And sure enough, just as Tommy had figured, then were lights on in some of the offices, and people- shadows moving between the lights and the gla.s.s.

Tommy strode confidently up to the front door his every footstep echoing with authority seized the chrome doorhandle, and yanked it open.

Or tried.

It was locked; nearly took his arm out of the socket when he pulled and nothing happened. He frowned, ana tried again rattling the door as hard as he could, but all to no effect. Then he tried all the other doors in the entryway.

No good.

It was only then that he noticed the magnetic keycard reader, and realized that n.o.body was going to get in or out of the building without a key.

Or the help of somebody already inside. If he could find someone with the right card, he could surely bully them into letting him in.

He pounded on the door, hoping to get the attention of at least a night watchman, but no one came.

Angry and frustrated, he turned on his heel and began the long hike to the nearest lighted building.

It was dark under the trees, dark and cold and damp and the wind kept shaking showers of drops from the leaves down into his head. He was regretting his coat; almost regretting the whole idea. He needed to find some people; people he could deal with. Mag-card readers and closed buildings wouldn't yield to his skills.The nearest building proved to be the flight academy dorm. There were lots of people there and not a card reader in sight.

But he was also accosted immediately by a hatchet-faced old man in a rent-a-cop uniform who demanded to see his employee ID. He got downright surly when Tommy didn't produce one. He threatened to call the Dallas cops and have Tommy charged with trespa.s.sing on private property. He looked like he'd do it, too.

And in that mess of tired, irritable stews and crews, there wasn't a single sign of anyone likely to be able to give him satisfaction. n.o.body was in the least sympathetic to his plight he was invading their territory. He was the interloper here, and not at all welcome. They had no reason or desire to be polite or helpful to him.

Tommy beat a hasty retreat back out into the dark, mumbling about leaving his badge in the car.

That seemed to satisfy the old man at least enough so that he was not pursued....

But now he was lost somewhere on the grounds; he'd started following a path he thought would get him back to where the shuttle van had dropped him off, but instead it only took him deeper into the landscaped wooded area. By day this would have been no problem. But by night, on a moonless, starless night when he couldn't tell one building from another, he was baffled. So baffled and preoccupied with his own predicament that he never noticed the footsteps that echoed his own along the path behind him.

TEN.

Mark was hiding in the darkness, but the dark would not conceal him forever. Somewhere out there, somewhere past the boundaries of his tiny sphere of protection, was the Hunter.

The thick dark was stiflingly hot, and the very air seemed to cling to him, clogging his throat as if he was breathing wads of damp cotton. If he moved, he might be able to find someplace cooler, someplace where he could breathe freely.

But if he moved, the Hunter would find him.

He could sense it searching the realm outside his safe little bubble, piercing the darkness with eyes of fire. He was not sensitive, not an empath like Di, but he could feel its anger, its scorching hatred, its insatiable hunger.

Much blood had already been spilled to feed that hunger. More was fated to be shed, for the more the Hunter consumed, the more the Hunter hungered. But somehow Mark knew that if the Hunter found him, he would find himself meeting a destiny other than serving that hunger. The Hunter had another purpose in mind for Mark And if that purpose was fulfilled, there would be nothing left of "Mark Valdez" at least, nothing recognizable.

The Hunter moved closer; now Mark could "see" it, a sullen red glow that did nothing to illuminate the darkness. His breath caught in his throat, for it was nearer to his hiding place than it had ever come before. Surely it could sense him, even through his thin walls of deception and protection. Surely it knew he was there.

It came closer still, and now he could see its eyes, its eyes like smoldering coals, and feel its hunger beating inside his head, keeping time with his pulse. Those hideous eyes swept the darkness like searchlights, and he cringed as they pa.s.sed over him; he expected at any second to be discovered.

His instincts all screamed at him to run; his better judgment told him to remain where he was. But those eyes continued to probe the blackness all around him, coming nearer, nearer, until Something screamed in his ear.

