"Do I really have to go to this party?" Parker asked, frowning into the mirror and holding her dress up against her body. "I hate these things."

Sophie came up behind her and placed her hands on her sister's shoulders. "Come on, Parker. It will be good for you."

Parker didn't look as if she believed her as their eyes met in the mirror.

"It'll be fun," Cassie added.

"See," Sophie encouraged Parker with a squeeze of her shoulders, "Cassie is excited."

"Cassie's always excited," Parker grumped.

Not at all insulted, Cassie told her, "The world is an exciting place."

The three of them were getting ready to go to a party celebrating the upcoming release of Sophie's latest book, Storm Falls, and Sophie felt almost as if she were wrangling children instead of grown women. Both of her sisters had faced challenges that had caused them to spend most of their developmental years being sheltered by their mother. Sophie had missed most of this by spending as much time in England with her father as in America with their overprotective mother. Now that Cassie and Parker were adults, one wanted to experience everything life had to offer while the other wanted to just hide away from it. It had been a miracle that the two had convinced their mother to let them move in with Sophie, but she was glad they were finally being given the chance to grow.

Parker smiled briefly at Cassie's answer and handed Sophie the dress so she could take off her t-shirt and jeans. Sophie hoped that Parker would hurry. They were already dangerously close to being late, and Sophie wasn't even dressed yet.

"Will there be snacks there?" Parker asked, her voice slightly muffled by her t-shirt.

"There's always snacks,"Cassie answered, taking the shirt Parker held out to her.

"And booze, I imagine," Sophie agreed.

"I don't think I'll drink much of that," Cassie said. "It goes right to my head."

Remembering Cassie's wobbly legs and off-pitched singing the last time she had a few drinks, Sophie thought this was an excellent idea.

"I like the ones with the bubbles." Parker slipped off her jeans and took her black dress from Sophie. "They tickle."

Sophie was partial to champagne herself. With a smile, she said, "Me, too."

Now that her hands were free, she could go into her own room and dress. As she left Parker's, she could hear her sisters talking and laughing quietly. She was less than ten years older than they were, but sometimes she felt more like their mother than their sister.

As Sophie snapped on the light and went to retrieve her dress from the closet, her mind went to her current writing problem. Now that she'd killed off Rebecca Storm, she was suddenly blocked as bad as she'd ever been in her life. Killing her main character had seemed like a good idea at the time, and she'd thought she knew who she'd replaced Storm with. Unfortunately, when forced with a blank page, all of her ideas had fallen apart. Now, she was left with a blinking cursor and an empty head.

Sophie frowned and forced the thoughts away, determined to enjoy her party. There would be time to worry later. For now, there was a sexy red dress with her name on it and a room full of people who adored her. That's what was important.

XXX

Eliot Spencer was frowning as he stepped into the expensively but tastefully decorated high rise apartment. It was full of understated luxury, but, more importantly, it also contained the body f of a very dead young woman

As he entered, Baird and Hardison joined him. They were a study in opposites, one a blond, blue eyed woman, and the other an athletic, attractive African American man. Both of them were tall and long limbed, and sometimes when they walked on either side of him, Eliot felt like he was between bookends.

The three of them quietly crossed the room to join the others around the body. There were a couple of uniform and a photographer.

"Jake here yet?" he asked.

"Somewhere." Baird waved her hand vaguely.

"He's been here awhile," Hardison added.

Eliot nodded and bent to study the victim. She was laid out on a large, black coffee table. Her clothes had been stripped from her and replaced with red rose petals. Demure pieces of skin showed through them, exposing bits of shoulders and her stomach. Completing the picture were two large sunflowers that covered her eyes and obscured most of her face. He wondered who she was and how she'd ended up like this, brutally murdered and then staged in a gruesome parody of romance.

"Vic's Alison Tisdale," Hardison said before Eliot could even ask him. His dark eyes swept impersonally over the body and, as usual, Eliot couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Eliot looked at her. "Alison Tisdale?"

"Yeah. Mean something to you?"

It sounded familiar, but he couldn't place where he'd heard the name before. Since her place screamed money, it could have been in the paper. "I don't know. Maybe."

Hardison accepted this with a nod and continued, "Twenty-four. Student at NYU. Social work program."

"She was a student?" Eliot asked incredulously. "When Jake was a student, he shared a room that was probably smaller than this girl's bathroom with two other guys."

Baird smirked. "I'm guessing she didn't pay for it."

"Her daddy's loaded," Hardison added.

Eliot glanced back down at the body briefly. "Who found her?"

"The neighbors called to complain about the music. When she didn't answer, they had the super check on her. He found her like this."

