Breaking into a house was a lot harder than it looked on TV.

Elise McBride held the small flashlight in her mouth, smoothed the warped edge of her credit card with her fingers, and tried to shove it between the door and the jamb again, with no luck. All she managed to do was take off another layer of plastic and shred the magnetic strip.

Fantastic. Getting a replacement card while she was traveling wasn't going to be any fun.

Defeated, Elise dropped her head against the cool wood of her sister's front door and tried not to cry in frustration. After days with no contact from her gabby sister, Elise was sure Ashley was in trouble. The deep kind.

Her gut churned with worry, warning her that something was wrong. Ashley had a tendency to disappear, wandering off on bizarre, artistic tangents with whatever hot guy was at hand, but never for this long, and never without returning a phone call.

Elise had left dozens of messages on her sister's phone over the past few days, and not one of them had been answered.

The police had promised her they'd check Ashley's home, but what if they'd forgotten, or lied to Elise just to get her to stop bugging them? What if she was inside, hurt or unconscious and unable to reach a phone? What if she was lying in a hospital somewhere with amnesia, unable to call for help because she couldn't remember who she was? What if she'd driven her car into a ditch, gotten trapped, and no one had found her yet?

Stop it. Get a grip. All that doom-and-gloom stuff sounded like Mom talking. If Elise had listened to her, she'd believe that everyone died in a ditch wearing dirty underwear after being attacked by boys who only wanted one thing.

Ashley was fine. She had to be. Elise just needed to figure out where she'd gone this time, and the key to that mystery was likely inside her sister's tiny house.

Elise briefly thought about breaking a window, but it was around three in the morning. Haven, Illinois was as still and quiet as the cool morning air, and she was afraid one of the nearby neighbors would call the police if they heard breaking glass. She wasn't about to get hauled to jail for breaking and entering while her sister was in trouble.

Maybe Ashley had stashed a key somewhere. Heaven knew she was always forgetting or losing things. Including keys. After years of being coddled by family, Ashley was on her own now, developing coping mechanisms to combat all her flighty, brainless habits-like misplacing keys. At least that's what she said. She'd told Elise many times how she was fine living on her own and didn't need a keeper, no matter how much Elise worried.

And she did. Every day. She worried that Ashley would get lost in a particularly engrossing series of paintings and forget to eat. She worried that Ashley would be driving along, see a bird she wanted to paint, try to follow it, and crash her car into a tree. She worried that Ashley would go home with the wrong man one of these days, and rather than spending a fun weekend in bed, she'd become a victim.

Ashley was way too trusting with men, way too easily swayed by a sweet smile and a confident wink. One of these days, it was going to get her in trouble.

Maybe it already had.

Elise had to get in her house and find out.

The front porch was littered with springtime lawn ornaments and pots of flowers-both fake and dead. A dozen wind chimes hung in stillness, though Elise wished for a wind to kick them up and cover any noise she was making. A blown glass globe sat in a wrought iron stand right next to the door. The base of it was mosaic tile depicting a stylized peacock-Ashley's design, no doubt.

Elise tipped the stand, shined her flashlight under it and took a look, praying she'd find a key. No luck. She searched under all the flowerpots, sculpted frogs, lawn gnomes, and even the doormat with no success. Her flashlight beam bobbed over the porch, glinting off the wind chimes.

Frustration and a growing sense of panic gripped Elise hard. A cold sweat formed along her spine, making her shiver in the cool May air.

She was going to have to break a window. There was no help for it. She couldn't stand around out here in the dark when the key to her sister's disappearance might be right inside that door.

Elise clamped the slim flashlight in her mouth to hold it while she took off her jacket. She could use the fabric to mute the sound of breaking glass and hope that the neighbors were all heavy sleepers.

She tipped her head back a bit when she slid the jacket off, and the silhouette of a key appeared on the porch ceiling. Elise followed the beam of light to the small wind chime dangling near the door. It was made from a variety of household bits, including a tarnished knife, a can opener, chunks of broken colored glass and wire. Everything was painted in lazy swirls of color that Elise instantly recognized as Ashley's work. Even the key was painted.

Surely, Ashley wouldn't be foolish enough to dangle the key to her front door in plain sight? It had to be an old key.

Then again, this was Ashley. If the key was at hand when she went into that creative zone, she wouldn't have thought twice about using it.