He didn't so much jump as spasm, his heart pounding hard enough to tear out of his chest, his throat closing so that for one long moment he literally couldn't breathe. Then the sound came again, and this time he recognized it for the phone tucked into his headboard.It was as dark in his bedroom as it had been in his dream, only the red eye of the digital clock glaring at him from a few inches away from his nose broke the blackness. He was still stuck in his nightmare, and the red numerals of the clock seemed to be extensions of the red eyes of the Hunter. For a moment he was paralyzed, unable to move or even think, completely frozen in fear at the sight of the strangely shaped red "eyes."

Then the phone shrilled again, and the spell was broken.

He groped for it, still almost in a state of shock. He shivered as the air hit his arm and realized vaguely that he was literally sodden with sweat, from his hair to his ankles.

"Valdez," he said into the receiver, trying to tell his heart that it would be a really good idea if it slowed down a little. G.o.d, it's still night this can't be Di! Or if it is I'll kill her twice. Once wouldn't be enough.

"Haul your li'l a.s.s outa bed, boy." With another jolt, Mark recognized the Chief's voice and it sounded grim. "Git that yankee gal and haul yerselves on over t' th' Amerine Airways headquarters.

Our ol' buddies fin'lly woke up again, an' we got one d.a.m.n-all mess."

d.a.m.n-all mess was an understatement.

There was blood everywhere; the first victim there was more than one, though Mark didn't yet know the exact total had been killed right on the pristine white sidewalk.

Maybe because they couldn't find a suitable rock? Mark wondered.

At any rate, it was pretty ghastly. No elaborate mutilations this time they hadn't stripped the girl, either. Just torn the uniform open at the chest, and cut the heart out.

Lord, that was enough. The Amerine people were nowhere to be seen, which wasn't surprising.

Likely the only time any of them saw blood was when they cut themselves. This must have messed their minds up for certain.

There was another difference in this kill. This time the girl's heart hadn't been left neatly beside the body. This time it was missing.

The sun still wasn't up; the site was lit by three floodlights, the poor girl sprawled faceup on the sidewalk, eyes open and staring sightlessly at the dark branches of the tree over her head, mouth frozen open in an eternally silent scream. Her face was distorted into a mask of absolute terror and pain. The trees continued to drip down all over everything and everyone, and directly over the corpse what they dripped wasn't always rainwater. There was blood splattered for several feet in every direction. In no way could the murderer have avoided getting it on him. In no way could he have gotten past anyone without their seeing the bloodstains that had to be all over him.

And no one had seen a thing that was suspicious other than a businessman type who'd shown up over at the flight academy dorm, and who'd been found later when the hue-and-cry went up. Turned out he'd ended up as one of the victims.

The whole thing was giving Mark chills.

"This looks to me like it was done in a hurry," Di told him quietly; she was very pale, but very composed. "Like somebody was skimping on the rites for lack of time. Another thing there's only one of those signature auras here; one of the weakest at that."

"Speculation?"

She rubbed eyes that had greenish circles beneath them, and suppressed a yawn. "That our five princ.i.p.als split up tonight, maybe because the four weak ones have finally acc.u.mulated enough power to cover their tracks for a limited time. My guess is that the stalking took longer than this one thought, and he or she had to finish up with a shorthand version of the proper sacrifice. Whatever power was lost by skimping was probably made up for by the number of victims."

"How many so far?" Mark asked Melanie Lee, who was in charge of the site nearest the gate.

"Six bodies, five sites," she said, distractedly. "We think that's all it's not like anybody was trying to hide the bodies or anything. Amerine's had their people out checking the entire grounds since they realized that there was more than one victim. We think all this happened between eleven and one ack emma. We'll have to run some tests, but right now it looks like all six were offed within the same thirty- minute period.""Which means it had to be more than one killer just like we've been figuring," Mark said flatly.

Melanie nodded, and turned back to her meticulous charting.

The Chief joined them at just that moment; it was fairly obvious that he was stressed the cigar was lit, and he was sending up enough smoke to kill every mosquito within a mile.

"We got us a problem," he told Mark, "Them Amerine boys is raisin' holy h.e.l.l about this. It's bad enough that four a' their stews an' a pilot bought it, but looks like the last stiff was some yuppie boy had no reason even bein' here that's mighty bad publicity fer them, an' it don't look so good fer us, neither."