Once more, Eliot looked down at the body, this time studying her carefully, ticking off details out loud. "No sign of a struggle. She knew him, whoever he was."

"Yeah, he even bought her flowers," Baird commented drily.

"Romantic."

Eliot looked up at the new voice to see his brother enter the room. "Hey."

"Hey."

"Do you know how she died yet?"

"Yeah, sure." He took out one of his instruments and carefully lifted a couple of petals. "Two shots to the chest. Small caliber."

The bullet holes were fresh, still slowly dripping coagulating blood, and they harshly marred the victim's pale skin.

Eliot nodded, his eyes still on the dead girl. After a few seconds, he realized that he'd seen this scene, or something like it, before.

"Something?" Hardison asked.

"This just...it looks familiar."

"Familiar how?"

"Well, look at how he left her covered. Mostly."

"No sexual assault," Baird offered.

"Right. He did all this," he indicated the flowers, "but it wasn't about sex."

"Are you sure about that?" Hardison sounded doubtful.

It suddenly clicked in where Eliot had seen all this before. "I think I am."

"Because of the way she's laid out."

"Yeah, and because I've definitely seen this before. Come on, guys, think. Think."

Hardison shook his head. "You lost me."

"Me, too," Baird admitted.

Eliot looked at his brother in exasperation, but Jake was smiling and nodding. "Of course."

"Of course, what?"

"Roses on her body? Sunflowers on her eyes?"

He just got blank stares from Baird and Hardison. Jake sounded disgusted as he said, "Don't you guys read?"

XXX

"The party's going well, don't you think?"

Sophie was standing at the bar with a drink in her hand watching her guests mingling. She was having a brief respite from signing autographs and posing for pictures, and she was enjoying the sight of people interacting who might otherwise never meet.

At the voice, she turned to see her ex-husband, also her publisher, standing beside her, beaming as if this were his party instead of hers. Sophie couldn't help but smile at how happy he looked. Normally Flynn was a bit shy and reclusive, but now his eyes were shining, and his cheeks were pink with pleasure.

"Quite well," she agreed affectionately.

"I think there's even More people here than the last time."

Sophie's eyes left his face to scan the room. "You might be right."

"Why are you sitting over here all by yourself? You usually love these things." The music was loud, but she thought she heard concern in his voice.

Quickly, her gaze went back to his face. "I'm taking a break. My wrist is starting to hurt."

"Are you okay? I heard you haven't been writing."

She drew back from him. "Who told you that?"

"It's just..."

"It was Cassie, wasn't it?" Sophie made a note to have a talk with Cassie about privacy.

"Are you blocked? Maybe you shouldn't have killed off Rebecca."

Sophie sighed and looked into her drink. "I was so tired of Rebecca. I need a new character. A lawyer or a medical examiner. Maybe a cop or a stay at home mom who gets roped into something that shows her true talents."

"I thought you had an idea."

She frowned into her glass. "I did."

"Sophie, you're deadline is approaching."

"I know that." She knocked back her drink and placed the glass on the bar. "Do we have to talk about that now? Let's just enjoy the party. You can nag me tomorrow."

He studied her face before nodding reluctantly. "Okay, but I'm worried about you."

Sophie patted his arm. "You always worry. That's why we're not married anymore."

"I thought it was because we drove each other crazy."

She laughed. "That, too."

He grinned at her warmly, and she was glad they'd remained friends. He was one of the few real friends she had, and it would have hurt to lose him. Marriage had been a mistake, and it had almost been a costly one.

"Have you seen my sisters?" she asked him, leaning in to be heard more clearly.

"Cassie's dancing with anyone who asks her, but Parker's over there."

Her eyes followed his finger to see her sister sitting in a fancy, overstuffed chair with a book in her hands. She seemed to be ignoring everyone around her.

"What's she doing?" Flynn continued.

"She doesn't want anyone to ask her to dance because she hates it."

"I'm surprised she came."

"I shouldn't have made her. I think I'll go tell her she can go home."

Parker liked gymnastics, books, and animals. She did not like people.

"I'll talk to you later." Sophie left him to make her way through the crowd.

As she approached, Cassie detached herself from the man she'd been dancing with and settled on the arm of Parker's chair. Even though Sophie couldn't hear what Cassie was saying, she could tell Cassie was chattering happily about her evening.

"Sophie," Cassie said in delight, jumping up when she caught sight of her.

"Are you enjoying the party?"

"It's great. I've danced twelve times."

"With anyone in particular or are you working the crowd?"

Cassie smiled broadly. "All different. There are lots of people to dance with."

"I'm glad you're having fun."

Parker shifted in her chair and scowled, putting down her book. "This party's stupid."

