Contact. Evelyn Vaughn

as he shook his head that she feared he might break some teeth. Wow. He really didn’t like Cassandra, did he?

      Better to know that now, she guessed. “Not that I’ve ever seen the woman. Apparently she keeps to herself.”

      “Yeah, but you’ve heard something.” Like that, he was leaning over the table again, warm and demanding and coffee-scented. Practically leaning over her. Practically touching. “Tell me what you’ve heard.”

      Caught now, she would have been glad for almost any interruption.

      She still felt a cold horror wash through her as she recognized something—a footstep, a heartbeat—behind her.

      The killer was here.

      And he was feeding.