Seeing no one familiar, Laurie turned back to Cindy. Her uneasiness did not abate. "Nothing really. It's just this feeling I had...like someone was watc hing me. You ever feel that way?"

"No one ever wants to look at me when I'm with you." Cindy laughed, though by the tone in her voice, Laurie could not help but think Cindy believed her statement. "I'm surprised Damien saw me standing there with you at the table."

"Now you're the one being ridiculous. You are far prettier than you give you rself credit for." Laurie could not help glancing behind her once more. Stil l, no friendly-or unfriendly-face appeared. Suddenly in a hurry to be gone f rom the area, Laurie said, "You know what, I'm not so hungry after all. Let'

s shop."

"I could stand to lose a few pounds," Cindy agreed.

Laurie and Cindy walked to the nearest trashcan and dumped the remainder of the meal. As they left the area, Laurie glanced back one last time, catching a glimpse of a tall figure dressed all in black. Because he stood in the sh adows and wore a ball cap low on his head, Laurie did not get a good look at his face.

She chalked it up as nothing but a case of nerves since the man turned and walked to a nearby counter, paying her no mind. Though try as she might, th e feeling did not diminish. A shudder ran down her spine as they turned the corner and entered the main corridor of the mall.

G.o.d, she had spooked herself.

A madman was running lose in the city of Fairview Park. But he killed prosti tutes not journalists, she thought with a chuckle.

"You're a little on edge today," Cindy noted. "Are you sure nothing is both ering you?"

Laurie put her arm around Cindy's shoulder and headed for the nearby Dilla rd's. "Now what could possibly be wrong? I'm shopping with my best friend and I just had my first article published in a leading newspaper. What mor e could a girl ask for?"

Laurie never glanced back. She did not see the tense jaw or clenched fists of the man dressed in black as he stood a careful distance away, his ire mo unting with every watchful moment.

Cole's beeper sounded, interrupting the Cleveland Indians game against the Detroit Tigers. "Now what?"

Damien never came home the night before as Cole noted his car missing when he went outside to retrieve the Sunday paper. Up until now, the day had b een a relatively quiet one. He grasped the beeper, checked the number, the n reached for the cordless phone and punched out the digits, knowing the c hief's home phone by heart.

"Kincaid?" the chief's voice growled into the receiver.

"What? No h.e.l.lo?" Cole chided, though he knew something must have occurr ed to have John McCray calling on a Sunday afternoon. An odd feeling gna wed at his gut. The chief never made social calls.

"This isn't any time to be joking."

Cole's intuition told him something was amiss as though an alarm had gone off in his head. "What's going on?"

"Mayor Stanton's twenty-one year old daughter is missing. Apparently, she went out last night and never came home."

"Doesn't seem like much to get worked up over. She probably spent the nig ht at someone's home and is about to walk in the door as we speak."

"We can only hope, but to placate him, why don't you get on over there. Tha t article in yesterday's Plain Dealer has him worked up."

Cole inhaled a deep breath. At the mere mention of their perp, tremors of dr ead slithered up his spine like an Indian Cobra as it dances upward to the s nake charmer's flute. "What does she look like?"

"Brown hair. Brown eyes."

"Ah, s.h.i.t," Cole cursed, exhaling.

"That doesn't mean a thing, Cole. Don't you go getting all worked up. She w asn't a prost.i.tute by any means. She was a good girl, went to school at Clev eland State, a senior this year."

"I hope you're right, Chief. But I got to tell you, I have a bad feeling about t his one."

"Don't you dare let him know it, Cole. Kiss his a.s.s. Tell him what he wants to hear. I don't need the mayor breathing down our necks." The chief paused, the silence stretching between them like a cold war. Finally, he said, "Aft er you get done speaking with the mayor, I'll meet you at the station."

The chief told him the address to Mayor Stanton's house then hung up. Chris t, Cole thought, leave it to the chief to send him to soothe the mayor's co nscience that his daughter had more than likely spent the night with her le gs wrapped around some man's waist.

Cole slammed the remote to the television on the stand as Manny Ramirez hi t another home run. He pushed the off b.u.t.ton and the screen went blank. Co le headed for his room and yanked a pair of chocolate-colored dress pants from the dry-cleaner's hanger.

