Her Biggest Fan... When she wakes up, she's very cold. Colder than she's ever been in her life. She can't move or speak. And then she sees him. The one who took her. And before she dies, she wishes she could scream... Is About To Become... Former movie star Jenna Hughes left Hollywood for an isolated farm in Oregon to get away from fame. But someone has followed her--an obsessed fan whose letters are personal and deeply disturbing. And while Jenna's already shaken up by what she's seen on paper, she'd be terrified if she knew what Sheriff Shane Carter is investigating. It's a shocking case that started with the discovery of a dead woman in the woods. Now two more women are missing, one of whom bears a striking resemblance to Jenna... Her Worst Nightmare... LISA JACKSON is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of over ninety-five novels, including You Will Pay, After She’s Gone, Deserves to Die, You Don’t Want to Know, Running Scared, and Shiver . She is also the co-author of the Colony Series, written with her sister and bestselling author Nancy Bush, as well as the collaborative novels Sinister and Ominous , written with Nancy Bush and Rosalind Noonan. There are over thirty million copies of her novels in print and her writing has been translated into nineteen languages. She lives with her family and three rambunctious dogs in the Pacific Northwest. Readers can visit her website at www.lisajackson.com and find her on Facebook. Deep Freeze By Lisa Jackson KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP. Copyright © 2005 Susan Lisa Jackson All rights reserved. ISBN: 978-1-4201-3933-4 CHAPTER 1 This Winter "So you're concerned about the coming storm," Dr. Randall said calmly from the chair near his desk. He'd positioned his body so that there was nothing between himself and his client but an imported rug covering the polished wooden floor of his office. "I'm concerned about the winter." The response was angry, but coldly so. The man, tall and taciturn, sat near the window on a padded leather chair. He stared straight at Randall with a hard, unforgiving gaze. Randall nodded, as if he understood. "You're concerned, because —?" "You know why. It seems that things always get worse when the temperature drops." "At least for you." "Right. For me. Isn't that why I'm here?" Tension was evident in the stiffness of his neck and the bleached knuckles of his clasped hands. "Why are you here?" "Don't patronize me. None of that psychobabble doubletalk." "Do you hate the winter?" A beat. A second's hesitation. The client blinked. "Not at all. Hate's a pretty strong word." "What would you say? What would be the right word?" "It's not the season I don't like. It's what happens." "Maybe your concern about things being worse at this time of year is just your perception." "Do you deny that bad things happen in the winter?" "Of course not, but sometimes accidents or tragedies can occur in other months. People drown while swimming in the summer, or fall off cliffs while hiking in the mountains, or become ill from parasites that only breed in the heat. Bad things can happen at any time." His client's jaw became solid granite as he seemed to struggle silently with the concept. He was a very intelligent man, his IQ near genius level, but he was struggling to make sense of the tragedy that had scarred his life. "I do know that intellectually, but personally, it's always worse in the winter." He glanced to the window, where gray clouds were muddying the sky. "Because of what happened when you were a child?" "You tell me. You're the shrink." He cut a harsh glance at the psychologist before offering a bit of a smile, a quick flash of teeth that Dr. Randall supposed would be considered a killer smile by most women. This man was an interesting case, made more so by the pact that they had agreed upon: There would be no notes, no recording, not so much as a memo about the appointment in Randall's date book to indicate that the two had ever met. The appointment was cloaked in the deepest secrecy. His client glanced at the clock, reached into his back pocket, and pulled out his wallet. He didn't count out the bills. They were already neatly folded and tucked into a special compartment. "We should meet again soon," Dr. Randall suggested as the money was left on a corner of his desk. The tall man nodded sharply. "I'll call." And he would, Dr. Randall thought, idly pressing the fold from the crisp twenties as his patient's boots rang down the steps of the back staircase. For no matter how hard the man tried to convince himself he didn't need counseling, he was smart enough to realize that the demons he was trying to exorcise had burrowed deep into the darkest parts of his soul and wouldn't be released without the proper coaxing, the treatment he so abhorred. Pride goeth before a fall, Randall thought as he slipped the bills into his own worn wallet. He'd seen it time and time again. This man, though he didn't know it