NEXT DOOR (Book #1)

      A NEIGHBOR’S LIE (Book #2)

      IF SHE KNEW (Book #1)

      IF SHE SAW (Book #2)

      WATCHING (Book #1)

      WAITING (Book #2)

      ONCE GONE (Book #1)

      ONCE TAKEN (Book #2)

      ONCE CRAVED (Book #3)

      ONCE LURED (Book #4)

      ONCE HUNTED (Book #5)

      ONCE PINED (Book #6)

      ONCE FORSAKEN (Book #7)

      ONCE COLD (Book #8)

      ONCE STALKED (Book #9)

      ONCE LOST (Book #10)

      ONCE BURIED (Book #11)

      ONCE BOUND (Book #12)

      ONCE TRAPPED (Book #13)

      ONCE DORMANT (book #14)

      BEFORE HE KILLS (Book #1)

      BEFORE HE SEES (Book #2)

      BEFORE HE COVETS (Book #3)

      BEFORE HE TAKES (Book #4)

      BEFORE HE NEEDS (Book #5)

      BEFORE HE FEELS (Book #6)

      BEFORE HE SINS (Book #7)

      BEFORE HE HUNTS (Book #8)

      BEFORE HE PREYS (Book #9)

      BEFORE HE LONGS (Book #10)

      CAUSE TO KILL (Book #1)

      CAUSE TO RUN (Book #2)

      CAUSE TO HIDE (Book #3)

      CAUSE TO FEAR (Book #4)

      CAUSE TO SAVE (Book #5)

      CAUSE TO DREAD (Book #6)

      A TRACE OF DEATH (Book #1)

      A TRACE OF MURDER (Book #2)

      A TRACE OF VICE (Book #3)

      A TRACE OF CRIME (Book #4)

      A TRACE OF HOPE (Book #5)

      Prologue

      She was scared to open her eyes. She had closed them some time ago—how long, she didn’t know—because she had been sure he was going to kill her. He hadn’t, yet she was still unable to open her eyes. She did not want to see him or what he had in store for her. She hoped that when it came, her death would be a bit more painless if she wasn’t aware of which method he used.

      But with each minute that passed, Claire started to wonder if he had death on his mind at all. Her head was ringing from where he had hit her in the head with something. A hammer of some sort, she thought. The memory was murky, as was the memory of what had happened once he’d struck her on the head.

      Even with her eyes closed, there were some things that Claire could deduce. At some point, he had placed her into the back seat of his car. She could hear the hum of the engine and the low volume of a local radio station (WRXS, playing only true and original grunge from the Seattle area). She could also smell something familiar, not a food smell but something organic.

      Just open your eyes, stupid, she thought. You know you’re in a car and he’s driving. He can’t very well kill you now, can he?

      She willed herself to open her eyes. When she did, the car hit a small bump and started to slow down. She heard the low squeal of brakes and the crunching of gravel underneath the tires. “Love, Hate, Love” by Alice in Chains was on the radio. She saw the WRXS call letters in digital letters on the radio in front of her. She saw the shapes of the two seats between her and the man who had hit her in the head with the hammer.

      Of course, there was also the fact that she was bound and gagged. She was pretty sure the thing he had put in her mouth and tightened around her cheeks was some sort of sex gag, complete with the red ball in the center. As for whatever was binding her arms together behind her back, it felt like some sort of nylon strap. She assumed that was the same thing tying her legs together at the ankles.

      As if sensing she had opened her eyes, he turned around and faced her. He smiled at her and in that moment, she remembered why she had given in to him so easily. Psychotic or not, the man was handsome.

      He turned back around and put the car in park. When he got out of the car and then opened the back door, he did so casually. It seemed like he did something like this every day. He reached in and grabbed her by the shoulders. When his right hand grazed harshly by her breast, she couldn’t tell if it was intentional or not.

      He pulled her toward him by the shoulders. She tried kicking at him but her bound ankles would not allow it. When she was in the open air and out of the car, she saw that it was nearly dusk. It was sprinkling rain—not really sprinkling, but what her father had always referred to as spitting—and foggy.

      Behind them, she saw his car and a slight hill. A small gravel driveway and a length of chain that extended to an old dilapidated doghouse in the yard. The doghouse looked odd…as if it had been constructed to look old. And there was something inside of it…not a dog at all but a…

      What the hell is that? she wondered. But she knew what it was. And it creeped her out. Her fear ramped up and something about the weirdly placed object in the doghouse made her sure that she was going to die—that the man carrying her over his shoulder was completely out of his mind.

      There was a doll in there. Two of them, maybe. It was hard to tell. They had been set up to face one another, their heads angled slightly.

      It looked like they were gazing out of the opening of the doghouse, watching her.

      A gnawing horror settled itself in her mind and refused to let go.

      “What are you doing to me?” she asked. “Please…I’ll do anything if you let me go.”

      “I know you will,” he told her. “Oh, I know.”

      He stepped up onto a rickety porch step and made a harsh swinging gesture with his right shoulder. Claire barely felt the impact of the railing against