Lindsey was laughing. "Actually, yes."

"Good," Jenk said. "Now picture yourself sitting next to me." And then, because wariness leaped back into her eyes, he pulled her close, and added, "My hand on your leg, signaling for you to pretend to help clear the table, but in truth to meet me in the upstairs bathroom for a quickie, because my mother has her house rules, so we'll be sleeping in separate bedrooms. By dinnertime, I'll be so freaking crazy from wanting you, I'll actually have eaten the turnips that my mother insists are traditional, but oh, my God. They look like winter squash, but don't take too large of a spoonful, because like I said, oh, my God."

Lindsey was laughing again by the time his watch beeped.

"Come on." Jenk kissed her neck. "Let's go find out that the body we recovered wasn't Tracy's."

But she stopped him. "Mark."

He turned, bracing himself for God knows what. Something that started with, I know the sex is great, but...

Instead, she said, "I think we should be prepared for the worst."

She was talking about Tracy. Jenk nodded. "I know you do. But the more I think about it, I don't think it was her. She hasn't been missing that long. Whoever did that...It had to take time." He shrugged. "Maybe I'm a fool, but I'd rather hope for the best. That we can find her. That we will find her."

He could see her disbelief. "She could be anywhere," Lindsey pointed out. "And we're about to be smacked with what they're calling the biggest snowstorm of the decade."

Most of the SEALs and members of Tom's team were already in the motel restaurant, waiting for the meeting to start. Jenk opened the door, letting her go first, determined to stick with her. She could run, but this time he was going to keep pace.

"Maybe that's good," he said. "It'll keep this bastard from leaving the state."

She laughed. "Okay, that's a little too optimistically over the top, even for you, Little Marky Sunshine."

"Too bad," he said. "My glass is not only half-full, it holds five-hundred-dollar-a-bottle Dom Perignon champagne."

It was then, as she took a seat near Izzy, that he knew just how totally screwed he was. He got a clear measurement of just how much he cared for Lindsey, and how badly he wanted her in his life.

Because she said, "I'll think about it. About Christmas."

And there he sat, happy as a pig in shit because, although she hadn't said yes, she hadn't said no.

"Good," Jenk said, but there was no time to say anything more because the meeting started.

The body Izzy had pulled from the quarry had yet to be identified.

Tommy Paoletti started the meeting with that no-news-is-good-newsflash. Apparently they were having trouble finding Tracy's dental records. IDing her through fingerprints was not an option-the body they'd recovered didn't have fingers.

Jesus.

They were waiting on DNA test results which, Tom reported, would probably be in within the next few hours, possibly as early as minutes from now, when they connected via speakerphone to Jules Cassidy, the FBI agent in charge of the investigation.

In the real good-news department, however, it appeared highly likely that Tracy had taken a second sensor-equipped training jacket with her when she'd left the cabin.

"Each jacket has an ID number," Sophia announced, "and it's definitely Dan Gillman's jacket that's missing. He remembers taking it off, right after he was 'killed,' during the exercise. He gave it to Tracy to put over her legs because her feet were cold."

Two tables over from Izzy, the fishboy was nodding his head.

Lindsey raised her hand. "You're taking into account the jacket I borrowed, right? I took one out to the cabin, which was allegedly a nondead zone. I wanted to see if the computer really did pick up its signal."

"For the record, it did," Tess Bailey reported. "And yes, Mark Jenkins returned that jacket a few hours ago."

Izzy couldn't keep his mouth shut a moment longer. "So all we have to do is shuffle the temporary sat dishes around, resurrecting the dead zones until the computer program picks up the signal from Gillman's missing jacket. What are we sitting around here for?"

"Have you looked out the window?" Gillman said.

Izzy looked. The wind was blowing, and the snow was coming down so fast and heavy, he could barely see the SUVs parked in the lot, three feet away. But a little ice and snow was nothing compared to what some freak job might be doing to Tracy right that very moment.

"Again," Tess, the cute little comspesh, was saying. "It would be better to set up additional sat dishes, rather than simply redistricting the dead zones. If Tracy's killer moves the jacket-"

"For now, we're limited to the equipment we have," Tom interrupted. "And I think it's safe to assume that wherever Tracy is, she's going to remain there, at least until the storm passes. Also, listen up, people. Until the body is identified, we're going with the assumption that Tracy's still alive. Is that clear?" He looked around the room, at the SEALs and Troubleshooters alike, at Lew Koehl, who was clearly letting him take command. "We've got to start somewhere. We may as well start here. We'll be breaking into teams. We've got five temporary sat dishes out there. The goal will be to locate them, dismantle them, transport them to new locations-coordinating with Tess and the computer. Sophia and Lindsey, you'll assist Tess."

Lindsey clearly couldn't stand the thought of not being in the thick of the action, because she raised her hand. "Sir, as a person with perhaps the most experience in homicide investigations-"

"I want you here," Tom interrupted again, "studying satellite maps. I want you to identify the areas where you think it's most likely a killer like this one could live, undetected. We don't have the luxury of doing a grid-by-grid search. If Tracy's alive, she's running out of time. I want you to use your experience to help us find her."

"Yes, sir."

"In addition to the five teams who'll be moving the sat dishes, we'll also have teams canvassing these areas, going door-to-door with pictures of Tracy. The local police have done some of this, but again, I want to focus on some of the more remote areas."

Alyssa Locke spoke up. "Excuse me, Tom, we've got Jules Cassidy on the phone."

Tom nodded. "Plug him in."

She did. "Jules, you're on the speaker," she said.

"Any news on the DNA tests?" Tom asked, because he knew that was what they all desperately wanted to know.

"Sorry, not yet," came the voice from the speakerphone. "As soon as I hear anything, I'll let you know."

