd no longer has any power over you.
    After donning her red knit cap and matching gloves, Lindsay buttoned her navy peacoat, shut off the ignition, and opened the car door. As she stepped down, her black leather boots hit a slushy spot on the ground, shooting muddy ooze over the one-inch heels and rounded toes. By the time she reached the porch, the wet grass she’d trekked through had absorbed most of the mud on her boots.
    Taking a deep breath, she faced the front door. Stretching her gloved fingers back and forth, she garnered up her courage, then lifted her right hand and knocked. Once. Twice. Three times.
    No response.
    She knocked again. Harder. Louder.
    Still nothing.
    She banged repeatedly. “Judd, if you’re here, let me in. I have some news for you. It’s about the Beauty Queen Killer case.”
    Silence.
    Damn it. Maybe he wasn’t here. Maybe he’d moved away to some unknown location. A part of her prayed that he had.
    Lindsay tried the front door knob, twisting it this way and that. The door didn’t budge. Locked. So much for that.
    She went to the nearest window and peered in through a fine layer of dirt and grime. The left parlor lay in semidarkness, the furniture still covered with protective cloths. After checking out the other parlor through an equally filthy windowpane, she walked the expanse of the wraparound porch, stopping at a side door leading through a narrow hall into the kitchen. She tried the door and surprisingly found it give. Unlocked. The door creaked loudly as she pushed it open. She hesitantly entered the dark hallway. Cobwebs shimmied along the walls.
    “Judd, are you here?” she called as she made her way toward the kitchen.
    No answer.
    She found the kitchen empty. But a half-full coffeepot sat on the warmer, and a stained mug rested on the counter beside the coffeemaker.
    He was here. Upstairs? In the basement? Taking a walk in the woods?
    If he was in the house, he would have heard her calling him. Unless he was asleep or passed out drunk. The first year after his wife’s death, Judd had drunk himself into a forgetful stupor on a fairly regular basis. But the last time Lindsay saw him, he’d been stone cold sober. A drunk Judd she could deal with more easily than a sober Judd. Drunk, he was hateful and belligerent. Sober he was apathetic and deadly.
    “Judd, if you’re here, please answer me. Don’t make me search the whole house for you.”
    Nothing.
    “The Beauty Queen Killer has struck again, but this time his victim didn’t die. Not yet. She’s still alive.”
    No reaction. No response.
    “Did you hear me?”
    Creak. Stomp. Creak. Stomp.
    Lindsay heard heavy footsteps on the backstairs that led from the kitchen to