"Do you want to go home?"

"Can I?"

"You want to go home?" Cassie asked incredulously.

"It's just loud music and dancing. Boring." Parker did all of her dancing in the air.

"That's what's so fun," Cassie told her.

Parker blew air out of her lips in a rude, disbelieving noise.

"Yes, Parker, you can go home," Sophie said. "I'll have the car brought around. I'm sorry I dragged you here."

"It wasn't all bad. The snacks are good. I talked to Flynn. Everyone's so happy. They don't know you killed off Rebecca, do they?"

"Not yet. I hope you didn't tell them."

"Spoilers, sweetie."

"That's ri..." She noticed Cassie was studying something over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"He's a little rough but kind of cute."

"Who is?"

She gestured, so Sophie turned to see a man striding towards her. The crowd parted in front of him, leaving his path free.

Sophie studied him curiously. He didn't fit in with those who'd come to hear about her new book. His suit was slightly rumpled and, while not cheap, not something you'd expect at this kind of party. He was a bit short for a man, but broad, with muscular arms. Long but neatly tied up hair framed a handsome face that was boyishly round. That was the only boyish thing about it. His jaw was stubbled, and there was a hardness to his features.

As he got close enough to be heard, he looked her up and down. He didn't seem impressed with what he saw.

"Sophie Devereaux?" His voice was gruff.

"Yes."

"Detective Eliot Spencer, NYPD." He flashed her his badge. "I need to ask you some questions about a murder."

"A murder?" she asked, stunned.

"Yes, ma'am." There was a hint of something southern in the way he spoke. "You'll need to come with me."

"Okay. I'll just get my coat and tell Flynn I'm leaving."

He nodded, his eyes stern and serious. As Sophie turned away, she found she was more intrigued than concerned. She'd never seen a real interview, and she hoped this one would spark something. Maybe it would be enough to get her writing again.

XXX

As Sophie sat in the interview room waiting for Detective Spencer, she curiously studied her surroundings. The room was much as she'd expected—dingy walls, uncomfortable chairs, slightly unpleasant smell. She absorbed it all, locking away details to use later.

The door opened, and Detective Spencer walked in. His presence filled the room, and she immediately forgot everything else.

"Miss Devereaux," he said slowly, "I hope you find the accommodations comfortable."

She gave him her best smile, the one that was usually guaranteed to turn any situation in her favour. He didn't even seem to notice.

"Quite comfortable, Detective. All that's missing is fresh cut flowers on the table."

His scowl deepened as he sat across from her and flopped a folder down on the table's scarred surface. "Are you trying to be funny, Miss Devereaux?"

"Would you smile if I were?"

"There's nothing funny about murder."

She straightened. "You mentioned a murder earlier. What murder?"

"Where were you tonight?"

Sophie arched an eyebrow at him. "If you don't known that, then we have a bigger problem than you realize. After all, you came to get me."

He blinked, but the rest of his face remained very still. He stared at her with shuttered blue eyes until she gave in and added, "The party."

"Before that."

"Before that, I was home getting dressed." She let just the hint of a suggestion into her tone and a hint of a smile come to her face.

"Listen. It's been a long night. I'm too tired to deal with any bullshit. Can you just answer my questions?"

She studied his face. He did look tired, and she felt sudden sympathy for him.

"I was home getting ready for the party with my sisters."

Spencer nodded and flipped open the folder. He took out a picture and placed it in front of Sophie. The picture was of a girl—young, blond, pretty. Sophie glanced at it and then back up at the detective.

"Have you seen her before? Maybe she came to a book signing or served you your morning coffee."

She shook her head. "She doesn't look familiar. Should I know her?"

"Alison Tisdale, the murder victim."

"Oh." Sophie looked at the picture more carefully. "If I've seen her before, I don't remember."

"And him?" Spencer put another photograph beside the first. "Look familiar?"

This one was a man, older than the girl and balding. "Who is he?"

"Marvin Fisk. Small claims lawyer. Also dead."

Sophie studied his face before glancing up to meet the detective's gaze. "What has this got to do with me?"

"Well, this is the interesting part. Fisk was found murdered in his office two weeks ago, but I didn't put it all together until tonight. Not until Alison."

He showed her another picture of Alison, but this time she was dead. Rose petals were scattered over her body, and sunflowers were placed over her eyes.

In surprise, Sophie said, "Flowers for your grave."

"Yeah," Detective Spencer agreed, "and here's how we found Fisk."

Again, Sophie recognized the scene as one that had come from her own head. "Hell Hath no Fury."

"Exactly."

"You read Hell Hath no Fury?"

Spencer's brow creased. "What?"

