That'd be pointless, she acknowledged. Frustrating as waiting could be, that was the nature of police work. Waiting for lab results to come in, for a witness to come forward or another victim. With a new

victim came new evidence, witnesses and the chance that the perp screwed up in some way. The homicide guys called it fresh blood.

She meant to stop this b.a.s.t.a.r.d before that happened.

"The lab's got the doll, the box it came in and the note. They also have a c.o.ke can decorated with Ted

Jackman's fingerprints."

"Way to go, Stacy."

She filled Mac in on Ted's supposed tryst in Jane's studio. "He's lying."

"You're thinking he's Jane's little pen pal?"

"He has access to Jane's loft. He knows the intimate details of her and Ian's life. Their comings and

goings. He was on hand or nearby when she found each of the notes. The night of Ian's arrest, he shouldn't have been in the studio, but he was. The night of her opening, he was the one the delivery boy gave the flowers to. Today, I told him where she was and when she was due home."

"And he was the one who described the delivery kid."

"Exactly." She pictured the studio a.s.sistant, recalling his expression as she questioned him, the way he had averted his gaze. How at one point, he had begun nervously tapping his fingers against his thigh. "There's something about the way he looks at her," she said, thinking back to the comment he'd made about loving Jane. "Something more intense than I like."

"And if the fingerprint brings us nothing?"

"We'll cross that bridge then." She paused. "I can't stop thinking that there's more to the Vanmeer case

than we're seeing. We're missing something, Mac. I know it. I feel it. Like an itch that won't go away."

"The guilty party's in jail, Stacy. Until evidence emerges that proves otherwise, we have to a.s.sume we've got the right guy."

"I know."

He moved aside his beer, reached across the table and grabbed her hand. "Police work is a what-if

game. We ask the question, then we see if the evidence supports the answer. Right now it does."

She slid her hand out from under his, worried that someone from the force would see them. "I should go."

"Don't. Not yet." He leaned forward, lowered his voice to a husky murmur. "You said something a

minute ago that intrigued me."

"I did?"

"Something about an itch that needed scratching. I'm qualified. Eager. I guarantee relief."

"That so?"

"Better than Benadryl. We could discuss my technique over dinner. Then put it into practice back at my

place."

Disappointed, she shook her head. "I can't."

He brought a hand to his chest in a mock heart attack. "You're turning me down? We're talking world

cla.s.s here. Time of your life."

She laughed, charmed by his boyish eagerness. "Rain check?"

"Wrong answer. Try another."

"Sorry. I'm moving in with Jane until we catch this guy. When you called I was heading home to get my

things."

His expression was almost comically disappointed. Like a big puppy who had been banished to sleeping on the floor.

The man was adorable. She decided there was no place she would rather be than in his bed.

She told him so.

"Okay, then, a rain check. But I promise you this, Detective Kil-lian. I will collect."

FORTY-EIGHT.

Friday, November 7, 2003

6:45 p.m.

Jane became aware of the sound of traffic from the street out front, the chime of the mantel clock, Ranger

shifting at the foot of the bed. She cracked open her eyes. The light had changed from the bright edge of afternoon to the dim glow of evening.

She turned her head. And found Ted standing in her bedroom doorway, staring at her.

She scrambled into a sitting position, dragging the spread up with her. "Ted? What are you doing up

here?"

"I brought you some flowers."

He pointed. She turned her head. A short vase of mixed blossoms sat on her bed stand.

He had been in her bedroom while she slept. Had stood beside her bed. Gazing down at her.

A chill slid up her spine. A week ago, his presence wouldn't have unnerved her. But a week ago she

hadn't been threatened. Her husband had been home with her; the future had stretched before them rosy and bright.

Her sister had planted a seed of distrust that had now taken root.

"The locks have been changed. They just left."

While she was sleeping? From the corner of her eyes she caught sight of the bottle of painkillers the doctor had prescribed. Perco-dan. She'd only taken one. Hadn't she?

"I closed your door so you wouldn't be disturbed," he said. "Directions for changing your security code are on the kitchen counter. I figured you'd want to take care of that yourself."

Stacy's warning popped into her head.

How well do you really know Ted Jackman? Would you stake your life on that trust? Would you stake Ian's freedom on it?

"Jane?" he said.

She blinked, struggling for a semblance of normalcy. To hide her discomfort. "Yes?"

He looked distressed. "I overstepped my bounds. Again."

"It's all right, Ted."

"No. No, it's not." He clenched his hands. "I didn't want to disturb you, but wanted to do something to

make up for...before. And because I'm sorry about your baby."

Sudden tears burned her eyes. What was she suspecting him of? This was Ted. Her friend and confidant.

Not some stranger with a hidden agenda.

She motioned him into the room. "Pull the chair up, we need to talk."

He crossed to the antique armchair against the wall, lifted it and carried it over. Ranger thumped his tail.

Ted took a moment to pet him, then sat. And waited.

"Never again, Ted. Never again invite a stranger into my studio. Never again expose me or my family that way."

"I won't. I promise."

"Someone was in my home today. Someone who wished me ill. He may have gained access to me and

my house because of your actions. Do you understand how frightening that is to me? How vulnerable that