"Only if you had something to hide."

"Even if one didn't, I think it might be a little unnerving to live under the same roof as you. Kind of like living with someone who could read your mind."

"I never heard any complaints. A man could do worse than to be with a woman who can perceive and antic.i.p.ate his most intimate responses."

The words had tumbled out before she even realized what she was saying. Dammit, she had not meant to-She quickly glanced at Lynch to find his face frozen in surprise.

He was clearly embarra.s.sed. Or disgusted. Or ...

Aroused?

Oh, s.h.i.t.

Definitely aroused.

"I'm sorry," she said.

"Sorry for what?"

Good, she thought with relief. He was going to just let it pa.s.s. "Nothing. Did you get the police report yet, or do we-"

"Wait a minute, I'm still considering the possibilities here. What you just said-"

"Was totally unprofessional. It just slipped out. And it's not a possibility. At least, not in your case."

His brows rose. "I didn't think it was."

"Can we just move on?"

"You can't dangle that out there, then just reel it in."

"I wasn't dangling anything."

"I should be the one to apologize. I had no intention of questioning your value as a bed partner." He tilted his head. "And apparently you offer some advantages that hadn't even occurred to me. Though I should have realized if I'd thought about it."

He was enjoying her slip too much. Why in the h.e.l.l had she come out with that purely defensive reply? Last night, she had determined that becoming s.e.xually involved with Lynch would be a mistake, but it was clear her subconscious was not yet on board. Did part of her actually want him to think of her that way? Or had he merely hit on an insecurity she had felt in every romantic relationship she had ever had? Either way, it bothered her that she had shown herself and revealed a possible vulnerability.

"Can we please talk about Lesley Dunn?" she said.

He didn't answer for a moment, studying her. Then he smiled, and said, "Yes. Though it's not nearly as interesting. There has been no change. She's critical but stable, and she still hasn't regained consciousness."

"There's still a guard posted, right?"

"Right. Griffin got some preliminary info from the police report this morning. It's pretty much what we were told last night, but I did get contact info for the men who helped her."

"Helped by hitting her with their car?"

"That actually may have saved her life. In any case, they're the only people who talked to her before she lost consciousness. I figured we would go see them unless you're satisfied with the police report."

"I think you know me better than that."

His smiled widened. "I certainly do."

Lynch drove down I-5 to Chula Vista, a community just a few minutes south of downtown. Within fifteen minutes, they pulled into the crowded parking lot of a body shop with a large seventies-era black Cadillac perched on the roof.

Kendra looked around at the tall wrought-iron fence, which was topped by an additional three feet of barbed wire. "I feel as if I'm in a prison yard."

Lynch pointed to the rows of pricey automobiles lining the lot. "There's over a million dollars' worth of cars over there. They need to protect their customers' wheels."

A stocky man in blue overalls stepped out from one of the shop's four open bays. "Beautiful car, my friends. Truly magnificent," he said in a thick Russian accent, his gaze on the Ferrari. "How can I help you?"

Lynch flashed his badge. "There are two employees here we need to speak with. Caesar Williams and John Hagstrom."

The man's face clouded. "What did they do?"

"Nothing, except maybe save a woman's life. They didn't tell you?"

"Aah, they say nothing to me except a lot of excuses and whining." He turned back to one of the bays, where two men were taping off the hood of a Bentley. "C.W., John ... Get out here and talk to these people. Since you're such heroes, I guess you don't really need to get any real work done."

The men, also wearing blue overalls, shuffled out to the parking lot. They were both in their twenties, Kendra thought, both marked with patchy stubble that would probably never become full beards.

Lynch smiled. "I'm working with the Justice Department. Sorry to take you from your work. Just a few questions, guys."

The men were obviously uncomfortable, and Kendra was fairly certain of at least one cause. She turned to the Russian in charge and waved her hand back toward the shop. "Thank you, sir. We won't keep you. I promise that it will only be five or ten minutes."

The Russian looked as if he wanted to linger, but after a moment, he slowly turned and walked back toward the office.

Kendra turned back to the two workers. "Better?"

Both men nodded, and the one with WILLIAMS on his breast patch wiped his hands with a red rag. "Are you the police?"

"I told you, Justice Department. We're actually working with the FBI," Lynch said. "We know you spoke to police officers on the scene last night, but we just wanted to follow up. You go by 'C.W.'?"

He nodded and gestured to the other man. "And this is John. I feel bad about hitting that woman last night. I couldn't help it. She just ran out in front of us."

"We know it wasn't your fault," Kendra said.

"Is she ... okay?" John asked.

"She still hasn't regained consciousness," Lynch said. "You two were the last to talk to her, and we were hoping you could fill us in on what she had to say."

"We already told the cops everything," John said. "Is this necessary?"

"Humor us," Lynch said. "You say she ran in front of you."

C.W. nodded, still upset. "She came up Garnet Street and ran right in front of us. She kinda stumbled, then hit the pavement hard. We tried to help her, but you know, you're not supposed to move a person who has just been-"

"You did the right thing," Kendra said. "What did she say to you?"

C.W. shook his head. "She was talking kind of crazy. Like someone was after her."

"Did you see anyone?" Lynch said.