"Detective Spencer, no one read Hell Hath no Fury." She couldn't hide her amusement. "The sales were abysmal."

His scowl deepened. "That's not the point. The point is..."

"You read my books," she teased.

"No. The point is, Miss Devereaux, people are turning up dead. Dead. And the killer's using your work as a how to manual. You're sure you haven't heard of either of our victims?"

Sophie's amusement drained away, and her eyes were drawn to Alison Tisdale's smiling face once more. "I don't remember them."

"Okay." He sounded as if his hold on his patience was tenuous at best.

"What's next?" she asked when he didn't continue. "Did you want to look at my fan mail?"

His answer was to lean back in his chair and cross his arms.

"It all points to an obsessed fan, right?" She filled in the dead air. "You'll want to read my fan mail to see if you can figure out who it is."

"Do you have objections to us reading your mail?"

"No. Of course not. As you said, people are dead."

Dead because of her. Because of what she'd written. Though she kept traces of it from her face, that bothered her.

Detective Spencer studied her face, his blue eyes narrowing. She wondered what he was thinking.

"Are we done here, Detective?" she asked.

Slowly, he nodded. "I'll send someone by to get your mail tomorrow morning."

"Not too early, I hope. I need my beauty sleep."

He snorted in amusement, but he still didn't smile. Sophie wasn't sure whether to be insulted or not.

"Now, I'd like a ride home, if you don't mind." She stood up, wiping invisible wrinkles from the sexy red dress she'd bought especially for the night.

"A ride home?"

"Yes. You kidnapped me from my party, and now it is long past the hour I'd consider taking a taxi by myself. You've taken me from my driver, so it is your responsibility to get me home safely."

He sighed and rubbed a hand over his forehead. "All right. I'll get a uniform to drive you home."

She had been hoping he'd offer to take her, but she accepted his answer with grace. It was late, and she was starting to wilt.

"So be it. Good night, Detective Spencer."

"Yeah," he grunted, still in his chair.

On her way by him, Sophie reached out and placed her hand briefly on his shoulder. She felt him stiffen beneath her fingers at the unexpected touch. "Get some sleep, Detective."

She didn't wait to see if he would answer.

XXX

Sophie was exhausted when she walked into her apartment. She'd expected it to be dark and quiet, but her sisters looked up from a game of Parcheesi when she came in. They'd set it up on the coffee table and were sitting on the floor.

"Sophie," Parker said, "you're back!"

"Yes, I am," she agreed tiredly. "I'm surprised to see you both still up."

"We couldn't go to bed when you could be in the slammer."

"In the slammer?"

"Parker's been trying to guess why they took you in since you left the party. I think she was convinced they'd locked you up and threw away the key."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"So, you're not in trouble?" Parker asked as Cassie started packing up their game.

"Hardly. They wanted my help on a case."

She put her purse on the coffee table and flopped onto the couch. Parker got up and sat beside her, curiosity written all over her face.

"With a case? Like CSI?"

"Not quite like CSI."

Cassie looked up from putting the pieces in the box. "Why did they want your help?"

"Because I have a great investigative mind."

She laughed.

"Okay, not just that. Someone's been committing murders using scenes from my books."

"What? That's awful." She left the game and sat on Sophie's other side. "Are you okay?"

"Did you see the bodies?" Parker added, eyes wide.

"I saw pictures of them."

"How many?"

"Two so far." Then she turned to Cassie and admitted, "It's nauseated me."

Cassie stared at her hard, her eyes serious. Despite normally being perky and cheerful, she was an old soul, and pain and loss had changed her. Most of the time, Sophie forgot about Cassie's scars until her sister suddenly became very serious.

Sophie smiled and patted Cassie's hand. "What I don't get is why he chose the books he chose."

"The murderer?" Parker asked.

"He used two of my least popular works. It doesn't make sense. I don't understand."

"He's crazy." Parker had a knack for breaking everything down to its simplest form.

"Maybe you're right." She shook her head. "I keep thinking of those pictures. It's one thing to write about death, but to see them there, the way I wrote it..."

"How about that detective?" Cassie interrupted her.

Sophie appreciated what she was trying to do. "Detective Spencer?"

"I liked the way he looked." She settled in closer and put her head on Sophie's shoulder. "He had a kind face."

"And you noticed this when he was dragging me out into the night."

"He was grouchy," Parker commented.

"Yes, he was very grouchy," Sophie agreed, "but I liked him."

"Did he yell at you?"

"No, but he used a bit of profanity."

"Oh! What did he say?"

"I still think he looked kind," Cassie repeated.

"Hey, I want to know what he said."

"Let it go, Parker," Sophie told her, but her spirits were starting to lift.

