Sixteen.

The day had already been long, and now it was only getting longer. She shouldn't have been called out, but Roy had texted her and she was going regardless.

There was another one. This one was newer than any of the ones they'd found, but he'd broken the pattern. It always happened eventually, Roy said. And when it happened, that was when they managed to find something that would bag the b.a.s.t.a.r.d.

She came into a scene that was already too crowded with people. She didn't have a badge to flash, and the suit wore a badge that read F.B.I. on his hip, so she couldn't even rely on his recognizing her.

"I was called out to the scene. Get Schafer. He'll confirm the story."

"I'm sorry, ma'am. Official personnel only unless I have orders otherwise."

"Then go talk to Roy. Schafer. He told me to come to the scene, and here I am. I'm a cop, G.o.d d.a.m.n it. Can't you at least do me that favor?"

He looked askance at the reporters around. "No, ma'am. I have to stay here."

"You can't go off for one G.o.dd.a.m.n second?"

He caught someone trying to slip under the caution tape with one arm and pushed them back, without too much concern for their safety or the safety of the camera on their shoulder.

Then the agent shot her a look as if to say 'see?'

"She's with me," came a voice from behind. Roy's voice.

"Yes, sir."

He stood aside a second to let Erin through. She could hear him say "Not you" to someone who tried to follow her through. She could only imagine the stink-eye that they caught for it.

"Sorry about the trouble," Roy said, giving an apologetic smile. It was already a long day, and it was only going to get longer.

The woman was surrounded by groceries. She'd been out shopping, it seemed, and had taken a cut down a back alley. The part of town wasn't so bad this time, and it was the middle of the day when she'd been stabbed.

"What did you need me for?"

"Call it a gesture of good will and inter-departmental cooperation."

"Okay," she said, pulling on gloves. The body was cool, but it wasn't ice cold. Pretty, dark-haired. It was hard not to notice the similarities to the other women.

"Do we have an I.D.?"

"Sure we do. Irene Ca.s.sidy, aged twenty-eight. Leaves behind a husband, aged twenty-seven, and a little girl, aged four."

Erin didn't have anything to say. She looked up at Roy, who gave her an understanding shrug. It was sad, no doubt. But neither of them had time to waste on feeling sad right now.

"Time of day is different."

"Yes."

"And the victim was married. Could she have been stepping out on the side?"

"Not likely," Roy answered. "We've got techs going over the home P.C. now, but it's not looking very likely at all. Far as we can tell, the husband used it mostly. She was less the computer type. Used it to buy stuff online when she couldn't get it local, that sort of thing. Not a heavy user."

"And she was married, to boot."

"Yes."

"Any chance that it's a coincidence? Husband did it and copied another killer to make use figure it was him instead?"

"Again-not likely."

"No, I didn't think so."

Erin let out a breath. She could already guess what had happened. It wasn't hard to do. If he was a s.a.d.i.s.t-and she knew Craig sure as h.e.l.l seemed to be one, her feelings on which were a whole mess she didn't want to untangle right now-then she'd definitely riled him up earlier.

He could have gone right out and found someone to kill. Someone who wasn't her. Why he put off killing her instead, she didn't know. She only knew that she couldn't exactly afford to go out at night with her 'new boyfriend,' or maybe he'd get a repeat performance in.

"What else can you tell me?"

"Not a whole lot else. She's a model citizen. Good mother, far as we can tell. Everyone who we've been able to talk to-understand we've only had the scene for an hour or so-seemed to love her. Heartbroken. I mean, you know, everyone says that, but my guys say they buy it."

She considered telling him about what she'd done. Considered it for a long time, because it would have answered quite a few questions that were sure to be looming large in Roy's mind. But telling him would mean that either she became the F.B.I.'s bait, or he'd make her stop. Either way meant that she let someone else have control, and she couldn't do that.

Not when it was her sister's life. Anyone else, fine. She'll take shotgun, let them call the shots, and she would do what she had to do. But they would just f.u.c.k it up, she knew. The only person she could count on in this case was herself.

"Two murders in, what, three days? He's getting faster."

"This one wasn't planned," Schafer answered off-hand.

"No, I guess it wasn't."

"We're sweeping the place for prints, but we're not expecting much. We're more hopeful for fibers and hairs."

"You said when they break pattern, they make mistakes."

"That's right. We'll make a cop out of you yet."

She soured at the joke. "But does that mean that he keeps going with the plan? Should we expect another murder within the week?"

Roy crouched down next to her, exhaling through his nose. "I hope not."

"But you're afraid so."

"But I'm afraid so," he agreed.

"Then we have four days to nail him."

