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himself not to use supernatural speed to get to
    the door. “Afraid not,” he said.
    “Well, what then?” Chloe asked, hard on his heels, Caldwell behind her.
    He didn’t want to tell them, but there really wasn’t anyway to delay the
    inevitable. Slowly, he opened the door. “I think another present has been
    delivered.”
    Chloe gasped, her hand covering her mouth. “Ohmygod!”
    Part of Mr. Smith’s brick fence was broken and a nearby tree lay uprooted,
    but in the midst of the lawn lay the battered, bruised, and bloody shell of a
    woman.

Chapter Seven
    Chloe felt the bile rising in her throat as they approached the bloody mess
    that had once been alive. She choked it down, willing herself not to faint and
    then felt a subtle pressure as though someone had put a hand on her
    shoulder. She even turned to look. Gavin stood close, his dark eyes fixed on
    her, but his hands remained at his sides. But…it was almost as though she
    could feel his strength surrounding her, taking the light-headedness away.
    “Perhaps you should go back inside,” he said. “I can already hear the sirens.
    In a minute this place will be crawling with police and media. The less said
    by anyone right now the better.”
    Chloe didn’t hear any sirens, but of course, the police would be on their way.
    Already neighbors were beginning to line the streets although none of them
    approached. They probably didn’t want to witness another gruesome sight.
    “I’m a reporter. I need to cover this.” She inched forward, forcing herself to
    look at the woman. What was left of her scanty clothes had been shredded
    and her neck had been broken, but not severed. Vicious gashes that looked
    suspiciously like claw marks exposed muscle, tissue and bone on her arms
    and legs and there were large areas of dried brown smudges on her inner
    thighs. Dried blood. Chloe’s hand shook as she stifled a cry. “She’s been
    raped too.”
    Gavin took her arm, pulling her back. “Apparently.” He looked up as the first
    squad car squealed to a stop, followed by a parade of flashing red and blue
    lights. “Don’t make any vocal assumptions.”
    Chloe watched in a semi-frozen frame of mind as the crime scene squad
    efficiently roped off the area. Mr. Smith’s security guards were on in front
    too, reminding the media this was personal property and to stay on the
    street. That didn’t deter many since their satellite trucks had scoping
    equipment and reporters were already scrambling onto the roofs of the vans.
    It was turning into a circus and there were times when Chloe hated her job
    and wished reporters would have some respect for crime victims, although
    this one wasn’t going to know the difference. Still. The television people
    were in a near frenzy trying to get live video feed to break the story first.
    Mr. Smith had returned quickly to the house, but Chloe saw Caldwell talking
    to a skinny young reporter. Vaguely she recalled his last name was Clark
    and he worked for a rival paper. She wondered if Alan hadn’t heard Gavin’s
    warning not to give out information or if he wanted his fifteen minutes of
    fame.
    Gavin was talking to Captain Johnson who had just arrived. Chloe started
    over to them, but a young officer with closely cropped blond hair and vivid
    blue eyes stopped her. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
    He looked more like a college kid than a cop, but her mind was muddled. “I
    don’t know that I can be any help.”
    “You were at the other crime scene a week ago.”
    Chloe started. “How do you know that?”
    He eyed her hair and smiled slightly. “You’re kind of hard to miss. And, if I
    remember correctly, you were a reporter. How did you get here so fast this
    time?”
    “I…I was having dinner here.”
    He glanced up at the mansion. “Isn’t this the place where that wealthy
    eccentric who calls himself John Smith lives?”
    She nodded, anticipating his next question. “I don’t think he’s available