Her voiced sounded weird still-like she was upset, but trying to hide it. He wanted to know what her problem was that was "fine" and "handled."

"I have no idea," he said. "Probably late. You need to catch a ride with your sister."

Pause.

"Are you really okay?" he asked.

"I'm fine."

"You don't sound fine."

"Hodges!"

"You're busy," she said. "We can talk later."

Alex Lovell loved a cheap thrill.

She loved to feel her muscles tense and her pulse race as she waited to get what she needed, just how she needed it.

Her fingers tightened on the wireless mouse. She stared at the screen. She held her breath.

"Yes!" she hissed, closing her eyes.

She opened them again and smiled at the computer.

"Well, well, Mr. Klem. What do we have here?" Alex skimmed the list of numbers, looking for the precise combination that would tell her her hunch had been right.

And it had. Of course. If there was one thing Alex knew, it was that people were predictable. And the quickest way to find them was to follow their vices.

Which, in the case of Ronald Klem, was cyberporn.

Alex searched the website some more, looking for the address associated with his online account. The site was protected by security screens, but nothing too complicated. A few more clicks, and Alex had what she wanted.

"Hello, deadbeat."

She jotted down the information on the pad beside her phone and leaned back in her chair. Now came the fun part of her job. She got to call up the former Mrs. Klem and tell her her ex-husband-who'd fallen off the radar after their last court date, and who owed eighteen months of back child support-was kicking it in Jacksonville, Florida.

Alex clucked her tongue at the ease of it all. She picked up the phone.

A bell sounded in the front office, and she glanced at the monitor to her right. She had a visitor. Alex studied the black-and-white image. She checked her watch. She'd planned to knock off early today, but that plan was about to change. This visitor had that look about her that told Alex she had a problem, and whatever it was wasn't going to wait. Alex put her computer to sleep and walked out front to meet her.

She stood in the center of Alex's unimpressive reception room, looking decidedly unimpressed. She was a few years younger, probably mid-twenties. She had an outfit and a body to die for, with the exception of her feet. They were scraped and dirty, and apparently had been roaming downtown Austin without the benefit of shoes. Alex noted the heeled sandal sticking out of her oversize purse.

"Is this Lovell Solutions?" the woman asked.

"It is."

Alex watched as her gaze skimmed over the threadbare couch, the moving boxes, and the Mr. Coffee balanced atop a folding chair. Alex had moved her office here three months ago, but she hadn't found time to unpack. It didn't matter, really, because she conducted the vast majority of her business via computer. Alex had clients she'd never even seen, although she knew their e-mail addresses and cell phone numbers by heart.

The woman's gaze met hers. "I'm Courtney Glass."

"Alexandra Lovell."

Courtney walked over to a teetering stack of software manuals. She flipped the top one open. Alex noticed the tremor in her hands and wondered if she was strung out on something.

"How'd you get this address?" Alex asked, more out of curiosity than annoyance. Her company's address wasn't printed on her business cards.

"Sandra Summers is a client of mine."

Alex pursed her lips. Sandra Summers was a TV anchorwoman whom Alex had helped with a pesky fan problem last spring.

"How's Sandra?" Alex asked, wondering what Courtney did for her, and guessing it wasn't her taxes.

"Fine." Courtney walked to the other side of the room. With a trembling finger, she parted the miniblinds and peered through them.

Did she think she'd been followed here?

She turned to Alex. "You charge by the hour?"

"Depends. Sometime it's the project."

"I've got a project for you, but I need it done fast."

"I'm pretty booked up right now."

"This is important."

"How important?"

Courtney dropped her purse on the couch and glanced up, and Alex saw the fear in her eyes. "I need your help."

"With what?"

"Making someone disappear."

CHAPTER 14.

Nathan knew what they were dealing with the moment he saw that Thomas the Tank Engine blanket.

"Bones show a history of fractures." The medical examiner turned toward the X-ray clipped to the light board and used his pen as a pointer. "We've got a broken humerus. I'm estimating six months old. Never properly set."

"What about this?"

Beside him, Hodges pointed to a view of the rib cage.

"Good eye, Detective." The ME indicated the second rib up on the left side. "That's a hairline fracture. I'd estimate three to six months old, but it's hard to say for sure."

Nathan crossed his arms. These were the cases that made him thankful he lived in a death-penalty state. He looked at the medical examiner. "This is a closet case."

"By the looks of it, yes. Especially with the missing lower central incisor. It would have been a permanent tooth. It was knocked out well before the time of the skull fracture that caused death."

"A closet case?" Hodges asked.

"Given the signs of ongoing abuse and malnutrition, it's likely this child suffered for years at the hands of his caretaker," the ME said. "The abuse and neglect would have been so severe, it never would have escaped notice of a teacher, which leads me to believe this child wasn't in school. He'd probably been secreted away by his parent in a closet or attic."