Being careful not to make a racket, Elise gripped the wind chime in her hand to keep everything quiet, and eased it from the suspended hook. She separated the key from the rest of the piece, and slid it into the lock. It went in easily and turned without effort.

Ashley's front door swung open and Elise stood there, dreading that first step. If she failed to find her sister now, it was completely her fault. She couldn't blame it on a locked door.

Part of her was terrified she wouldn't be able to find Ashley. The rest of her was terrified that she would, and that it would be too late.

Pretend you're not afraid. That's what she always did whenever the story she was covering got dangerous. She'd straighten her spine, pretend she wasn't queasy and shaking, and move on. As a freelance reporter, she had no choice but to move on or go hungry, so she moved. But the stakes were higher this time. Her sweet, too-trusting sister needed her, and she couldn't fail.

Elise stepped inside.

#

Trent Brady's flighty neighbor was out of town again, but someone was creeping around her house all the same. At three in the morning.

Cop instincts he'd tried for two years to kill came roaring back to life, making him reach for his gun. Of course, there was no weapon strapped to his hip, nor would there ever be again, but it was a reflex he hadn't been able to stifle.

Trent set the sleeping pill he'd been about to swallow aside. It wouldn't have worked, anyway. They never did.

Through his kitchen window, he watched the intruder's flashlight beam dart around clumsily. Whoever he was, this guy was a novice. Judging from what Trent could see of his build, he was young, too-just the right age to learn a lesson.

A slow smile pulled at Trent's mouth. It had been a long time since he'd had the pleasure of educating a youngster. He'd almost forgotten how much he missed it. Almost.

It only took him a few seconds to slide on a pair of jeans and shove his feet into grass-stained sneakers. He was out the door before he realized he hadn't called the police. In all the excitement, he'd forgotten that it was no longer his duty to deal with this. No longer his right.

Trent turned around, made a quick call to his buddy on the Haven police force, but refused to wait for him to show up. Little Ashley McBride was a sweet kid, even if she couldn't remember what day of the week it was. He wasn't going to let some punk trash her place when he was able to stop it.

The fact that said punk might have a gun when Trent didn't, didn't even slow him down. Maybe an action like that deserved some careful thought, but he'd do that later. Much, much later. His life was bad enough without adding a bunch of psychobabble crap on top of it.

He hurried across the street and slipped silently onto the porch. The front door was closed again, but a slow turn of the knob told him it wasn't locked.

Amateur.

Trent eased inside, listening for which way the intruder had gone. Ashley's house was an artistic mess, with canvases stacked everywhere. Every horizontal surface was covered with clothes, paints, brushes or papers. There was more furniture in her living room than there was in his entire house, leaving only a narrow walkway open for him to navigate.

This whole neighborhood had been built in the housing boom after World War II, and Ashley's house was an exact copy of his own, so he had the advantage of knowing the layout, even in the dark.

A low scraping sound came from the back bedroom, like someone was rummaging around in there.

Trent's body flooded with adrenaline and he slid into that comfortable space where each heartbeat stretched out for an eternity. The rush of strength and clarity nearly made him giddy, and he realized it had been way too long since the adrenaline junkie in him had gotten his fix.

The streetlights outside shone through the front window, outlining the entrance to the hallway. His eyes had adjusted to the dark enough that he could see vague shapes, but little else. He crept toward the bedroom where he'd heard the sound.

A thud followed by a muffled hiss of pain came from the back room. Trent eased through the doorway just as the intruder stood up from a crouch.

He was only three feet in front of Trent, and a sudden rush of instinct took over Trent's body as he moved. He grabbed the kid and shoved him hard against the door. He used his body to pin the kid there while he took control of the intruder's hands and any weapon they might hold.

The kid let out a high shriek of fear that was cut off too soon, like he'd run out of air. He struggled, fighting Trent's hold, but wasn't strong enough for it to do any good. Those struggles did, however, press the intruder's breasts against Trent's bare ribs.

Breasts? For a brief second, shock rolled through him, freezing him in place. The intruder was a woman, not a kid. Not that it mattered. She was still breaking the law.

She used his moment of surprise to wrench one hand free of his grip, and slammed her fist into the side of his head. The blow rattled his cage, but didn't slow him down. He recaptured her hand and leaned his weight into her harder, crushing her ribs.

Her knee came up toward his groin, but they were too close for the blow to have any force behind it. She kind of grazed his thigh, but it was enough to make him want to prevent it from happening again, just in case she got a lucky shot.