"Where are you?" Tom asked.

"I actually caught a flight to Hartford," the FBI agent said. "I'm in a rental car, heading north on 91. It's slow going, but I've been assigned my very own snowplow. He's going to drive in front of me, all the way to Darlington if necessary."

Tom exchanged a look with Commander Koehl.

"And, yeah, I know that you're wondering how one missing receptionist warrants the expense of all those taxpayer dollars," Cassidy continued, "and, well, do you want the good news or the bad news?"

"Good news," Tom said, at the exact same time that Koehl said, "Bad news."

"That was actually a trick question, because the good news is also the bad news," Cassidy told them. "We believe the killer is a man by the name of Richard Eulie, who the Bureau's been actively looking for, for about six years now. He's a sociopath. A serial killer. The mutilations to the body that you recovered are similar to some of his work in the past. And it is clear that he thinks of it as work-artwork, even."

Holy crap.

"Even though it's been three years since we've recovered a body, he hasn't been shy about letting us know whom he's abducted," the FBI agent continued. "His MO is to leave behind a full handprint-in his victim's blood. I've got a list here of twenty of his abductees, all from the last three years. All women, from pretty much all over the country. But one of the states he's never hit is New Hampshire. Needless to say, we now believe his home base is somewhere in the Darlington/Happy Hills area. We also suspect the quarry where you found the body has been his dumping ground. As soon as the weather clears, we'll drag it, in hopes of finding more of his victims."

Holy shit. Holy, holy shit. Izzy sat, listening to the FBI agent rattle off this information. A freaking serial killer...

"But there was no handprint in the convenience store ladies' room," Lindsey spoke up. "Where Tracy's mitten was found."

"Yeah, the store was wiped of fingerprints, which is counter to his pattern," Cassidy agreed. "As was the murder of the store owner-male, un-mutilated. But we think this plays into the theory that Eulie lives and works-so to speak-in this area. His goal was to steal the drugs from the pharmacy-the murder was incidental. It's clear he didn't want to be discovered. And yet, he slipped. He left a bunch of big, fat prints on the pay phone outside the store. Tracy's prints were on that same phone."

"So...Eulie stole the drugs," Dave Malkoff wondered aloud, "because...he's ill?"

"Eulie or someone he cares about," Cassidy said. "That's our best guess."

"Are serial killers capable of caring about other people?" Sophia asked. She was clearly as horrified by this as Izzy was.

"The BTK was married with kids," Dave told her.

"Nurse's uniform," Lindsey reminded them. "Tracy was wearing a nurse's uniform."

"Yeah," Cassidy responded to her. "We think that might be why he took her. But she's not a nurse, right? Has she had any significant medical training?"

Everyone looked at Jenk. "Not that I know of," he said. He looked at Izzy.

Who couldn't do more than shake his head. He didn't know, either. But he did have a question for the FBI agent. "Do you think, if the body we found turns out to be someone else, that Tracy's still alive?"

"I don't know," the man replied honestly.

"I do," Sophia said. She stood up. "I think she's still alive, and I think we should go find her."

CHAPTER.

NINETEEN.

"Sophia, wait up."

Dave looked up from the table that held the maps and photos of Tracy to see the brawny red-haired SEAL officer named MacInnough-nicknamed Big Mac-chasing Sophia down. She turned to face him, clutching the file she was holding to her chest. He comes on so strong, it gives me the creeps.

Dave began wandering in their direction.

"I just wanted to let you know that we'll do our best to find your friend," Mac told her.

"Thanks," she said.

"You seem to have survived your arctic swim the other day," he said. "Quite a shock to the system, huh? You know, I actually do that sort of thing on purpose. Back home, in Buffalo, I'm part of a polar bear club. We all go for a swim every New Year's Day."

"That's crazy," she said.

He laughed. "No, it's a fun tradition. My dad and his dad used to do it. Someday my kids'll watch me, and hopefully want to be like their old man, too. Not that I have any kids. We're talking a far-into-the-future someday."

Sophia gave him a smile that was definitely strained. "We both have things to do."

"Yeah," he said. "Onward, into the storm. I just wanted to check up on you, make sure you were okay."

"I am."

"And see where you wanted to go for a celebration dinner after we find Tracy," Mac said. He wasn't asking her out, he was telling her that they were going out.

Dave didn't know whether to be impressed or disgusted. The man had stones the size of China.

"I've got some time off coming," Mac continued. "We could go to Boston, or even New York-really get to know each other. I know this great place on Seventh Avenue and...Well, think about it, okay?" he added. "I'll catch up with you later."

Sophia had been in the process of escaping, but now she turned back, stopping him. "Alex, wait."

"Um, actually it's Alec," he told her. "C instead of X."

Sophia winced. "Sorry."

"So much for my fantasy that you've been doodling my name on your notepad," he said. "Shucks."

"I can't have dinner with you," she said. "Not in New York, not even here."

"Sure you can." He was persistent.

"My husband died only a few years ago. It's just too soon to think about dating. I'm just not ready."

Dave turned to see Decker standing next to him.

"We're canvassing the south sector," he informed Dave, one eye on Sophia. "You and I are going out together."

Oh, joy. "Do we have to?" Dave asked.

Decker ignored the question, instead holding out the car keys. "You want to drive?"

It was clearly a peace offering.

But across the room, Sophia pretended to stop to get some coffee. It was obvious, though, that her real reason for turning her back on the rest of the room was to wipe her eyes.

Mac had vanished, but what had that son of a bitch said to her to make her almost cry?

Dave went to find out. "Hey."

She forced a smile. "Heading out?"

"Yeah," Dave said. "Are you all right? I saw you talking to Mac. If he said something inappropriate..."