"We could use that, Chief," Mark replied, thinking furiously. "Look, half the department's had to deal with Amerine at one time or another trying to get them to allow us on their sacred soil is like trying to get a bunch of old maids to look at a copy of Hustler. So hit 'em back; it's their private property, as they've told us so often it's their security that let these people on the grounds killers and yuppies included. Since they tied our hands, let them take the rap."

"And even if the killers got in clandestinely, there's no way that businessman climbed over the wall so he, at least, went right by their security. You might make sure the press knows that," Di chimed in. "Make sure they know exactly who was supposed to be in charge, here. You might drop a hint or two about how Amerine's thrown their weight around about sovereignty before this and now they're trying to blame us for what they let in."

The Chief brightened a little. "That'll get 'em offen our backs, that's fer sure "

"Chief!" Ramirez came pelting up, mostly out of breath from the long run to where the Chief's car was parked. "Chief, we got another one. White Rock Lake Park, burning car, unknown number of victims, but at least two. It's not a crash, the thing was set. They haven't been able to put it out yet, but it's homicide and no doubt about it."

"Aw s.h.i.t " the Chief spat. "Dammit, why now? Melanie, drop this 'un, get yer team on over there.

Valdez, go hunt up Fred, get his team split an' send half on 'em over here "

"I'll help at this site," Di offered. "I can finish the preliminaries now that Melanie's started them."

"I'll take that," the Chief answered instantly. "Boys say y'all know what yer doin'. Okay, Ramirez, let's roll."

By the time Mark returned with Fred and a second tech, Di had completed the preliminary layout work and the body had been taken away. Fred sighed with relief when he saw how much she'd accomplished, and proceeded to wade into the tedious inch-by-inch combing of the site.

"I could use you," he told Di, "But why don't you check the other four sites first, then come back here. By looking at all five you might catch something in your field "

"No bad thought," she replied, "No bad thought at all. It won't take me long "

"Go right ahead then; Valdez, you got a map, didn't you?" he asked, craning his neck around so that he could see Mark from where he was kneeling on the wet gra.s.s.

Mark nodded. "Yeah, no prob. We'll be back in say half an hour."

"Good, 'cause that's when I'll really start needing you, Di."

The second site the one he'd pulled Fred away from was where they had found two victims together. And what the spouses of the two would have to say, Mark didn't want to find out for it had been fairly evident that they'd been up to some serious fooling around before their murderer found them. Their clothing had been found tangled up with a couple of blankets nearby, and the various items of apparel showed no signs of having been removed by force.

The pilot hadn't even fought no sign that they were even surprised. They might as well have been asleep or drugged and Mark couldn't imagine two people being either out in the cold damp of the park area. Again there were no mutilations, but there were signs that the victims had been somehow rendered unconscious, dragged over to a nearby boulder, given floral decorations, then favored with a cardiectomy.

"Full ritual here, I think," Di mused. "But only one aura this time it was the number one, the one I know is male. Let's get to the other three."

The third was like the second, except that the clothing had been cut off the poor thing; the Forensics team had found what was left of her uniform thrown under a nearby bush. The fifth site was exactly like the third. But the fourth The fourth girl had either not been surprised so totally, or had possessed a little more moxie than the others. She had fought back; used her purse as a weapon until the strap broke, then had struggled when seized and nearly torn herself loose. If her uniform had been a little less well-constructed, she might have succeeded in getting away. But the sleeve didn't quite tear off in her captor's hands, and she had been clubbed into insensibility.

But she hadn't been stripped; once again, she'd been thrown to the sidewalk, her clothing had simply been torn open and the heart removed. No decorations, no evidence of elaborate ritual; just like the first murder tonight.

And for once, they'd been given a break. She hadn't been searched by her murderer, either.

"Well, lookee here " one of the Forensics men had managed to pry the girl's clenched fist open.

She was holding a tiny sc.r.a.p of elaborately brocaded cloth most probably torn from the garment of her killer. The bright colors seemed alive in the harsh floodlights.

Mark sucked in his breath sharply. Di glanced over at him.

"I take it you recognize this stuff?" she said.

"It looks like some of the material Sherry's been working with," he replied slowly. "Robert's been ignoring her work, so she's been showing it off to me...."

"It's pretty distinctive," Di agreed. "And it certainly doesn't look like any fabric I've ever seen before. How much of this stuff does she sell?"