He spun her around, twisting her arms behind her, and leaned his weight against her. She tried to head-butt him, but the top of her head only came up to his chin, so all she hit was his collarbone. Her pale hair was tucked into a bun, which cushioned the blow. Trent doubted he'd even have a bruise.

He had to give her an A for effort, though. She was completely outclassed, apparently weaponless and alone, and yet she kept fighting.

Her foot slammed down hard on his toes, and pain screamed up his leg.

"Bad move," he told her as he wrenched her arms higher, putting enough force on her shoulders to make a grown man cry.

She let out willowy gasp of pain that was so feminine it made Trent feel like an ass for hurting her. Not that she would have thought twice about hurting him, given the chance.

He let up, releasing some of the pressure, which only proved how soft he'd gotten over the past two years. Soft and useless.

"Let me go," she ordered. The fact that her words came out as a breathless whisper robbed them of some authority.

"Not gonna happen. Who are you, and why are you here?"

"I should be asking you the same thing. Why are you in my sister's house?"

"Sister?" Oh, crap. Not good.

Trent turned her around, a lot more gently this time, and looked at her face. It was hard to see in the dim light, but the flashlight she'd dropped created enough of an ambient glow that he could make out the basics. Her mouth wasn't quite as full and pouty as Ashley's, but she had the same dainty chin and nose, the same pale eyes and hair.

"What's your name?" he asked her, just to be sure.

"Elise McBride."

Trent knew that name. He'd heard Ashley talk about the revered Elise often enough he remembered it. He let go of her like she's sprouted quills. "I'm so sorry," he rushed to tell her. "I'm Ashley's neighbor and I thought you were breaking into her house. Did I hurt you?"

She rubbed one shoulder, sagging against the door, breathing too fast. "I'm fine. Heck of a neighborhood watch you have here."

Well, hell. He'd gone and fucked up good this time. And the sirens in the distance told him that in a few minutes his humiliation would be complete.

#

Elise couldn't stop shaking. For a moment there, she was sure that she was about to witness what had happened to her sister, up close and personal. She'd thought she was going to die, that the man who had complete control over her body was going to kill her.

And there hadn't been a thing she could do to stop him.

Suddenly, Ashley's disappearance became even more sinister. In that one brief moment of helplessness, Elise had gone from hoping to find her sister safe and sound, to knowing that she was fooling herself indulging in that kind of fantasy.

Bad things happened. That nagging itch in her gut told her that Ashley had been a victim of one of them.

Her whole body trembled, and it was still a little hard to breathe. Her lungs felt flat, heavy. The surge of adrenaline was wearing off, leaving her sagging and queasy in its wake.

Sirens outside grew louder, but she couldn't bring herself to face the police just yet. She had to get a grip and regain her composure. She didn't want to look like a wilting flower when she demanded that they help her find Ashley.

Elise straightened her shoulders, which ached almost as much as the back of her head. Whatever the hell this guy was made of, it was tough stuff. She'd nearly imploded her skull trying to bash him with it.

Not the smartest thing she'd ever done.

"Sit down a minute," he said, urging her toward Ashley's bed. "You look a little shaky."

Elise sat down, grateful to have the solid surface supporting her trembling legs. "Who are you?" she asked him.

"Trent Brady. I live across the street."

The name was familiar, and it only took her a second to place him. "Ah. So your Ashley's hot lawn guy." She'd talked about him so often that Elise was beginning to wonder if Ashley was making him up. No guy was as helpful as the Hot Lawn Guy without wanting something in return.

"Uh. I mow her lawn, yeah."

"And fix her car, and get rid of wasp nests, and repair broken garbage disposals. She talks about you all the time."

He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, as if she'd embarrassed him. "Ashley likes to talk."

Elise couldn't make out much in the dark, but she'd felt enough of Trent's body pressed against hers to know the guy was in great shape. He was helpful, and apparently modest about it.

It was a wonder Ashley hadn't fallen in love with him at least three times by now, but she'd always said he wasn't her type. Maybe he was gay.

He reached over to flip on the light.

"Don't bother. I already tried. The fuse must be blown."

"I'll take care of it," he said. "As soon as the police get here and I sort things out."

Elise heaved out a weary sigh, dreading the job she had to do now. "They were on my list of people to talk to, anyway. I guess now is as good a time as any."

Suspicion tightened his voice. "Talk to about what?"

"About my missing sister and what they're doing to find her."

