ONE AS DECKER MCCONNELL STRODE INTO THE LOUD BAR AT HALF past nine on a Saturday night, the woman’s picture burned a hole in the pocket of his black shirt. In the past six hours, he’d stared at it a hundred times. Rachel Linden, age twenty-nine. Divorced. Graduate of UCLA, summa cum laude, with a degree in education. Recent transplant from sleepy Moss Beach on the Florida coast to Louisiana. Currently employed by the Lafayette Parish school system as an elementary English teacher. Those facts might define the brunette whose dark eyes sparkled from a seemingly average oval face, but that didn’t explain why just looking at her photo made him hard as hell. “You sure this Rachel woman is going to be here?” his boss, Xander Santiago, asked, propped up against the quiet corner of the bar on his left. “Unless she bails on her own birthday party, yep. I’ve got to find her before this situation goes south.” Decker sighed and surveyed the crowd through the club’s flashing lights. People were getting their drink on and looking around for a nightly hookup. From what he could gather, Rachel was only here because the new neighbors and coworkers who had become her friends insisted that she celebrate her big day. Though the club was packed more tightly than meat behind cellophane, he hoped he’d spot her soon. Every minute that slid by was another minute