"Not a lot; it takes a long time to weave, and it's real pricey. She got the technique from some Indians, though, so she isn't the only one that knows how to create it." He turned to the tech. "What's the chances I can have this some time tomorrow for about four hours? Or maybe a good photograph would be better."

"Photo shouldn't be a problem," the tech replied, scratching his bald head, "Seein' as y'all are s'pposed t' get pretty much what y'all need, an' y' been pretty reasonable-like. Reckon we c'n get y'all a nice color print enlarged, an' everything. Say, pick it up fr'm us round 'bout two? Reckon we'll be done with it by then."

"That would be perfect," Mark replied, knowing that Sherry was always home mid-afternoons and so Robert usually wasn't. Right now he'd rather not talk to Robert around Sherry. And she was always less nervous and more herself when he wasn't around.

"You ready to head back?" he asked Di.

She nodded, and they began cutting across the landscaped area between the paths. The sun was coming up, and even though it was gray and still overcast, they had no trouble seeing where they were going. The wet gra.s.s squelched under their sneakers, and the cuffs of Mark's jeans were getting wet and kept wrapping around his ankles. The tree trunks were gray and ghostly in the ground fog that was rising, and the air smelled more like a tropical rainforest than dry-as-dust Texas. It was going to be another hot day, and after the rain of last night, a humid one as well.

"That last was the second-strongest of the signatures," Di told him, sniffling a bit in the cold air.

"And I got a definite feeling of 'female' this time. I'll tell you something else, this one doesn't need Number One anymore; she's a power in her own right. If she fought that girl hand-to-hand, it was either because she was too startled to think of using her powers, the victim had some defense of her own, or because she wanted to fight that way. She ought to have been able to stun her with a psi-bolt, unless the girl had natural shields."

"What happened to the hearts this time?" Mark asked, having a sinking feeling that he'd already guessed the answer, and not looking forward to finding out that his guess was correct. "The last time we found them with the body."

Di looked a little sick. "I hate to tell you this but well, there's a lot of cultures that took hearts.

And when they did they generally ate them."

The sun was well up by the time they finished at Amerine. They were both dead tired but on a hunch, Mark headed, not for home, but for White Rock Lake Park.

The park had guards at the entrance, chasing most people off. The site itself had been cordoned off, but their IDs got them past the blockades with no fuss. The site was in a very public place even though the park was supposedly closed to the public after ten, it was patrolled; someone should have seen the car coming in, or found it before it was set afire. But, as at Bachmann Lake Park, no one had. That alone made Mark very nervous; it was beginning to sound to him as if this, too, was going to turn out to be another of "their" cases.

They found that the Chief had left Ramirez in charge of this site; it wasn't much to get excited about just a blackened hulk of a late -model BMW near one of the picnic shelters.

Ramirez stumbled over to them, his face gray with fatigue, his chin shadowed with stubble. "I dunno what you're doin' out here when you could be grabbin' some sleep, Cisco," he told Mark, yawning and shaking his head. "This don't look like one of yours at all "

"What do you have?" Mark asked, clenching his jaw on a yawn himself, and beginning to want a second shower almost as badly as he wanted his bed.

"Four males, two front, two back; race and ident.i.ty unknown, all probably offed earlier tonight.

Whoever offed 'em shoved 'em in the car, then the car was set on fire; we found the empty gas can in the shelter. Car belongs to a Missing name of Ben Bronson "

"This is one of ours," Di interrupted, flatly. She looked like she was coming to the edge of her energy, and was operating on nerve and guts alone. "Is everything still in place?"

"Yeah, we've been waiting for the d.a.m.n car to cool down; took the Fire Department boys nearly an hour to put the b.a.s.t.a.r.d out," Ramirez replied, looking somewhat taken aback. "You sure this is one of yours? Naw, forget I asked. s.h.i.t, you mean now they're settin' fire to 'em too?"

"Why not?" Di said wearily. "They drowned the last three."

Then she trudged off across to Melanie Lee, leaving the two men behind. Mark was not inclined to follow; first of all, he was too tired, and second, he'd been on a homicide by incineration once before. If he never saw or smelled another toasted corpse, it would be too soon.