Chapter Two

Elise met the officer at the door to her sister's home. He was in his fifties, she guessed, with short salt-and-pepper hair and a matching moustache. Although he wasn't wearing his uniform, his car bore the emblem of the Haven Police Department.

He looked her up and down briefly, then his gaze went over her shoulder to the man standing just behind her. "Morning, Trent," he said. "Wanna tell me what's going on here?"

"Sorry, Bob. False alarm. I thought she was a kid out for a little B and E."

Officer Bob's mouth turned down at the corners as he looked at her. "Did you break in?"

"No. This is my sister's place. I used a key." All of which was technically the truth, even if it didn't convey what really happened.

"Good. It's too damn early for paperwork," said the officer. "And trouble. What's your name, ma'am?"

"Elise McBride, Ashley's sister."

"Ah. You're the one who called in the missing person's report."

"Yes, sir. That's why I'm here. To find Ashley. I'm hoping you can help."

In the houses around them, people wakened by the sirens peered out lighted windows.

The officer's thick chest collapsed on a heavy sigh. "Let's take this inside, kids. No sense in making a scene on the front porch."

Elise stepped back to make room for the officer, grazing Trent's bare chest with her arm. The heat from his skin soaked into her, and until now, she hadn't realized she was cold. Stupid nerves.

He moved out of her way, taking all that warmth with him, and the officer shut the door behind them.

"Why's it so dark in here?" he asked.

"A fuse blew," said Trent. "Happens all the time. I'll take care of it." He crossed the room like he lived here, opened a door and went downstairs.

Elise briefly wondered just how close he'd been to Ashley that he knew her fuses blew often, and exactly where to go to fix them. Her sister told her about all her boyfriends-in great detail, much to Elise's dismay. In all those breathless ramblings, Ashley hadn't mentioned Trent as anything more than Hot Lawn Guy.

"So, Ms. McBride. How ‘bout you tell me why you showed up here at three in the morning?"

Elise shrugged. "I got off the plane in Chicago, rented a car and drove here. It took as long as it took."

"Where'd you come in from?"

The power came back on, bathing them in light. From the kitchen, an appliance beeped, begging for attention. The ceiling fan in the living room started spinning in a lazy circle.

Elise blinked as her eyes adjusted. "Hong Kong."

His bushy brows lifted. "That's a long way off. Do you live there?"

She caught a glimpse of herself reflected in one of the windows, and the sight of her frizzing bun made her cringe. She'd been traveling for hours, and every one of them showed in her hair.

Elise worked the hairpins out of the knotted mess of curls, and untangled them with her fingers. "Sometimes. I'm a reporter. I was working on a story."

As soon as the word reporter came out of her mouth, Officer Bob flinched. "You're not going to be stirring up any trouble here, are you?"

Elise knew exactly what he meant, but pretended ignorance. "Trouble? What do you mean?"

"I mean you starting stories about women disappearing from Haven."

"A woman has disappeared. I'd say that's newsworthy, wouldn't you?" He didn't have to know that wasn't the kind of story she usually covered-that her work was mostly about the changes in foreign economy with a bit of fun stuff throw in on the side, just to keep her interested, even if it didn't pay the bills. Let him think that his town's dirty laundry was going to be aired for the world to see. Maybe it would get him to cooperate.

"We don't know she's disappeared," said Trent from the top of the stairway. "Ashley has a tendency to run off for days at a time."

Elise turned her head to give him hell for talking about her sister in such a flippant way, but the words stuck in her throat.

Hot Lawn Guy was more than just hot. He was scalding.

He wasn't wearing a shirt, but for him, covering up should have been a crime. Golden skin stretched tight over delicious slabs of muscles. His shoulders were wide and heavy, his arms thick and long. The ridges in his stomach stood out every time he breathed. But the beautiful part was that none of that was a show. He hadn't removed his body hair or oiled himself up, or sprayed on a tan. He wasn't coiffed or groomed. In fact, he was in desperate need of a haircut.

He wasn't trying to look good. He just did.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," muttered the cop. "Would you put on a damn shirt? You make the rest of us mere mortals look bad."

"In a minute," said Trent, staring at Elise. His eyes slid over her from top to bottom and back again, making her wish for a hairbrush. "I think the lady here was about to say something."

Yes, she was. Elise couldn't remember what it was, so she ripped her eyes away and tried to concentrate.

"Trent's right, Ms. McBride. We had a couple of officers check things out when you reported her missing. They questioned the neighbors and everyone said the same thing. She goes away for days at a time. It's not unusual."

