"The Seabrights had another call," he said at last. "The kidnapper said the girl would be punished

because Seabright broke the rules." "Oh, G.o.d." I sat back on my heels, feeling weak at the news. "When did the call come?" "Middle of the night." After my screw-up at Van Zandt's. After Landry had executed the search warrant. "Do you have someone sitting surveillance on Van Zandt?" Landry shook his head. "The LT wouldn't approve it. Shapiro was already screaming hara.s.sment because of the search. We don't have a G.o.ddam thing on him. How do we justify surveillance?" I rubbed at the tension in my forehead. "Great. That's great." Van Zandt was free to do as he pleased. But even if he wasn't, we knew he wasn't in the kidnapping alone. One person had run the camera, one had grabbed the girl. There was nothing stopping the partner from hurting Erin even if Van Zandt was under twenty-four-hour guard.

"They're going to hurt her because I brought you into it," I said. "First of all, you know as well as I do, the girl could already be dead. Second, you know you did theright thing. Bruce Seabright wouldn't have done anything at all."

"That's not a lot of comfort at the moment."

I pushed myself to my feet and leaned back against the cabinet, crossing my arms tightly against my

body. Another tremor rattled through me, from my core outward, as I thought of the consequences ErinSeabright was going to suffer for my actions. If she wasn't dead already. "They set up another drop," Landry said. "With luck, we'll have the accomplice by the end of the day." With luck. "Where and when?" I asked. He just looked at me, his eyes hidden by his sungla.s.ses, his face like stone. "Where and when?" I asked again, moving toward him. "You can't be there, Elena." I closed my eyes for a moment, knowing where this conversation was going to end. "You can't shut me out of this." "It's not up to me. The lieutenant will run the show. You think he's going to let you ride along? Even if itwas my call, you think I'd let you in after that stunt you pulled last night?"

"That stunt netted a torn, b.l.o.o.d.y shirt from a murder suspect." "Which we don't have." "That's not my fault." "You got caught." "None of that would have happened if you hadn't had to flex your muscles last night and take Van Zandt in when you did," I argued. "I might have gotten something out of him over dinner. You could have had him afterward, after the autopsy. You could have held him, gotten the warrant, found the shirt yourself. But no. You couldn't play it that way, and now this guy is running around loose-"

"Oh, it's my fault you broke into that house," Landry said, incredulous. "And I suppose it was Ramirez's fault he walked in front of that bullet."

I heard myself gasp as if he had slapped me. My instinct was to step back. Somehow, I managed not to.

We stood there staring at each other for a long, horrible moment, the weight of his words hanging in the air. Then I turned, very deliberately, and went back to D'Artagnon to put on his other boot.

"Jesus," Landry murmured. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that." I didn't say anything. My focus was on tightening the boot straps just so, aligning them perfectly. "I'm sorry," he said again as I stood. "You just make me so G.o.ddam mad-" "Don't put this on me," I said, turning to face him. "I'm carrying enough guilt without taking on yours too."

He looked away, ashamed of himself. I could have done without the small victory. The price for it had been too high.

"You're a son of a b.i.t.c.h, Landry," I said, but not with any strong emotion. I could have as easily said,

you have short hair. It was a simple statement of fact. He nodded. "Yeah. I am. I can be." "Don't you have a ransom drop to arrange? I've got a horse to ride." I took D'Ar's bridle down from the hook and went to put it on him. Landry didn't move. "I have to ask you a question," he said. "Do you think Don Jade could be Van Zandt's partner in this? In the kidnapping?"

I thought about that. "Van Zandt and Jade were both connected to Stellar-the horse that was killed.They both stand to make a lot of money if Trey Hughes buys this jumper from Belgium." "So, they're partners of a sort." "Of a sort. Jade wanted rid of Jill Morone-maybe because she was lazy and stupid, or maybe because she knew something about Stellar. Erin Seabright was Stellar's personal groom. She might have known something too. Why? Do you have something on Jade?"

He debated whether or not to tell me. Finally, he drew a deep breath and let it out, and lied to me. I

could feel it. I could see it in the way his eyes went flat and blank. Cop eyes. "I'm just trying to connect

the dots," he said. "There are too many coincidences for this not all to be tied together."