"At most," Roy said. He sounded tired. She almost wanted to invite him back to get some rest at her place. She'd just learned a great new trick, after all, and she was eager to practice. The fear of the wrong person bursting in told her not to.

"Is there anything else?"

"Sure. You learned anything from your, ah, time off?"

"Oh, yeah. Sure. Talk shows are garbage."

Roy gave her an even, frustrated look. "Okay, sure. Keep your secrets. But when you get done being clever, give me a call. If you find anything out, it's better we both know everything. You can't catch him single-handed, and I need all the information I can get if I'm going to do anything about it."

"Okay. If anything happens to come on Oprah-"

"She's not doing T.V. any more," Roy said reflexively.

"Fine. Whoever, then."

"You want, like, Wendy Williams."

"That's fine."

He looked up from the body. "I'm just saying."

Erin stood up. Had he had her as an appetizer, come out for this murder, and then finished her off again for dessert? She felt for her car keys and took them in hand, only realizing after a minute that she was gripping them hard enough to hurt.

"I'll text you." Erin turned to leave.

"Hey, you want to get dinner later?"

She knew that he wasn't talking about inter-agency cooperation any more, and she could feel the b.u.t.terflies in her stomach at the idea. She wanted to. She'd had a good time with him, back in Wyoming when he wasn't being a b.a.s.t.a.r.d who stole important cases from people.

"Maybe when you're done here," she said. She wanted to refuse, to save what little dignity and independence she had left. She needed to keep working on the case, to make sure that she didn't set off another one of these murders. The words came out on their own. "I need to get a shower."

Seventeen.

The second that she got out of the shower she already felt better. A long day, no question, but she'd be able to make it through. Somehow. She checked that the chain lock was still fitted in the door before she went back to her bedroom to get dressed.

Something had her spooked about the place not being totally secure. Somehow, Craig Hutchinson had made it in, and while she absolutely didn't have any trouble believing that he was the sort of man who knew a few locksmiths' tricks, that didn't make her feel much better about the situation. If he could get in once, then he would be able to get in again, no problem. Which meant that Erin need to constantly be on her guard until she was able to put him behind bars.

Erin heard her phone buzz from its place, face-down on the cabinet. She picked it up and answered.

"Russo."

"Good to hear your voice again." Roy's voice was low and rough with tiredness. "Have you figured out where I'm taking you for dinner?"

"No, and I'm not going to. Ask someone else for a recommendation, but you're going to surprise me. I told you that."

"You might have forgotten, and I'm a stranger in a strange land, you know."

"That's what makes it so fun." Erin could imagine him squirming, and smiled at the thought. He didn't seem like the kind of man who ever squirmed. Rather, he seemed like the kind of man who was incapable of squirming. Like he might try and fail.

"Then you'll have to come find me. I'm pulled off on the side of the road here next to a..." A pause, in which she could imagine he was looking out the window to read the name of the place. "McDonald's, I guess. You guys even have strange McDonald's out here, huh?"

"Not that strange."

"Well, come find me. Then we'll find someplace to eat."

"We're not having McDonald's."

"Boo," he teased. "Obviously we're not. Now, you're a detective. Time to start your detective training. Come find me, and then we'll find someplace. But I need a guide around town, so I don't get lost."

"But getting lost is half the fun."

"Then we'll both have fun, smart aleck."

"See you in a bit." Erin hung up the phone and pulled on some clothes, the cold having pulled her skin tight around her body and raising gooseb.u.mps.

She tried four McDonalds locations before she found the government-issue sedan that Roy sat in. He stuck out like a sore thumb, so she should have realized that she didn't need to pull into the others and look carefully.

The car was instantly recognizable as a government car, kept in reasonably good shape with blacked-out windows and government plates. It might as well have said "I'm with the F.B.I." on the side of it for all the good it did hiding the information.

She opened the pa.s.senger door and slipped inside.

"You found me!" He feigned surprise.

"Somehow. I guess it's just my incredible sense as a detective that led me to your location, first try."

"Really. First place you checked?"

"Absolutely."

He looked suitably impressed, though she suspected that he had no illusions about her telling the truth.

"Well, I was thinking Italian."

"Perfect. Drive me away, Romeo."

"I don't know if I'd go that far," he chuckled. "How about just dinner?"

"Good enough for me," Erin purred. They made their way back onto the streets, busy enough to take a good look around. As she had promised, she provided very little-if anything-in the way of directions.

He'd ask if she had a recommendation every few corners, or if she liked a particular restaurant. She practiced her shrug. Finally they pulled into a restaurant with 'Italian' in the name. Erin hadn't been there before; in fact, hadn't heard the name. It was too far north to be part of her usual repertoire, but she wasn't about to criticize just because of that.