"Yes, but she never goes this long without phoning me."

"Maybe her phone broke," said Trent. "Maybe she's low on minutes and doesn't want to pay the overages."

Elise refused to let his good looks intimidate her. She did, however, keep her eyes fixed on his face. It didn't help much, since the man's face was a compilation of fascinating masculine angles, and nearly as attractive as the rest of him, but she managed to maintain her focus. "Ashley can't go a day without talking to me. She tells me everything. She would have borrowed a phone, or called collect from a payphone-something-if she was okay. I'm telling you that this is not like her. It may appear to be normal to her neighbors, but it's not. If it was, I wouldn't have abandoned the job I was on and flown halfway across the world to find out what's wrong."

Trent's blue eyes flickered with interest. "When was the last time you spoke to her?"

"Friday afternoon."

"Trent," said Officer Bob in a warning tone. "If you want to investigate this, you know there's always a job waiting for you, but so long as you're not wearing a badge, I want you to stay out of it."

Trent all but snarled. "We've talked about this. I'm not going back into police work."

"Then go home. Mind your own business."

His mouth tightened until his lips all but disappeared. "Fine. I'm going."

Trent slipped past them, the muscles in his back tight and his hands in fists. Elise tried not to stare, but had no choice. The man's ass was like a magnet, drawing her gaze. Not that she minded the view.

She had no idea what was going on between these two men, but she really didn't care. All she cared about was finding Ashley. If the officer thought Trent would be in the way, then she'd avoid him.

Even if it meant not getting to see that magnetic ass ever again.

#

Trent had never squirmed before in his life, but there was no better word for what he was doing now. His whole body was crawling with anxious need. He wanted to hear what Elise was telling Bob so he could throw out his opinion. He wanted to be a part of the investigation, to help find Ashley.

He wanted to be useful again for something more than digging holes and trimming grass.

Too bad what he wanted no longer mattered.

Bob reminding him of the open job offer on the Haven Police force was a cheap trick, and Trent was sure the man knew it.

Most of an hour had passed, and his neighbors had finally gone back to bed. Their houses were dark again, just like Trent's. Though unlike Trent, he figured they were all back in their beds, snug and warm. Instead, he was standing in the dark, staring out his kitchen window, hoping for a glimpse of something that would tell him what was going on across the street.

Sure, chances were that Ashley had just found another one of her random men and hooked up with him for a long weekend, but what if he was wrong? What if she really was in trouble?

It was none of his business. He wasn't a cop anymore. Protecting and serving was someone else's problem. He needed to get some more sleep so he'd be able to install that sprinkler system tomorrow. Digging ditches. That was his job now.

At least the work had honed his body to the point that women took notice. That was definitely one of the perks of manual labor. Especially when the woman noticing had the kind of compact curves that fit into a man's hands just right. Ashley was wisp thin, and walked around covered in paint more often than not. She made him think of grade school kids and butterflies. Her sister, on the other hand, was all woman. She wasn't very tall, but everything was in the right proportion-some more right than others.

He could still feel her breasts against his chest. No silicone there.

As if it mattered. He wasn't getting involved. Not with whatever had happened to Ashley, and certainly not with Elise.

Across the street, Bob Tindle got back into his cruiser and left.

Trent gripped the countertop to keep himself from calling Ashley's house to see what Elise and Bob had talked about.

None of his business.

Then why the hell couldn't he walk away from the damn window and try to get a couple hours of sleep before work?

A minute later, Elise walked out, locked the door and headed for her car.

Trent was halfway across the street before he realized he'd left his house.

Elise saw him coming and halted at the door of her rental car. "What do you want?"

"What did Bob say?"

She looked at his bare chest and lifted an irritated brow. "Ask him yourself."

"He won't tell me. Said it's none of my business."

"Then why should I tell you?" She tucked some of her blond hair behind one ear. The wild nest of curls had been brushed and tame, leaving behind silky waves that fell past her shoulders.

"Because I might be able to help."

She cast a yeah, right look his way. "How? I don't need any gym equipment modeled."

Trent ground his back teeth to keep from spewing out the angry words he wanted to fling her way. He hated feeling useless, but seeing that uselessness reflected in Elise's eyes made his chest burn with frustration. "I used to be a cop."

"Used to be?"

"Yeah."

"But not now?" she asked with more than a hint of suspicion.

"No."

"Why not?"