I shook my head and smiled my bitter, ironic half smile, and thought of Sean's matchmaking talk. Oh, yeah. Me and Landry. A match made in h.e.l.l.

"So what came out in the autopsy?" I asked again. "Or is that a state secret too?"

"She suffocated."

"Was she raped?"

"My personal feeling: he tried to rape her and couldn't get the job done. He had her facedown in that

stall, and she suffocated while he was trying. She aspirated vomit and horse manure." "G.o.d. Poor girl." To die like that, and not one person she'd known here mourned her. "Or the rape attempt was staged," Landry said. "No s.e.m.e.n anywhere." "Anything under her nails?" "Not so much as a flake of skin." I finished doing up the buckles on the bridle, turned and looked at him. "He cleaned her fingernails?" Landry shrugged. "Maybe he's not as dumb as he seems." "That's a learned behavior," I said. "That's not: oops, I've accidentally suffocated this girl and now I have to panic. That's an MO. He's done this before."

"I'm already running it as an MO through the VICAP database, and I've got a call in to Interpol and to the Belgian authorities for similar cases."

My thoughts were already on what it could mean for Erin if she was in the hands not of a kidnapper

whose only motive was money, but of a serial killer whose dark motive was his own.

"That's why they have a file on him," I said more to myself than to Landry. "That bulls.h.i.t about his

business practices-I knew that didn't add up to Interpol involvement. Armedgian, you son of a b.i.t.c.h," Imuttered. "Who's Armedgian?" The Interpol information had been filtered through him. If I was right, and Van Zandt had a doc.u.mented history as a predator, my good friend at the FBI had kept that information to himself. And I knew why.Because I wasn't part of the club anymore. "Have the feds been in contact with your office?" I asked. "Not that I'm aware of."

"I hope that means I'm wrong, not just that they're a.s.sholes." "Oh, they're a.s.sholes," Landry p.r.o.nounced. "And if they try to horn in on my case, they'll each have anew one."

He looked at his watch. "I've got to go. We're executing a search warrant at Morone's and Seabright's

apartments. See if there's anything that might point us in a direction."

"You'll find a lot of Erin's personal effects in Jill's apartment," I said, taking my horse by the reins.

"How do you know that?"

"Because in the photograph I have of Erin, she's wearing the blouse Jill Morone died in. That's why it looked like Erin had moved out-Jill stole everything."

I led D'Artagnon out of the barn to the mounting block, leaving Landry to see himself out. From the corner of my eye, I could see him just standing there with his hands on his hips, looking at me. Behind him, the door to the lounge opened and Irina emerged in ice blue silk pajamas, coffee mug in hand. She gave Landry a scathing look as she glided past on her way to the stairs to her apartment. He didn't notice.

I got on my horse and we walked away to the arena. I don't know how long Landry stayed. As I took up the reins, I cleared the detritus of our encounter from my mind. I breathed in the scent of the horse, felt the sun warm my skin, listened to the jazz guitar of Marc Antoine coming over the arena speakers. I was there to cleanse myself, to center my being, to feel the comfort of familiar muscles working and the trickle of sweat between my shoulder blades. If I hadn't earned a moment of peace, I was going to take one anyway.

By the time I had finished, Landry was gone. Someone else had come to call.

Tomas Van Zandt.

So she was the dead person they found at the show grounds?"

Landry looked sideways at the old lady. She was wearing pink tights, an off-the-shoulder sweater, and furry bedroom slippers. She held a hugely fat orange cat in her arms. The cat looked like it would bite.

"I really can't say, ma'am," Landry said, looking around the tiny apartment. The place was a dump. And

filthy. And it looked like it had been tossed. "Has anyone been in here since Friday evening?"

"No. No one. I've been here the whole time. And my friend Sid has been staying," she confided with acoy blush. "Since I found out the other one disappeared, I figure a girl can't be too careful." Landry motioned to the room at large. "Why does it look this way?" "Because she's a little pig, that's why! Not that I would speak ill of the dead, but . . ." Eva Rosen looked at the nicotine-stained ceiling to see if G.o.d was watching her. "She was mean too. I know she tried to kick my Cecil."

