this to me."

"Do what? Try to keep you safe?" She looked away for a moment, then back at Jane. "Think about it.

Ted has keys to your home. He knows your alarm code. He knows your schedule, what makes you tick.

He has access to nearly every part of your life. How well should you know someone before you hand him the keys to your front door?"

"I trust him."

"Still, after what's he's done?"

"Yes." She winced at a particularly severe cramp. She brought a hand to her abdomen, wishing the

medication would kick in. "You have to trust sometime."

"With all due respect, you haven't seen what I have. It ain't pretty out there. And I guarantee a whole bunch of those folks I see being loaded into body bags trusted plenty."

Jane hurt for her sister. She realized for the first time the emotional cost of Stacy's chosen profession.

Stacy shook her head. "You need to sleep. I'll bag the doll, take it to headquarters. I wanted to check in,

anyway. Then I'll run home to pick up some overnight things."

"Overnight things?"

"Would you rather move in with me? Because if you think I'm leaving you alone after what's happened,

pain medication has scrambled your thinking."

"He is not scaring me out of my own house."

"Figured that'd be your answer." She removed the bottle of pain relievers from her jacket pocket and set

them on the night stand. "I'll be back later. If you need me, call my cell."

Before she left, she refilled the gla.s.s of water and set the portable phone within arm's distance.

"Stacy?" Jane called when her sister reached the bedroom door.

She stopped, looked over her shoulder at her.

"I wanted to...thanks. For everything. It means a lot."

She smiled. "No problem, kiddo. What are big sisters for?"

FORTY-SEVEN.

Friday, November 7, 2003

6:10 p.m.

Friday evening traffic on the Central Expressway was a nightmare. This evening was no exception. Stacy inched forward, then laid on her horn as the driver of a silver Mercedes cut her off, then hit his brakes to avoid hitting the car in front of him.

She kept her cool, eased into the right lane and pulled up alongside him. Two teenagers, she saw. Joyriding in daddy's Benz. She tooted her horn to get their attention, then laid her shield against her driver's side window.

Judging by the kid's expression he not only understood-but had just messed his pants.

She pocketed her shield, then wagged a finger at him. He fell back and she inched forward, carefully cutting in front of him. The badge definitely had its advantages, she decided, smiling to herself.

Her smile faded as she thought of the events of the afternoon. The mangled baby doll. Ted Jackman's admission. Jane's continued trust.

She had sent the studio a.s.sistant upstairs with Jane so she could lift his c.o.ke can from the wastebasket. She had delivered both it and the doll to the crime lab. Afterward, she had popped into the division. She had been surprised to see her captain. He had looked a little green around the gills. Clearly, the flu that had devastated the department had not yet run its course. She had kept her distance as she brought him current with events. The man had been sympathetic and granted her request to follow up. It had also been clear he had bigger fish to fry.

Mac had been nowhere to be found. She had checked her messages-noted with disappointment that he hadn't tried to contact her-then headed out. Only to be mired in this mess.

Traffic crawled forward, then stopped. She drew her eyebrows together, thoughts returning to Ted Jackman. He was dirty. The more she had gone over what he'd said that afternoon, the more convinced she had become that he'd been lying. Or hiding something. But what?

She suspected the fingerprint might provide her with the answer. The print tech had promised her something within twenty-four hours.

Her cell phone rang. She hit the speaker. "Killian here."

"Hey, beautiful," Mac said. "Where are you?"

"Stuck in traffic. On my way home."

"Home? That's a silly destination on a Friday night."

"You have a better one?"

"Yeah. Smiley's Pub. You know it?"

She did. It was the kind of place every self-respecting cop knew. She said so.

"Good. Meet me there."

The line went dead. Smiling, she took the Knox Street exit to turn around. The expressway heading back

downtown offered smooth sailing. Smiling to herself, she hit the gas.

Mac was already halfway through his first beer when she arrived.

She slipped into the booth across from him. To any of their colleagues they would appear nothing more than partners letting off some steam at the end of the week. She ordered a beer. When the waitress walked away, she turned back to Mac. And found his gaze on her.

"It was d.a.m.n difficult to concentrate today," he said softly.

She couldn't help but smile. "Ditto."

"I couldn't stop thinking about breakfast."

He didn't mean the reheated pizza, she knew. Her heat rose. She folded her arms across her chest.

"What'd you do today?"

"Hooker. Clubbed to death. Real messy."

She made a face. "Your case load's getting awfully heavy."

"Half the freaking world has this flu. It was me and Liberman. Luckily it's his case, I'm just a.s.sisting."

"Who's your money on? John or pimp?"

"Her pimp. Apparently he's not averse to using incentives to keep his girls in line."

"Great job we've got here."

"A laugh riot."

"Ever consider leaving it behind?" she asked, leaning forward. "Joining the ranks of civilians?"

"Not without a big pile of money. A guy's got to work. Besides, it's what I do. You?"

"Yeah. Sometimes. I-"

She swallowed the thought. She had been about to say she'd wondered if being in the job somehow

marked her. If the inhumanity and death she dealt with day in and out made normal, healthy relationships impossible. Or if those capable of them somehow knew to steer clear of her.

She had been about to say that, but now she had found Mac.

"Never mind." She smiled. "What would I do if I wasn't busting bad guys?"

"Exactly." He changed the subject. "How's Jane?"

"She received another package from her psychotic friend. A mangled baby doll. Note said, 'Sorry for your loss.'"

He took a swallow of his beer, brow furrowed with concern. "When?"

The waitress delivered her beer and a basket of pretzels. Stacy reached for one. "It was waiting for her when she got home from the hospital. On her bed."

"Can't get closer to a person, short of touching them."

The pretzel turned to ash in her mouth. She washed it down with a sip of beer. She hadn't thought of it

quite that way. But he was absolutely right.

"So what's next?" she asked. "Touching her? Hearing her screams?"

"Maybe nothing."

"Sorry. That's not good enough for me." She made a sound of frustration. "No word from Doobie?"

He shook his head, signaled the waitress for another beer. "We could pay another visit to Big d.i.c.k's, but

it's not even been twenty-four hours."