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her from whatever had made her afraid. “Let me drive you to your apartment. You can’t walk home like that. You’ll freeze.” The sweatshirt he’d given her wasn’t enough to keep her warm in the frigid December cold.
    “I’ll be fine. I’ll take the bus.” She glanced away. Lying again. “Besides, I’m used to trekking around in a sweatshirt.” Her stomach growled and she pressed a hand over it.
    “I can take you somewhere to get something to eat.” He couldn’t figure her out, her body language shifting from proud to unsure, defiant to willing to help and back again.
    “I’ve got things in my apartment,” she said, but she licked her bottom lip as if thinking about food that was most likely not waiting at her place. Reilly weighed pressing her, but not wanting to make her leery, he dropped it. “I’m grateful for what you did today, Carey.” Reilly took out his business card. “If you need anything, please give me a call.” He’d give her a minute lead and then follow her, make sure she arrived home safely. He didn’t have it in him to let her walk away into whatever danger awaited her without trying to help.
    She took the card from him and he knew she’d ditch it the second he was out of sight.
    “Take care of yourself,” he said.
    Keeping her gaze to the ground, she walked to the front door. She’d made it halfway across the floor when he rushed after her, a tug in his gut telling him it wasn’t a smart idea for her to waltz out the front door of the police station. Vanessa had said she wasn’t in the news, but word of another attack might have gotten around the city.
    He was five feet behind her and he called her name to stop her. The ringing phones and chatter in the police station drowned out his voice. Carey opened the front door and a flash of cameras and noise exploded in front of her. She whirled in horror and Reilly reached her, tucking her against him, shielding her face from the camera lenses.
    The media had snapped a picture of a witness to a serial killing spree.

Chapter 3
    “D illinger, handle that,” Reilly barked, pointing to the front door. Dillinger leapt to his feet and went outside to disperse the mob waiting for news of the Vagabond Killer.
    Reilly clutched her close to him and she lifted her face. “They took my picture,” she said, trembling in his arms.
    He tightened his grip on her, wishing he could deny it. But the media was hungry for information and a serial stabbing was front-page news. She could have been a visitor to the precinct for other reasons, but he’d bet at this moment, the media was running her picture through their databases and digging into her life, searching for her identity.
    “It’s going to be okay,” he said. Except rushing to her side made it easy for the media to connect her to the case through him. He swore inwardly.
    Carey buried herself tighter against him. “They took my picture,” she repeated.
    As if in reminder, the sound of reporters clamoring outside seeped into the squad room.
    “I can protect you from him,” Reilly said, reading the terror in her voice. Holding her felt right, and in the aftermath of their mistake, it was the safest place for her to be. “I shouldn’t have let you walk out the door.”
    Vanessa appeared at his side, wagging her smart phone and looking between the two of them. “Wouldn’t have mattered. They were waiting for someone matching her description. The media caught wind there was a witness from someone at the scene. No way can she be alone now. She won’t get a moment’s rest. They’ll stalk her like prey.” Vanessa swore under her breath and tapped her foot in agitation.
    Carey shoved him away and seemed to shrink lower in her shoes. “I’m fine. If someone could take me home, I’ll be fine. No one in the city knows me except my boss and he doesn’t watch the news.” The tremor in her voice betrayed how scared she was.
    Reilly’s chest lurched. A woman should never tremble for