"Your what?"

"Cecil!" She hefted the cat. It growled.

Landry moved to pick through a pile of clothes left on the unmade bed. Many items that looked too small for Jill Morone. Many items with price tags still attached.

"I think she stole," Eva said. "So how did she die?"

"I'm not at liberty to comment on that."

"But someone murdered her, right? They said on the news."

"Did they?"

"Was it a s.e.x crime?" Clearly, she was hoping it was. People were amazing.

"Do you know if she had a boyfriend?" Landry asked.

"This one?" She made a face. "No. The other one."

"Erin Seabright."

"Like I told your little friend in the other room. Thad Something."

"Chad?" Landry said, moving on to a coffee table littered with candy wrappers and an overflowing

ashtray. "Chad Seabright?" Eva was horror-stricken. "They had the same last name? They were married?" "No, ma'am." He picked through a stack of magazines. People, Playgirl, Hustler. Jesus. "Oy vey. Under my own roof!" "Did you ever see anyone coming in and out?" Landry asked. "Friends? Their boss?" "The boss." "Don Jade?" "I don't know him. Paris," she said. "Blond, pretty, a very nice girl. She always takes time to chat.

Always asks after my babies." "Babies?" "Cecil and Beanie. She was the one who paid the rent-Paris. Such a nice girl." "When was she last here?" "Not lately. She's very busy, you know. She rides those horses. Zoom! Over the fences." She swung the fat cat in her arms as if she meant to toss him. The cat flattened its ears and made a sound in its throat like a siren.

Landry went to the nightstand beside the bed and opened the drawer.

Bingo.

He took a pen from his pocket and gingerly moved aside a hot-pink vibrator, then lifted out his prize.

Photographs. Photographs of Don Jade sitting astride a black horse with a winner's ribbon around its neck. Pictures of him jumping another horse over a huge fence. A photo of him standing beside a girl whose face had been scratched out of the picture.

Landry turned the photograph over and looked at the back. The first half of the inscription had been scratched over with a pen that had been pressed so hard it had carved a groove into the paper, but so carelessly it could still be read.

To Erin.

Love, Don.

He must be rounder, softer in the downward transitions."

Van Zandt had parked along the road-a dark blue Chevy, not the Mercedes-and stood leaning on the fence, watching me. My stomach flipped at the sight of him. I had hoped to next see him-if not on the news, being taken into custody by the authorities-at the equestrian center in a throng of humanity.

He climbed carefully over the board fence and came toward the ring, his eyes hidden by mirrored sungla.s.ses, his expression flat and calm. I thought he still looked ill, and wondered if it was killing that upset his system, or the danger of being caught. Or perhaps it was the idea of having a loose end dangling. Me.

I glanced at the parking area adjacent to the barn. Irina's car was gone. She had left while I'd been engrossed in my ride.

I hadn't seen any sign of Sean. If he had returned home from his night out, he was sleeping late.

"You must be looser in your back so that the horse may be looser in his back," Van Zandt said.

I wondered if he knew, and knew in a fatalistic corner of my soul that he did. The possibilities ticked through my mind as they had every hour since my blunder at the town house: He had found the prescription and recognized my name from Sidelines, or Lorinda Carlton had recognized the name. The magazine might have been in the town house somewhere. They might have looked at the photograph together. Van Zandt might have recognized the horse, or my profile, or put the puzzle pieces together from the mention of Sean's farm. He might have found the jacket and the prescription, a.s.sumed Elena Estes was a cop conducting a search while he'd been in the interview room with Landry; called his attorney and asked to have the name checked out. Shapiro would have recognized my name.

It didn't matter how he might have found me out. What mattered was what he was going to do about it. If he knew I had been in his home Sat.u.r.day night, then he knew I had seen the b.l.o.o.d.y shirt. I wished now I had kept the thing and d.a.m.ned the admissibility consequences. At least he would be in jail for the moment, and I would not be alone with a man I believed to be a murderer.

"Try again," he said. "Pick up the canter."

"We were just finishing for the day."