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him at her touch, making his body harden. Had she felt it, too?
    A cool look slid onto her face, masking any emotion, giving him his answer.
    Against his will, though, that aloofness turned him on. He’d like to do her right here in the office up against the wall with Dolly Parton watching.
    But that mysterious, almost eerie look settled back in her eyes again, sucker punching him, and he realized that once with her might not be enough.
    She’d want more. She’d pick at a man’s soul with those probing deep eyes, weave a magic spell around him with her sultry voice.
    His jaw tightened, and he pasted his professional mask in place, reminding himself why he was here.
    To check out the possibility of a serial killer. Nothing more.

CHAPTER FOUR
    C larissa took one look at Vincent and a tingle rippled through her. He had been a tough and lonely little boy, mad at the world, and he had grown into a tougher man, big and broad shouldered, all dark, brooding, and sexy.
    In fact, he was absolutely breathtaking now.
    He stood well over six feet. His muscles had become defined and pronounced, his jaw square, and a few lines had started to fan around his eyes. His black hair was thick and layered and shadowed dense brows, deep-set eyes, and a slight scar on his forehead.
    Tension vibrated between them as those intense black eyes bore into hers. They were blacker than she remembered, angry, as if he was void of a soul.
    Maybe it had been ripped out by all he’d seen as a kid and since he’d left Eerie.
    God knew that living with the victims’ spirits had robbed her innocence. Their suffering—the mind-numbing fear that had frozen them in place and kept them from escaping their tormentor—ate at her. Sometimes their final thoughts as their last breath shuddered from their failing bodies haunted her at night, especially those not ready to pass. And then there were the ones with so many sins they’d never make it into the light.
    Fear of not being able to help the victims barreled through her. Sorrow rolled in on the last train in that car. She couldn’t fail. Billie Jo and Jamie were depending on her. And so was this other woman.
    “Sheriff Waller requested the FBI’s assistance because of information you’ve supplied, Clarissa?” Vincent’s husky tone dripped sarcasm and male sexuality.
    “Yes. Thank you for coming.”
    He claimed the other metal chair, his impressive height towering over her, his intimidating look pinning her to the seat. He fully intended to discount any information she offered, that was obvious.
    She forged on anyway, determined to convince him to investigate. She didn’t care what he thought of her personally anymore, but she had to help the ones in limbo.
    “Let’s review the facts. You’re a grief counselor now?” he asked.
    “Actually, I’m a family therapist here in town, but I specialize in grief counseling. I’ve spoken with each of the two families who lost loved ones.”
    He gave a clipped nod. “I’ve studied the files on those cases, and I don’t see anything to indicate they’re connected.” He consulted the folder in his hand. “In fact, both the drowning victim and spider-bite victim appear to have died from accidental causes. And according to the lack of evidence of a struggle or footprints, the drowning might have been a suicide.”
    “Billie Jo Rivers did not kill herself,” Clarissa stated with conviction. “She had just gotten engaged last week and was excited about planning her wedding.”
    Vincent glanced at the sheriff for confirmation.
    Sheriff Waller nodded. “I talked to Billie Jo’s mama. She said she and Billie Jo were supposed to go dress shopping the next day, that Billie Jo couldn’t wait.” Sheriff Waller hooked his thumbs in his belt loops. “There was no suicide note, either.”
    Vincent arched a thick black brow. “Maybe she discovered her fiancé was cheating and was distraught.”
    “No,” Clarissa argued. “Curtis Riggs worshipped that girl.