What if it was someone trying to pick the lock? Should she call the police, or try to see what it was first? If it was just a raccoon nosing around and she called the cops, they’d really discount anything she said in the future.

Denise kept the gun pointed toward the sounds as she edged around to the front windows. If she angled her body just so, she could see her front door…

“What?” Denise gasped out loud.

On her porch was a little girl, something red on her outfit. She was tapping on the door in a way that looked hurt or exhausted or both. Now Denise could make out the word help coming from her.

Denise set down the gun and yanked open the door. The little girl’s face was streaked with tears and her whole frame trembled.

“Can I come in? Daddy’s hurt,” the child lisped.

She picked her up, looking around for a car or any other indicator of how the little girl had gotten here.

“Come in, sweetie. What happened? Where’s your daddy?” Denise crooned as she took the child inside.

The little girl smiled. “Daddy’s dead,” she said, her voice changing to something low and deep.

Denise’s arms fell at the instant deluge of weight, horror filling her as she saw the little girl morph into the same man who’d murdered Paul. He grabbed her when she tried to run, shutting the door behind him.

“Thanks for inviting me in,” he said, his hand clapping over Denise’s mouth just in time to cut off her scream.

Chapter Two

Spade closed his mobile phone, mulling the conversation he’d just had. Denise MacGregor. He certainly hadn’t expected to hear from her again. Now she fancied her cousin had been murdered by some sort of weredog—except weredogs or were-anything didn’t exist.