"No. At first we thought she was confused and talking about us, like she was paranoid."

"Or high," John said.

"But then she kept pointing back from where she had been running. She said a man was trying to kill her back there. She was crying, then she said some things we couldn't understand. Then she pa.s.sed out."

John nodded. "Scared the h.e.l.l out of us. I was sure we'd killed her."

Kendra stared at him. "You say she pointed. Which direction?"

C.W. shrugged. "Back toward the street, like I said."

"But where? Was there anywhere in particular?"

C.W. and John looked at each other. "Uh, I don't think so," John finally said. "C.W.?"

C.W. shook his head.

"I need you to do something for me," Kendra said. "Take a moment and try to remember everything that was going on around you. When she pointed back at the street, you turned and looked at something. Even if you thought you were looking at nothing, what did you see?"

C.W. thought for a moment. "A white building with painted bricks."

"Me, too," John said. "On the ... south side of the street. Sorry. I actually don't remember seeing anything else."

"Something made you both look there," Kendra said. "Do you think she did? Maybe that's the way she pointed?"

C.W. nodded. "It's possible, I can't say for sure."

"Anything else you can think to tell us?" Lynch said.

"No," C.W. said. "Just that we're real, real sorry. I don't think I've been able to stop shaking since it happened. Poor woman..."

"Who would probably have been killed if you hadn't been there," Kendra said. "No one's blaming you. Stop blaming yourselves." She nodded. "Give C.W. your card, Lynch. If either of you think of anything more, please give us a call. Thank you for your help."

"You're done with us?" John asked, relieved.

She smiled. "See, it didn't hurt a bit." She turned and headed for the car. "Thank you again. Good day, gentlemen."

C.W. and John moved quickly toward the garage as Lynch caught up with Kendra. "You think this trip wasn't a washout?"

"Maybe. Maybe not. We'll have to explore it a little further."

"You were very gracious to those mechanics. I was a little surprised. You're usually a bit more abrupt."

"'Gracious'?" She grimaced. "That's a pretentious word. It matches your car. Why wouldn't I treat them decently? Both of those men work hard for their wages and probably have a tough time with that supervisor. They don't need anyone else giving them a hard time."

"You save that for me?"

"I figure that you're capable of protecting yourself, and no one is going to dare to lean on you." Kendra had climbed back into Lynch's car and pulled up the Google Maps street view of the accident scene on her phone. She moved her finger across the screen to rotate the image. "There it is. The white brick building. We need to go there."

"I really doubt the killer is still loitering on the premises."

She pulled the car door closed and buckled her seat belt. "Surface streets will be faster at this time of day."

Lynch smiled as he put the car into gear. "Yes, ma'am. Even if it doesn't give us anything, I will admit that it's impressive how you got them both to zero in on that building."

"It's possible that John was just influenced by C.W. But even if they didn't remember which direction she was pointing, it may be telling that they both looked at exactly the same building. Her attacker may have been there when she last saw him."

They drove north to the scene of the accident and parked a few doors down from the white building, which turned out to be a wholesale swimming-pool-supplies company. They got out of the car and glanced at the industrial buildings that lined the street.

"Did the police go over this area at all?" Kendra asked.

"Probably nothing more than a drive-through. They had no physical description of the guy who attacked her, other than it was a guy."

Lynch moved toward the white building's entrance, which was a small alcove framed by art deco molding.

Kendra followed him but stopped short before she reached the entrance's two front steps. "Wait."

Lynch stopped. "I see it."

They carefully moved up the steps and knelt by the front door. "Blood droplets," Kendra said. "Most of them perfectly round, meaning that the bleeder was standing in here for a while."

"So you're a blood-splatter expert, too?"

"Not at all. But I've noticed how water drops look on the floor when people come in from the rain. When they're standing still, the drops are round. When they're walking, the drops take on an elongated shape, slightly thicker in the direction of movement."

"Bizarre. Someone tracks water into my place, all I do is get p.i.s.sed."

"They don't teach you guys this stuff at Quantico?"

"Maybe if you're a forensics geek." He glanced around. "So you think the attacker got himself cut and hid here for a while."

"Yes, after Lesley Dunn got hit by the car." She stepped back onto the sidewalk and looked down the street. "Give me a minute." Kendra scanned the area for more blood droplets, which were more difficult to see on the darker paved street. Finally, she locked in on one and began to move down the street, trying to picture the horrible scene that had played out the evening before.

Concentrate. Put yourself in the moment.

That poor woman. How terrified she must have been, bleeding from her midsection and running for her life ...

Before Kendra knew it, she had walked over a block and a half. She looped around and continued her examination as she made her way back toward Lynch. She finally reached the white brick building and stood there, thinking.

"Well?" Lynch said.

"Call the FBI crime-scene guys to back me up, but it's pretty clear what happened. He confronted her down there, just past the intersection. She fought back, and he got cut by his own blade. He chased her up here until she got hit by the car. He had no choice but to duck into this entranceway when the driver stopped. He managed to get back to his car, and I even have a pretty good idea where it was parked."

Lynch pulled out his phone. "I'll get a forensics team down here, but I don't think they'll be able to tell us any more than you just did."