"You're assuming he's school age," Hodges pointed out. "The body looks pretty small."

"I believe you're looking at the remains of a seven-year-old boy."

"Seven? The kid couldn't have been more than forty inches tall!"

It was the most emotion Nathan had ever heard in his partner's voice.

"It's the malnutrition." The ME turned to Nathan. "Also, there's the blanket. When we see remains wrapped up carefully in a blanket like that, it points to the mother. She's responsible for, or complicit in, the abuse. And the actual killing, if I had to guess."

Hodges shook his head. "Who does that?"

"Someone terribly insecure."

All three heads turned in unison. Fiona Glass stood in the doorway with her art case clutched in her hand. Her gaze was riveted on the X-rays. Nathan had heard Cernak on the phone with her earlier, requesting a postmortem drawing so they could get an ID.

Fiona stepped closer to the light board and stared up at the film showing the tiny fractured skull. Her lips compressed into a thin line.

"You think you'll really be able to get a picture?" Hodges sounded skeptical.

"I'm going to try." She turned to the ME. "I'll need the blanket and the clothing. And any other personal items that accompanied the remains. I'll do drawings of everything. It's important to get as much information as possible out to the public to help prompt recognition."

She looked again at the film. She had a strange expression on her face-a mix of anger and revulsion.

And she hadn't even seen the body yet.

Nathan hated the task that lay ahead of her. He hated that time after time she got called in on the most horrific cases. Cops were expected to deal with the worst shit society could dish out, but Fiona was different-not as jaded as she needed to be. He'd probably never get comfortable asking for her help, although he didn't know how he'd ever do without her. He couldn't count the number of cases they'd managed to close because of her work.

"No missing person's report that you could find?" she asked.

"Nothing that's a match," Hodges said.

Yet another reason why Nathan knew they were looking for the child's mom and whatever dirtbag guy she happened to be living with. It might be the biological father, but Nathan suspected they'd find it was the stepdad or the boyfriend, someone who didn't care much for another man's kid hanging around.

"The mother won't come forward," Fiona said with certainty. "She's too weak. What we need is a concerned relative who hasn't seen this child in a while."

Nathan stared at the X-ray. He loathed any homicide involving a child, but this one in particular got to him. Who were these women who sat by and let their kids get knocked around? They were worse than their men. People said maternal instincts came naturally, but Nathan had seen way too many counterexamples over the years.

"I'll get you your drawing; you get it on the news." Fiona turned to him with somber eyes. "Our best hope is that this child's got a grandmother somewhere."

Someone was in Will's apartment.

He wasn't sure what, exactly, tipped him off, but he knew someone was there. He stood outside the door for a full minute, listening, before sliding his key into the lock. His right hand curled around the grip of his Glock, and his left slowly turned the key. Soundlessly, he pushed open the door.

The apartment was dark, just as he'd left it. The only light shone down from the microwave above the stove. It was quiet. He stepped over the threshold and paused in the foyer.

He smelled Chinese food.

Something moved to his right. He pulled his gun and whirled- "Omigod, you scared me!"

Courtney.

She stood in his bathroom doorway, silhouetted against the yellow light. "I didn't hear you come in," she said, stepping into the living room.

He stared at her over the sofa and confirmed his initial impression that she was wrapped in his beige bath towel. He shoved his gun back into the holster, embarrassed now. "How'd you get in here?"

She shrugged. "It was easy." She turned and sauntered into his bedroom, and he noticed the flower tattoo on the back of her shoulder.

Easy. Getting into his locked apartment.

"I'll be out in a minute." She switched on a lamp. "Just let me get dressed."

The bedroom door thumped shut, and he stood there, staring at it.

Courtney Glass was in his bedroom.

In a towel.

Will scanned the apartment again, certain now about the Chinese-food smell. He walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light. The counters were vacant, as was the table. He opened the fridge. His usual array of beer and Gatorade stared back at him. Everything looked exactly as he'd left it except- The bedroom door opened and out came Courtney. She was barefoot and bare-legged, and she wore a zip-up black sweatshirt over frayed cutoffs.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, breezing into the kitchen.

"Time out. How'd you get in here?"

"Your landlady downstairs." She pulled open the oven and took out a small white carton. "You like kung pao chicken?"

"My landlord let you in here?"

"Now, before you get pissed, let me just say that she's a sweet old lady." She removed several more cartons from the oven and lined them up on the counter. "I told her it was our anniversary and I was here to surprise you."

Will tossed his keys on the counter beside the food. "And she believed that? She's never even seen you before."

Courtney smiled up at him. "I can be very convincing."

He stared down at her, both annoyed and impressed. He was annoyed that she was here, in his kitchen, all wet and flirty. He was impressed that she'd tracked down his address.