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me?”
    “You’re covering it well, but I can see that you’re exhausted.”
    “It’s been a busy night. I’m fine.”
    He cupped her shoulders and regarded her closely. “Are you, Charlie?”
    The urge to lean into him struck without warning. She wanted to step into his arms and fit her head to his shoulder just the way she used to. She longed to feel his warmth enfold her and his breath stir her hair. For one mad, rebellious instant she wanted to pretend she was his Charlie again, with no one depending on her and nothing to worry about except studying for the next midterm and trying to find the right prom dress.
    She curled her nails into her palms and held herself rigid. What on earth was the matter with her? “I appreciate your concern, Jackson,” she said. “But don’t treat me like one of your causes.”
    “Whoa, where did that come from?”
    “Sorry, I’m a bit stressed.” She stepped aside to unlock her office door, using the motion to move away from his touch. “Give my regards to your uncle when you see him next. I’m sure you’re anxious to get back to the hospital….”
    Her words trailed off as she noticed a glimmer on the threshold. It was a cluster of tiny white sequins.
    She pushed the door open and stepped inside. A white feather wafted in the breeze from the window. More sequins were scattered on the hardwood floor and gleamed beneath the carved pecan chairs that she kept for visitors.
    “Charlotte, wait!” Jackson looped his arm around the front of her waist and pulled her back to his chest. “Don’t touch anything.”
    The sudden contact with his body stole her breath and muddled her mind, making it hard to understand his warning. Sensations bombarded her. The muscle she’d felt beneath his sleeve was nothing compared to the firm strength she felt everywhere else. He definitely wasn’t a boy any longer.
    And her response to him wasn’t that of an innocent girl. Her pulse pounded, knocking her senses into overdrive. Awareness that was purely sexual shot into every private region of her body.
    She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to ignore the reaction. It had to be surprise mixed with fatigue. She concentrated on looking around. Apart from the sequins, the room appeared as clean and orderly as it always did.
    But then her gaze reached the antique cherrywood table that served as her desk, and her knees gave out. She pressed into Jackson, welcoming his support.
    Amidst a pile of white feathers, the shell of her beautiful, whimsical Mardi Gras mask lay in the center of her desktop. It was stripped naked of its trimmings and skewered to the wood by a knife.

CHAPTER THREE
    J ACKSON FOLDED HIS arms over his chest and leaned a shoulder against the door frame, watching as Detective Otis Fergusson jotted something in his notebook. If his white mustache were a beard, he’d look like Santa Claus checking his list. His weight alone wasn’t responsible for the impression, it was his round face and jovial demeanor. Given the resemblance, Jackson wasn’t sure why he didn’t trust the man. Maybe for someone who worked in law enforcement he seemed too good-natured to be true.
    Still, he appeared to be going through all the right motions, so he was probably competent enough.
    Apart from the raw gouge that had been left in the wood, the surface of Charlotte’s desk was clean. All traces of the savaged mask had been removed. Fergusson had pried the knife out of the desktop and bagged it as evidence, yet he wasn’t hopeful it would lead anywhere. According to the detective, the weapon was a skinning knife, a favorite choice of poachers who worked the marshes and bayous. This one had been an inexpensive, run-of-the-mill variety, available in any sporting-goods store.
    “I assure you, Detective, the door was locked when I arrived.” Charlotte sat behind her desk and folded her handsprimly on her lap. “The connecting door to my assistant’s office was locked, as well.”
    Fergusson eased