Jane s.n.a.t.c.hed it up. She dialed Stacy's cell. Answer, Stacy. Please- "Detective Stacy Killian is not available. You may either leave a message or call-"

"What are you doing, Jane?"

She turned, feeling the blood drain from her face. "Ca-calling Stacy. To let her know I'm okay."

He crossed to her and took the phone from her hand. He ended the call and slipped the device into his jacket pocket. "Silly, that's what I'm here for. Back to bed now."

"I feel fine. I'm going to get up."

"I don't think so." He cupped her elbow and directed her back to the bedroom, to the bed. In the kitchen, the teakettle screamed. "You've had a shock. You're not as strong or steady as you think you are." He was wrong about that. But she wasn't about to tell him so. that misconception might be the only chance she had.

SIXTY-FIVE Thursday, November 13, 2003 5:30 p.m.

Stacy sat at her desk, staring at the far wall. Dave had always lived well. Owned the best: car, condo, clothing. He liked to travel. Had been to Vegas a number of times. Mentioned visiting the Santa Anita racetrack when in California.

But she had never thought of him as a gambler.

How had it begun? she wondered. That first vacation to Las Vegas? A trip to the dog track? Betting on football games? When had casual entertainment become a crushing addiction?

Because, if what Benny had said was true, Dave wasn't a casual gambler. He had a real problem and had

gotten himself into a world of hurt.

In Texas a gambling charge was a cla.s.s C misdemeanor, punishable by a fine of up to five hundred dollars. It sounded as if Dave's situation was considerably more complicated. He had entangled himself

with a bookie who had mob connections, one who was the target of a DPD sting operation. He owed that bookie money. Serious money he didn't have.

How could he have been so stupid?

She wondered if Benny could have been mistaken about Dave, then shook her head at the absurdity of

the thought. Hardly. They had Dave on tape; they meant to drag him into the investigation leveraging their

charges against him to earn his cooperation.

Thoughts of Benny brought ones of the dead hooker. She recalled how something about her had seemed familiar.

It had nagged her at the time, it did now. Maybe she should fig-ure out why. Benny could help. She

glanced at her watch. She had the time; her captain didn't seem in a hurry to get to her.

She thumbed through the stack of unanswered messages on her desk. She located the one from Benny, saw that he had left his cell number and dialed it.

He answered immediately. "Rodriguez."

"Benny, Stacy. That dead hooker, you got a file on her?"

"Sure, a thick one. What do you need?"

"I thought I might take a look at it."

"Anytime. Mind telling me why?"

She explained. He was silent for a moment after. "Interesting. Look, before you come slumming with us

Vice guys, check with Liberman or Mac. They've got most of what I do."

Stacy thanked him and hung up. She crossed to her partner's desk and began rifling through the stacks

on his desk until she found Gwen n.o.ble's file. She flipped it open and began scanning the information.

First arrest at age sixteen. Solicitation. A couple dozen since then, same charge.

Pretty typical. Nothing jumped out at Stacy. She set those pages side and turned to the crime-scene

photos.

And saw it right away, what she had been too distracted to see before.

Sa.s.sy was wearing a crucifix like the one Stacy had traded to the bag lady that day in the alley. Gold with inlaid turquoise and mother of pearl.

Stacy shifted her gaze to the victim's face, picturing the bag lady. The hooker had been twenty-four.

Stacy had a.s.sumed the indigent to be considerably older than that. But the woman's face had been filthy,

the dirt ground in to every line and crease. Which would have made her appear older.

Stacy remembered the woman's hands. She had noted how clean they were. She had been surprised by the fact but had shrugged it off.

Because she had wanted to believe what she was seeing.

But what she had seen was an illusion.

Son of a b.i.t.c.h. Stacy shuffled through the photos, coming to a close-up shot of the woman's broken

neck. The necklace was captured in the shot and Stacy caught her breath.

Not a crucifix like the one she had traded. The one she had traded.

The woman who had handed them a key piece of evidence linking Ian Westbrook to the death of Lisette

Gregory had been a fake. Not a street person. A prost.i.tute hired to play a part.

And now that woman was dead.

Had she been killed to keep her quiet?

She jumped to her feet. Mac. She needed to get hold of him ASAP. He would- She froze as his words from earlier popped into her head. Some people will do anything for money.

Dave was in trouble. He needed cash. Jane had plenty. Millions, as a matter of fact.

Some people would do anything for money-or for love. When the two motivations joined, they made a

potent combination. A deadly one.

What lengths would he go to to have her and her millions? Just how desperate was he?

It seemed impossible, Stacy acknowledged. But the pieces fit. Dave had access to Jane. Her thoughts

and fears. Her routine. Her home and studio. Stacy recalled that night at the hospital, Dave's expression as he sat beside Jane's bed. Had his anguish been an expression of his love? Or guilt at what he had caused?

She flipped open her cell phone and dialed Mac. "Dave Nash is the one," she said to his message service. "He's Jane's stalker. The boat captain Doobie was so frightened of and Ted's killer. He planted the coat, hat and gloves, I'm certain of it." She worked to keep her voice steady. "And he's with Jane now, though he has no idea I'm onto him. Meet me there. ASAP."

As she ended the message, her cell beeped, indicating she had missed a call. She checked the number on the display. The loft. Ten minutes ago.

Her heart in her throat, she punched in Jane's number. Dave answered immediately, tone hushed.

She decided to play dumb about the missed call. If he had called, he would mention it. Right up front.

"It's Stacy."

"Hi, Stacy. You got my call?"

Relief rushed over her. "That was you?"

"Sure." He sounded puzzled. "I thought you might like an update. She woke up, seemed fine. I made her

some tea."

"Could I speak with her?"

"Sorry. She went right back to sleep."

Stacy let out a long breath. "And Ranger's there?"

"Sure, Stacy. Where else would he be?"

She forced a laugh. "This whole thing has made me jumpy. Look Dave...don't kennel him, okay? Just in

case you need protection."

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

The question was, what hadn 't he told her?

Maybe nothing. Could be he was the same old Dave she had always known. She had made a pretty big