'But we're so behind.'

'That's mine to worry about. I'll figure something.' He rose, tugging his suit coat into place. 'Go home for now. And remember what they said about being alone in dark places. I don't want anyone finding you slumped over a chess table.'

Lucy followed him from the conference room, the memory of this morning's chess table pushing the baby's cry from her mind. She thought about the body back in the cold room. The man had no face, no fingers, no tongue. And no heart.

It was Russ. Every instinct she possessed told her it was.

Fitzpatrick was right. I am involved, somehow. But how? And why? Why me?

Monday, May 3, 1.00 P.M.

Lucy headed to the parking garage, looking over her shoulder every few feet. She was suddenly conscious of how empty the garage was, even in the daytime. And she was suddenly conscious of how isolated she was. Her back went rigid and she picked up her pace, her key clutched in one hand.

She passed a parked car with a man in the driver's seat. Watching me. He got out and, ignoring her, pulled an armful of books from his trunk. Okay, not watching me.

'Lucy.'

She heard the voice a split second before hitting a hard body full on. Stifling what would have been a shriek, she looked up. And up some more.

'Thorne,' she breathed in relief. 'You scared me.'

He'd gripped her shoulders to steady them. Thomas Thorne was a huge man, at least six six. Even Fitzpatrick would have to look up at him. Right now Thorne's handsome face was scowling. 'You didn't pick up your phone.'

She thought of the call she'd left unanswered. 'I was talking to the detectives.'

His scowl deepened. 'Without me?' he growled. He had a deep, gravelly voice that carried through a packed courtroom without a microphone.

If she hadn't known him so well, she might have been unnerved. 'I had an alibi.'

His eyes narrowed. 'Famous last words. Are you that stupid?'

Annoyed, she took a step closer, lifting her chin. 'No. Any other questions?'

Did the little girl live? She heard Fitzpatrick's quiet voice in her mind. That's what he'd asked after she'd told them she'd cut off a human leg with a Sawzall and once again she thought of the first time she'd seen him, standing across her autopsy suite. His feet had been spread solidly, arms crossed over his chest, his face stoically stern. She especially remembered the tears in his eyes. They'd startled her that day.

The victim had been a three year old girl. He'd cared, just like he'd cared today.

JD Fitzpatrick was a very dangerous man indeed.

'What?' Thorne asked, giving her a little shake. 'You just went somewhere.'

Lucy refocused on his face. 'I'm fine. I've had an eventful day.' She told him what had happened, leaving out the missing body parts that the police wanted kept under wraps.

'Shit,' he murmured, but even a murmur from Thorne vibrated like a shout.

'Indeed,' Lucy said. 'Mazzetti and Fitzpatrick are verifying my alibi. I had a class full of students every day last week and had room service delivered almost every day. There was no way that I could have made it from Baltimore to LA and back again to kill Russ Bennett, or whoever that victim really is.'

'They'll come to talk to Gwyn,' he said and she sighed.

'I didn't tell her. I thought it would be worse for her in the long term if I did. But I did tell them she was with her mom the day Bennett disappeared.'

Thorne winced. 'She's gonna be pissed that you kept this from her.'

Lucy lifted on her toes so that she could pat his cheek. 'You'll sweeten her back up,' she said, hoping it was true. 'Just give her a new whip. She's worn the old one out.'

'I'll put it on your tab,' he said dryly, but he'd stopped scowling. 'I've got to run. Let me see you to your car. Let's go.' He started walking and she had to nearly skip to keep up with his long stride. 'If the cops want to talk to you again, you call me,' he ordered. 'And next time, do not say a word until I am physically at your side.'

She nodded dutifully. 'Yes, sir.'

'I've met JD Fitzpatrick,' he added crossly. 'I didn't like him.'

Her brows lifted, surprised. 'Why not?'

Thorne's mouth curved ruefully. 'He's a straight cop. I grilled him for a long time on the stand, but he never slipped once. Told the goddamn truth.'

Lucy frowned, unsurprised to hear that Fitzpatrick had integrity, but disliking the thought of him being grilled. She and Thorne argued about his career many an evening. Lucy's feelings were mixed. As were Thorne's. 'Did you get your client off?'

'No. He was guilty.' Thorne shrugged. 'But he got a fair trial so I slept that night.' He stopped when they got to her old Chevy. 'Call me when you get home.'

'Okay.'

He waited until she'd unlocked her car door. 'See you tonight at the club?'

'I'll try,' she said. 'I'm sorry I worried you, Thorne. Thanks for coming out.'

'It's all right, I was out anyway.' He backed away, doing the phone sign. 'Call me.'

Lucy knew that a lot of women would love to be getting the phone sign from Thomas Thorne, and at one time she might have been one of them. Not any more. Now she went for nice, sensible men who weren't trouble.

