He said it could, then asked her to hold a moment. She heard a rustling in the background, a thump

followed by a m.u.f.fled oath.

"I'm back."

"Graceful, McPherson." He would have to be dead not to hear the amus.e.m.e.nt in her voice. "What'd you

do, stub your toe?"

"Something like that," he replied, grumpy. "Any reason you waited until 1:00 a.m. to call me?"

"Had a little family emergency. Besides, I figured I'd wait to call until you were good and asleep."

"You're all heart, Killian."

"Glad you think so. I need a favor."

"A middle-of-the-night favor? Sounds promising."

"You wish. I want that snitch of yours. And I want him now."

"Your sister got another message."

It wasn't a question; she answered, anyway. "Yup. Delivered tonight, via her art opening." She filled him

in on both the content of the note and the specifics of the delivery.

"I don't like it, Mac. This guy knows too much about Jane."

"I agree. I had a couple beers with my buddies from Vice tonight. They haven't heard from Doobie in a while."

She swore. "What about an address? Or phone number?"

"Last ones on file are no good."

"Now what?"

"They're going to ask around for me. Check some other sources." He was silent a moment. "I'm not sold

on the theory that this guy is the same one who nearly killed her all those years ago. It's a stretch.

"I feel the same way, but considering, we'd be foolish not to follow the lead. Besides, Jane's positive it's him."

"But Jane's haunted by the incident. She has nightmares about it. Isn't that what you told me?"

Stacy frowned. "Yeah. So?"

"So," he continued, "she's predisposed to believing it's him. Like some weird fulfillment of fate or

something."

True. "I'm going to run a background check on Ted Jackman. There's something about that guy that seems wrong to me. He's always right there when something happens."

"Good idea."

"See you in the morning, McPherson."

"Stacy?"

"Yeah?"

"Being emotionally involved is dangerous. Nothing will mess up a good cop's judgment quicker than that."

"Tell me something I don't know, partner." She paused. "Thanks, anyway."

A moment later, Stacy hung up the phone, her partner's warning ringing in her ears. She knew he was

right. She also knew there wasn't a d.a.m.n thing she could do about it.

THIRTY-EIGHT.

Sat.u.r.day, November 1, 2003

3:00 a.m.

Jane awakened with a start. She sat up, heart pounding. Thoughts clear. Crystal clear. She understood

now. She saw.

She tossed aside the blanket and climbed out of bed. Once on her feet, she stood a moment, taking

stock of her physical condition. No cramps. Her legs felt steady. She laid a hand on her abdomen and rubbed softly. Baby was safe.

Shivering, she grabbed her robe from the end of the bed and slipped it on, then padded on bare feet out

to the living room. Ranger lay in the doorway between the two rooms. He stirred as she pa.s.sed, then

settled back to sleep.

Moonlight spilled across the sofa; Stacy's heavy, rhythmic breathing signaled that her sister was deeply asleep.

Jane crossed to the couch and knelt beside it. Her sister's eyes snapped open. Jane saw that she was instantly alert. A by-product of her profession? Jane wondered. Or an ability she had been born with?

"Jane? Are you all right?"

"Yes," she said. "I figured it out, Stacy. I know who did it."

She blinked, scrambled into a sitting position. "What are you talking about?"

"I know who killed Elle Vanmeer and Marsha." Jane pulled in a deep breath. "Not Ian, Stacy."

"Who, Jane? Who did it?"

"The boater. The one who tried to kill me. The one sending the messages."

Jane saw the moment Stacy registered her words, then immediately rejected them.

Stacy shook her head. "Jane, I understand why you might think that, but-"

"Listen, please. It's just like my nightmare. He's making another pa.s.s at me."

Her sister seemed to be struggling to find the right words. "Jane, sweetie, it doesn't make sense. Why would he kill those women? Why not just go for you? It doesn't make sense."

"Yes, it does. He wants me alone. Isolated and terrified. The way I was that day in the water." She paused. "But this time, he wants to see me die."

THIRTY-NINE Sat.u.r.day, November 1, 2003 10:15 a.m.

When Jane got up the next morning, she found Stacy at the kitchen table reading the newspaper, a Starbucks Venti cup on the table in front of her, Ranger at her feet.

She looked up when Jane entered the kitchen. "Hi, sleepyhead. How're you feeling?"

Truth was, she felt as if a giant weight had been lifted from her. Ian hadn't killed those women. She knew who had and why. All that was left was for the police to discover his ident.i.ty and arrest him.

"I feel good."

"No more cramps?"

"Nope." She laid a hand on her abdomen. "Baby's resting comfortably."

Stacy checked her watch. "Not quite twelve hours. Pee, then get back to bed."

Jane ignored her, crossed to the table and sat down. "I'm thinking it's a boy."

"Really? And you're basing this knowledge on what?"

"Mother-to-be's intuition."

"That's a little scary. Isn't there a test to determine a baby's s.e.x?"

"An ultrasound. I'll have one around month three, though they can't always tell the baby's gender.

Depends on the position of the baby. Besides, Ian and I don't want to know."

Stacy c.o.c.ked an eyebrow. "So, you'll just guess instead?"

"It's way more fun that way." She motioned to the paper and coffee. "You've been out already?"

"Ranger and I took a little ride." She smiled. "Picked you up a decaf latte. If you're in the mood?"

"Are you kidding? You're an angel."