Normally, he would not think to wear suits on the weekend, even if working a case, but since he was going to the mayor's home, John would have his hid e if he showed up in anything less. Donning a pale yellow shirt, he grasped a casual suit jacket that matched his pants and a pair of light brown shoe s.

Fifteen minutes later, Cole pulled into the drive of a very wealthy home, n oting that the mayor lived only minutes from Laurie Michaels. He stepped fr om the cab of his truck and walked to the door.

Before he could even ring the bell, it opened and the mayor's wife showed h im into the den, her face ashen and pale. The warm, rich colors of the room were very masculine, lending a certain comfort. Jim Stanton stood up from behind his desk, walked around it, and shook Cole's hand, then offered him a seat in what Cole guessed as being a very expensive cut of Italian leathe r.

"Lieutenant Kincaid?" The Mayor asked as he returned to his chair behind a ma.s.sive cherry-wood desk. "John McCray said to expect you. He also said you were the best."

"That's what some say," Cole replied, neither accepting the fact nor denyi ng it. "When is the last time you saw your daughter, Mayor Stanton?"

"Please, call me Jim." Lines of worry creased his forehead and Cole thought if they did not find his daughter, they might very well become a permanent a ddition to his now youthful face. Jim Stanton had not led a hard life by any means. "She left here last night around eight o'clock."

Cole pulled out his pad and pencil from his pocket and began jotting notes.

"Did you personally see her? Say anything to her?"

"I kissed her good-bye. I told her to have a good time."

"Did she tell you she might be stopping by a friend's? Spending the night?"

"No. Victoria always called if she wasn't going to make it home." Then Jim added as an after thought, "She didn't want me to worry about her needlessl y."

"Perhaps she didn't want to wake you."

"No, Lieutenant, she always called, even in the middle of the night."

"Do you know where she was going?"

"I'm not sure, a club downtown I believe."

"Is there a regular hangout, a place where she would meet friends?"

"Victoria had a lot of friends," he paused looking down at his fingers inter twined on his desk. When he glanced up, tears pooled in his eyes. "Do you th ink this has anything to do with what I read in yesterday's paper?"

Cole could not tell him about his intuitions. For all he knew, he was wrong that Victoria Stanton had come to harm. "After Friday's edition of Westlife , the station had been flooded with calls. Everyone and their mother were ca lling in a description of some stranger lurking in the bushes or demanding this son of a b.i.t.c.h's head on a platter."

"So what are you telling me?"

"There is no need to panic, that I don't think you have anything to worry abo ut. Our man has only killed prost.i.tutes up to this point."

"To this point," the mayor picked out. "Who's to say who his next victim wi ll be?"

"Look, Jim, I've been a detective for nearly ten years and a lieutenant for four of those years. When I worked in Cleveland, I was able to study some serial cases beneath the FBI. What I do know is these men rarely change the ir MO's."

"Has there ever been a case where they have?"

"Well, yes, of course. But I don't think, in this case, our murderer will. W e have a man who has an penchant for brunette's with straight hair and brown eyes, but-"

Jim tossed a five-by-seven framed picture across the desk, interrupting Cole in mid-sentence. "What color is her straight hair, Lieutenant? Her eyes?"

Cole drew in a deep breath, then slowly released it. "But she's not a prost.i.tut e."

"I want my daughter found and I want her found now!" The mayor lost his pa tience as his frustration and fear mounted. He stood up and began pacing t he confining s.p.a.ce behind his desk. "My daughter is my whole life. She's a n only child and I don't know what I'd do without her."

"I'll have this dispatched as a 'enter missing adult' on her and the car. You'

ll have to give me a description, but technically, there is not a lot we can d o at this point, unless you receive word, of course."

Jim quit his pacing and stared at Cole through narrowed angry eyes. "Word?"

he asked in a controlled voice, raising one brow.

"We can't rule out kidnapping."

"Why? I don't have any enemies."

"You don't have to know them, Jim. If they know you have money-sometimes t hat's reason enough." Cole returned his attention to his writing pad. "Can you give me a description of her car and the license plate number?"

"It's a ninety-nine dark green Z28. I bought it for her on her twenty-first b irthday and the plates say TORI. It's my pet name for her."

