Dave began to speak; Mac fired.

The blast resounded through the entry way. Dave's body jerked at the bullet's impact. Mac fired again. And again. As if in slow motion, Dave turned toward her. He lifted his arm, reached out to her, her name on his lips.

Then he went down.

SIXTY-SEVEN Thursday, November 13, 2003 7:10 p.m.

With a cry, Jane ran to Mac. He gathered her into his arms, held her against his broad chest. She clung to him, trembling.

Thank G.o.d, she thought. Thank G.o.d. Another couple of min-utes and it would have been too late.

He set her away from him, searched her expression. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I-" As with a will of their own, her gaze went to Dave. One of Mac's bullets had caught him

square between his eyes. He lay faceup on her foyer floor, mouth open, eyes staring vacantly. A pool of blood slowly crept across her honeyed wooden floor.

Jane swayed, light-headed. "I don't feel so well."

Mac pulled the armchair away from the foyer wall. "Sit," he ordered, leading her to the chair. "Head between your knees. Breathe deeply."

She did. She heard him unholster his phone, flip it open and dial. Headquarters, she thought. Report what

had happened. Get a crew over.

Instead, he greeted her sister. "Stacy, got your message. I'm nearly there now. Don't worry, I've got everything covered. First sign of trouble, I'll call in reinforcements."

Mac lowered his voice to a husky murmur. "I've been thinking. About you and me. I...I love you, Stacy."

Jane lifted her head. She stared at him, confused.

He ended his call and looked at her. And smiled. The smile didn't reach his eyes. They were

expressionless, the eyes of a man with no soul.

She stared at him in horror, realizing the truth.

Not Dave. Mac. He accurately read her expression and his smile widened. "That's right, big sister's

boyfriend is the bad guy."

Her gaze jumped to Dave, the growing circle of blood. Mac followed her gaze. "On the other hand, Davey-boy here is going to be the fall guy."

Mac reholstered the phone, then dipped his fingers into a jacket pocket, retrieving a pair of latex

gloves-the kind surgeons and crime-scene techs wore.

Or criminals who didn't want to leave prints.

He fitted them on. "I suppose you'd like me to fill you in? Give you a little closure? I suppose I owe you

that."

Unable to find her voice, she nodded.

"I met Dave while working Vice. You see, your old friend has, had," he corrected, "a gambling problem.

A big one, actually." Mac flexed his fingers in the gloves, adjusting the fit. "Got himself into a bit of a bind with a mob-backed bookie. Pretty boy here was in trouble. The cops on one side, that would be me, by the way, and thugs hired by the bookie on the other."

"So he turned to you," she said, surprised by the strength of her voice when she found it.

"Yes. Begging. If I would help him, he'd make us both rich. He had a foolproof plan."

Jane felt ill. "My millions."

"Smart girl." He went on. "I paid off the most pressing of his debt and we made our plan. Dave was

convinced that if Ian was out of the picture, especially tragically, you would turn to him. You and he would marry and Dave would have access to your millions. Unfortunately, of course, the marriage would end tragically."

Mac crossed to Dave, bent and carefully eased the cord from his lifeless fingers.

"We planned everything so carefully," he murmured. "Down to the last detail. But Davey-boy here has trouble closing escrow. If you know what I mean?"

She shook her head that she didn't.

"He really did love you, in his own sick way. It became clear to me that he wouldn't be able to go

through with it. I started to pick up vibes that he was going to end up a rich husband-and I was going to

be out in the cold."

He glanced at his watch as if estimating how much time re-mained. "But I don't need Dave. Stacy's my ticket to easy street."

Jane realized what he was saying. He and Stacy had become lovers. Stacy had confided to her that Mac might be the one. And if Jane died, Stacy would inherit.

"So you took matters into your own hands?" she said, voice baking. "Changed the plan."

"Yes. Everyone will a.s.sume the boater who'd been terrorizing you-the same one who killed Doobie-had finally finished you off. You've been telling anyone who would listen that this guy's a killer.

Doobie's death proved it. Stacy's fallen in line with your linking. As have I." He grinned at that. "We've even managed to convince our captain."

"But Ian-"

"Ian will be found guilty of the murders of Elle Vanmeer, Mar-tia Tanner and perhaps Lisette Gregory as well. The evidence against your husband is quite d.a.m.ning. He will most probably be sentenced to death." He had it all figured out. Ian's life lost...hers. Stacy's. There was no way out. A sound escaped her, like an animal in pain.

"Of course, we now know that the boater was your good friend Dave Nash." He grinned. "Shocking, isn't it?"

The sly amus.e.m.e.nt in his tone caught her attention. "What are you saying?"

Mac laughed. "You still don't get it, do you? There was no boat captain appearing from the past. No story told by a snitch named Doobie."

She shook her head, confused. "But Doobie, he existed. I saw him dead in the alley."

"He existed, all right. The story was a fabrication. And a d.a.m.n clever one at that."

Jane stared at him, blood running cold. "I don't understand. What-"

"We used your fears against you, Jane. Dave knew them all. He knew you'd believe the notes were genuine, that they were from the boat captain who nearly killed you. And he knew you would manage to convince Stacy as well."

Jane brought a trembling hand to her mouth. Dave had known all her deep, dark fears. Her every nightmare. He had counseled her about them.

You have everything to lose, Jane. You fear he's going to come back. Take it all away.

So he had made it happen. At the time he was already making it happen.

Dear G.o.d, she had given him all the keys-all he had done was open the doors. "What about Ted?" she

asked.

"Walked in on me planting the coat and cap."

She'd been right about that. "But the alarm code...how did you-"

"Get in? I'm the police, Jane. I got it from the alarm company."

"You killed Ted."

"I did them all, actually. Dave didn't have the stomach for it. It's really no loss that he's dead."

"All those lives taken." Her voice shook. "How can you-"

"Live with myself?" He laughed. "Don't worry, I'll manage. And in style, too. Thank you very much."

He felt no regret. No remorse for his actions. For the lives he had taken. A psychopath, she realized. At

once frighteningly sane and totally amoral.

"Each served a purpose," Mac continued, tone conversational. "None died in vain. Doobie's death convinced the DPD that your stalker was real. And that he was dangerous."

"And the women?"

"To set Ian up, obviously. To get him out of the way. I needed you isolated and terrified. With no one to turn to."