Teschmacher

Darren stood at his doorstep, his grip tightening around the doorknob, the knife still hidden behind him.

If it wasn't the intruder that was returning, he had at least expected it to be a lot of other things — a nosy neighbor, another journalist sniffing for a story, maybe even an old friend like Rico showing up unannounced.

But the Silent Witch?

Rachel Teschmacher?

That was unexpected.

However, there she was, standing on his small porch, poised as always. Her brown hair framed her sharp, attractive features, one eye obscured by a sleek curtain of hair.

Even though they had not spoken or crossed paths that many times, Darren knew she was an extreme beauty.

She had the kind of beauty that made men turn their heads without realizing it, a presence that commanded attention in any room.

In a fitted blouse tucked into a high-waisted pencil skirt, she looked every bit the professional.