"I'm sure it won't be hard to spot." Cole rose from his chair and shook the m ayor's hand. "I'll put out a bulletin right away. Don't worry, we'll find her .".

"I hope you're right, Cole, because I hate to think what might happen to your career if she's not."

Cole knew the man had indirectly threatened his job, but he let the comment slide, knowing the man spoke from grief. "I'll do the best I can," Cole clip ped, his jaw tensing. "I'm sure you will," he said.

The Mayor showed Cole to the door without further comment. He walked down the sidewalk, cursing under his breath. Not only had he needed to convin ce the mayor the missing girl was only a coincidence, he needed to a.s.sure himself. He only hoped that this time his intuitions proved wrong.

Cole jumped into his Ranger and headed for the station where John McCray awaited him.

Chapter 20.

" That pompous a.s.s had the audacity to threaten my job," Cole grumbled as h e poured a cup of coffee, then took a seat across from John.

"Calm down, Cole. I'm sure Mayor Stanton didn't mean anything," the chief tried to a.s.sure him.

Cole rolled his eyes and exhaled his breath. "The h.e.l.l he didn't. He said he'

d hate to think what failure to find his daughter would do to my career."

"That's not saying he'd see you fired, Cole."

"Indirectly, it does. I read the expression on his face. All politicians are ali ke. They think the sun rises and sets on them."

Cole had stewed all the way to the station over Jim Stanton's parting comme nt. He needed trouble like he needed a hole in the head, but Cole had wante d nothing more than to punch the jerk in the mouth. If he were to be honest , though, the source of his anger had more to do with the idea the girl mig ht be the next victim of the blood-drinking perp than with the Mayor's thre at.

"Did you have the girl and the car dispatched as an 'entered missing person'

?" John asked, wisely changing the subject.

"Before I walked in. I also contacted CRIS. All of Cuyahoga County will be alerted. I'm doing everything humanly possible to find this girl, besides c ombing the streets myself. Which, at the moment, doesn't sound like a bad i dea."

John smiled, leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers, staring at Col e over the tops of them.

"You won't be able to find her yourself. Jack Douglas has probably dispatch ed the uniforms by now. I'm sure they are keeping an eye out for her as we speak. But you don't think she'll turn up, do you?"

Cole took a sip from his Styrofoam cup, then asked, "What makes you say th at?" "The look in your eyes. I know what you're thinking, Cole Kincaid. You think this girl is already dead."

Cole set his cup on the edge of the desk, then glanced at his cuticles, wishin g he could have avoided this question altogether. He shifted in his chair and leaned on one armrest, giving the chief his full attention.

"No, I don't believe we'll find her alive," he stated in all honesty.

"Your intuitions?"

"Partly, but it's just too coincidental. Victoria Stanton has straight brown hair and brown eyes. The exact deadly combination for our killer."

"Do you know how many people within the city limits alone have that color c ombination? It's not like it's an oddity or anything."

Cole sighed. "That's where my intuitions come into it. I think we made this piece of c.r.a.p angry with the article in the paper and he stepped up the pa ce of the game. If Victoria was walking down the street wearing some slinky little number and caught his attention-that's all it would take. The Plain Dealer hits the stands Sat.u.r.day morning, and a girl with brown eyes and ha ir winds up missing that night? What do you think, John?"

"I'm thinking I hope like h.e.l.l you're wrong. Right now, we have every avail able officer and d.i.c.k out there following up on false leads because of the tons of phone calls received since this. .h.i.t the paper. We surely aren't in any position for the mayor to be breathing down our necks." John stood and walked to the window overlooking the parking lot. "Maybe I was wrong."

"About?" Cole asked, one brow going heavenward.

John turned around and looked at Cole, his eyes haunted and distant. "If what y ou're saying is true, and this girl is dead...I'll be at fault."

"How so?"

"You didn't want to print that piece in the paper-I did. I talked you into it, Cole. If I laid the deadly card and he trumps it, we better d.a.m.n well get a q uick handle on the game before this son of a b.i.t.c.h kills any more. This isn't any street hooker this time-it's the mayor's daughter." John gave him his back once again. "I'll take full responsibility for this one."

"You could lose your job," Cole stated, knowing the chief had already gues sed as much.