"Nice to meet you. I'm Sarah."

Sarah then did something she'd never done in all her years with the FBI.

She shook hands with a serial killer.

Chapter 56

"LET ME TAKE a guess," said Jared, his index finger tapping the air. "New York, right?"

"Wrong," said Sarah. "Not a New Yorker. Not even close."

"But you're definitely not from around here. I mean, I'm almost positive of that."

"I was going to say the same about you," she said. "You did get the East Coast part right. Fairfax, Virginia."

Jared nodded. "I'm Chicago, born and raised."

"Cubs or Sox?" asked Sarah.

"I'm a North Side boy," he said. "Wrigley all the way."

"So when you're not cursing the plight of the Cubbies, what do you do there in Chicago?"

"Fill out expense reports, for the most part. I'm a sales rep for Wilson Sporting Goods. That's where they're based. The Southwest is my region, though, so I'm rarely home."

"I know the feeling," she said. "I own one houseplant and it's suing me for negligence."

Jared laughed. "You're very funny. Cool."

The bartender returned with Sarah's beer, sliding a c.o.c.ktail napkin underneath it with a well-practiced flick of his wrist.

Sarah was about to take a sip when Jared raised his bottle. "Here's to life on the road," he said.

"To life on the road," she echoed. "And maybe one day, the possibility of parole."

Jared laughed again as they clinked bottles. "She's pretty and she has a sense of humor. Talk about a double threat."

"Uh-oh," said Sarah, shooting him a sideways stare.

"What? What is it?"

"While your mother was a stickler for manners, my mother was always warning me about strangers bearing compliments."

"That's why I introduced myself. We're not strangers anymore," he said. "As for the compliment, you don't strike me as the blushing type."

"What type do I strike you as?" she asked.

He thought a lot before answering. "Independent. Self-reliant. And yet not without a vulnerable side."

"Gee, are you sure about that?"

"Think so. I like to go with my gut."

"Me, too."

"What does yours tell you?" he asked.

"That if I play my cards right, there might be a free tennis racket in my future," she said.

"That's a possibility."

"Too bad I don't play tennis."

"What a shame," he said. "Lucky for you, Wilson makes other very fine equipment."

Sarah tapped her head. "That's right, how could I forget? That movie, what was it called again? The one with the volleyball named Wilson?"

"Oh, yeah," he said. Nothing more, though.

"It's on the tip of my tongue," she continued. "Jeez, what was the name of that movie?"

"I know; I hate it when I get a mental block like that," said Jared. "Drives me crazy."

Sarah took a long sip, digesting more than the beer. Finally she shrugged. "Oh, well. I'm sure it will come to me later."

"I hope I'm there when it does."

"We'll see about that," she said, easing off the bar stool. "In the meantime, why don't you order us a couple of shots while I go to the ladies' room? Bourbon okay by you?"

Jared hit her with his biggest smile yet. "You certainly are a live one," he said.

She smiled back, tucking her hair behind her ears. That's right, handsome. Keep thinking I'm the fish.

Chapter 57

SARAH WALKED THE long, narrow hallway in the back of Canteena's and turned the corner, heading toward the ladies' room. Two steps from the door she stopped and pulled out her cell.