He was not going to talk to her about that. Not in a million years. "Long story."

"Another time then," she said, opening her car door, preparing to leave.

Trent had to stop her. He had no clue why he felt so frantic about this whole mess, but he did. Maybe it was the adrenaline rush she'd given him earlier. He wanted more. He didn't want her to walk away and leave him out of all the fun.

"Wait," he said, grabbing her arm. "Where are you going?"

Her shirt had short sleeves, baring the silky-smooth skin of her arm to his touch. His fingers nearly encircled her biceps, but her feminine muscles were firm and strong under his grip. He fought the urge to slide his thumb over her skin so he could get a better feel.

"To look for Ashley's car."

"It's late."

She gave him a look that screamed duh. "Not in Hong Kong. I'm still on their clock. Can't sleep."

"Hong Kong?"

"That's where I was when Ashley went missing."

She flew all the way here to check on her sister? She really was worried.

"Let me go with you." The words fell out of his mouth without going through his brain first, which wasn't at all like him.

She stared pointedly at his fingers around her arm. Trent let her go, but couldn't help but let his fingertips slide along the delicate skin of her inner arm as he did. It was a dirty trick, but it was worth it. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything quite so soft as Elise McBride's skin.

"Haven's fairly small. I can manage on my own."

"It might be small compared to Hong Kong, but the town sprawls all over. You'll never find your way."

Elise shrugged. "Ashley talked about all the places she liked to go. Since I have ovaries, I'm not incapable of asking for directions."

Trent ignored the jab at his gender. "At four in the morning? There aren't a whole lot of all night gas stations around once you get away from the interstate."

She stared at him for too long. "Why should I let you come?" she asked. "You don't believe my sister's in trouble."

"Maybe she is, maybe she isn't. Either way, I know this town a lot better than you do."

"I'm used to strange towns. I'll manage."

"It'll be faster if you have a tour guide. Faster is better, right?"

One side of her mouth lifted in a grin. "Spoken like a true man."

And just like that, his mind went there, to that lovely place where sex with a woman like Elise was more than a fantasy. It was a short trip that ended with her impatient, humorless snort.

"Get in. I don't want to waste any more time."

#

Gary Maitland smoothed the blond curls off his wife's forehead. Even though Wendy's eyes were closed, he could still recall the vivid shade of blue, and the way they used to sparkle when she laughed. Or cried.

"I can't stay long, but I wanted to visit you before I went to work. I've been so busy, it's been hard to find time to spend with you the way I should."

He traced the delicate arch of her eyebrow, stroking her as he spoke. He wasn't sure whether or not she could hear him, but these visits were more for him than they were her, anyway.

Since the accident, he missed her so much he ached. Filling the void she'd left behind had been impossible, but he'd managed to find a way to cope and move on with his life.

"You'd like what I've done to your parents' place. The pond is so much bigger now. Deeper, too. I kept the dock, though-the one we used to sit on at night when we were dating all those years ago."

They'd done a lot of things on that dock-none of which her parents would have approved of. Those planks of splintered wood held a lot of memories for him.

That dock was the first place he'd ever made her cry.

She'd been so beautiful under the moonlight, with tears glistening in her eyes. It was one of the memories he held closest to his heart-one of the many memories he used to get through each day.

"I've renovated the basement, too. There's lots of room for guests now, so you won't be lonely when I'm at work."

Speaking of which, Gary checked his watch. He had more than an hour's drive to get to work from here, and it was nearly time to go. Besides, his fingers were getting numb from the cold.

He leaned down and kissed Wendy's forehead. "I'll bring you something special tonight. I've found just the perfect gift for you."

Wendy would never be the same again, but he knew his wife well enough to know what she liked.

She always liked to be around people. His little social butterfly would flit from one person to the next, making everyone she met smile. Now that she was no longer able to go out into the world and make new friends, the least he could do was bring them to her.

She didn't have to know that the presents he brought to her were his leftovers-the women he found lacking. Telling her that would only upset her.

Gary pulled the sheet back over his wife's head and walked out of the giant freezer where he stored her remains. He made sure the door was locked and pocketed the key.

Now that Wendy was dead, his search for the perfect woman was consuming him. The void her death had left inside of him had to be filled. The emptiness was eating him alive, and he had to make it stop, and the only thing that would fill him up again was the perfect woman.

He hadn't found the right woman yet, but he refused to give up hope. The perfect woman was out there somewhere, and Gary was going to find her.