"Hmph." She violently shifted until her shoulder roughly collided with Sophie's.

"Do you think they'll find the killer?" Cassie said quietly.

"I hope so." Sophie hated to think of him out there, murdering people in her name. The writer in her, the one who had researched this kind of thing until investigative knowledge was coming out of her ears, knew that if person was going to become a killer, anything could set them off, and it if wasn't her books it would be something else. The rest of her just couldn't help but wonder if it was her words that had driven the killer to madness and if he'd never have killed without them. She felt responsible for Alison Tisdale and Marvin Fisk, and she couldn't shake the guilt.

"I'm sure Detective Spencer is good at his job, right?"

"Yes. Very good." She sighed. "I don't know about you, but I'm exhausted. Maybe we should go to bed."

"Don't you want to know about the party?" Parker asked.

"Why? Did something happen?"

"No. We came home."

Cassie added, "Flynn told everyone you went to talk to the detective about your next book. Fact checking or something."

"I'll have to remember to thank him later."

"Will he be sleeping over?" Parker asked.

Sophie couldn't tell from Parker's tone what she thought of the idea. "Of course not. We don't do that anymore."

"Do you think they'll let you know when the killer's caught?" Cassie sat up.

"I'm not sure." With a simple call, she could probably make sure that they would. "I hope so."

Her runaway imagination and guilt needed the closure.

XXX

Eliot didn't know whether to attribute his headache to Alison Tisdale's murder or to his interview with Sophie Devereaux.

He grimaced as he loosened his tie and started unbuttoning his shirt. It wasn't that she was unpleasant, and, if he'd met her in a bar, he probably would have appreciated the warmth of her smile and the way her red dress clung to her curves.

But this had been a murder investigation, and her charming good humour had irritated him. She seemed to take the deaths of Alison Tisdale and Marvin Fisk too lightly, even daring to tease him while he was trying to ask her questions. She thought she was being cute, but really she'd been annoying. Well, mostly annoying and maybe a little bit cute.

She'd touched him. Eliot could still feel the warmth and weight of her hand on his shoulder. He'd tried to dismiss it, just as he'd tried to dismiss the way she'd looked in that clingy dress, but his mind wasn't cooperating.

With a sigh, he reached up and tugged his hair loose. He ran his hand through it, enjoying the feeling of freedom. He was so tired that when his phone rang, he was tempted to let it go to voice mail. Of course, he didn't. Taking the phone out of his pocket, he glanced and it and saw the caller was Jake. The corner of his mouth lifted as he answered.

"Yeah?"

"Did you meet her?"

"Couldn't this have waited until morning?"

"Are you kidding? It's not every day you get to meet Sophie Devereaux."

The two of them had been passing her books back and forth for a long time. Jake had started, impressed with the way she could weave a mystery. He'd convinced Eliot to try them, though Eliot rarely read women writers, and he'd been impressed with her tough as nails women characters and their abilities to kick ass and take names.

"Good thing."

"Why?" He sounded disappointed. "Was she horrible?"

"Not really. Irritating."

"What did she do?"

"She smiled."

There was a pause before Jake said, "She really is horrible."

"Funny."

"Did you get her autograph?"

"It didn't come up."

"Is she pretty?"

"Yes," Eliot admitted. "Good looking. Rich. Too damn cheerful."

"I see she made a good impression," Jake remarked dryly.

Again, Eliot felt her fingers on his shoulder and imagined he could smell her light perfume.

"Was she what you expected?" Jake asked.

Eliot thought about that. He'd never really considered meeting her, so he didn't know if he'd had any preconceived notions. He'd known she'd be pretty from the dust jacket—though that simple picture was nowhere near as compelling or as beautiful as the real thing. Plus, she never smiled on the jackets, which gave her a serious air that she definitely lacked in real life. Other than that, it had been her latest character, the star of her last five books, Rebecca Storm, who had caught his imagination.

Rebecca was tall, thin, athletic, and blond—kind of like Baird—and nothing like the Sophie Devereaux he'd spent two hours with.

"She's just a woman."

"I'm not going to get any more out of you tonight, am I?"

"I can't even think, and I've got to be up in six hours."

"Okay. Okay. I'm going, but you're going to tell me all about her tomorrow."

"Your fanboy's showing."

He laughed. "Talk to you later."

Despite feeling cranky enough to rip someone's head off, Eliot was smiling as he hung up. He made his way down the hall to his bedroom still thinking of Sophie Devereaux in her hot red dress. He could finally admit she wasn't really all that bad. Besides, he probably would never have to see her again. For some reason, instead of feeling relieved, he felt rather disappointed.