Fitzpatrick's face popped into her mind and she sighed. Not like him. He was trou- Her thoughts scattered, her hand freezing on the car door. There was a box. On her floorboard. Wrapped in foil, it glittered. And around it was tied a big red bow.

The car had been locked and no one else had a key.

She snatched her hand from the door. 'Thorne?' she called, her voice trembling.

He was back in seconds, looking over her shoulder. 'What's that?'

'I don't know. I didn't leave it there.' She looked back at him. 'Did you?'

His expression was grim. 'No. Don't touch it.'

'I'm not stupid, Thorne.' She pulled her cell phone from her purse, commanding her hand to be steady as she searched for the card Fitzpatrick had given her.

'What the hell are you doing?' he asked, his own phone in his hand.

'Calling Fitzpatrick.' Heart pounding, she crouched down to better see the box. It was about the size of a softball. 'What are you doing?'

'I was going to call 911. Back up, Luce. You don't know what's in that box. It could be a bomb, for God's sake.'

Lucy aimed her keychain penlight at the box, illuminating the foil design and her pounding heart dropped to her gut. No, not a bomb. Not a conventional one anyway.

'I don't think so,' she whispered.

Thorne crouched behind her. 'Looks like somebody had wrapping paper left over from Valentine's Day.' He paused, studying her. 'You know what's inside, don't you?'

She dialed Fitzpatrick's number. 'I have a good idea.'

'So . . .' Thorne made an exasperated noise. 'What's inside?'

'Same thing that's on the outside,' she said, then held up her hand for quiet when Fitzpatrick answered, his voice low and urgent. 'Detective, it's Lucy Trask.'

'What's happened?' Fitzpatrick demanded. 'Are you all right?'

Slowly she rose, careful to touch nothing. 'I'm fine, but you need to come back. He's left a gift in my car. The box is wrapped in paper with purple, pink and red hearts.'

She heard him draw a breath. 'Shit. Where are you?'

'In the parking garage across from the morgue, second floor, east entrance.'

'Alone?'

She should have found the slightly accusatory note in his voice offensive. Instead she felt warmed. 'No. Thomas Thorne is here with me. We haven't touched anything.'

'Good. I'll send Drew and the CSU team right away. Stevie and I will be there as soon as we can. Will Thorne stay with you until the uniforms get there?'

She found herself wishing Fitzpatrick would turn around and come straight back, but knew Drew would have to do his thing before the detectives could do theirs. She looked up at Thorne. 'Can you stay a few minutes? Just until the cops get here?'

Thorne glared. 'Try to make me leave,' he growled.

'He'll stay,' she said to Fitzpatrick. 'What should I do when they get here?'

'Stay put. We'll be there soon.'

Monday, May 3, 1.10 P.M.

JD snapped his phone shut and returned his eyes to the road. His hands gripped the wheel, itching to turn them around and immediately return to the garage. And to Lucy Trask. But they were almost at Brandi Bennett's apartment. Squad cars could get to Lucy a lot faster.

'Dammit,' he muttered, reaching for the radio.

'What happened?' Stevie asked.

'The prick left a gift-wrapped box in her car.' He called Dispatch, requesting that squad cars, CSU, and a bomb detail be sent to the parking garage.

'How do we know it's from the prick?' Stevie asked when he'd finished.

'The wrapping paper is covered with hearts.'

'Oh.' Stevie grimaced. 'That's really nasty.'

'Really nasty? He cut the vic's heart out. I think he was already really nasty.'

'But he kept the heart. This is personal against the doc. How did Lucy sound?'

'Like she's keeping it together.' Barely, he added to himself as he thought about the little tremble in her voice as she'd asked him to come back. She'll be fine. She's trained to keep a level head. 'At least she's not alone. She was with Thorne.'

Which made his eyes narrow. He well remembered Thomas Thorne. The man had turned every female head in the courtroom, including the judge's.

'Well, politics aside, he is a big guy. Nobody's gonna bother her with him around.'

'You know him?' JD tried to make the question nonchalant, but he could see Stevie was not fooled. Stevie was rarely fooled.

'Only to be in court with him,' she said. 'He's a real piece of work, although I've never known him to out and out lie. If Lucy's with Thorne, she's okay for now.'

JD still wished he could turn the car around and be sure she was all right. But he had work to do. They were here. He pulled into a space in front of Brandi Bennett's apartment building. She'd been easy enough to find. She'd filed for a business license, citing this as her primary address. The nature of her business had been a little less easy to determine. The state's business directory said 'Modeling'. They'd have to see exactly what Mrs Bennett was showing off.

'You want to take the lead with the wife?' he asked.

Stevie shrugged. 'The doorman said she liked men. If you can soften her up with that dimple of yours, be my guest.'

Chapter Six.

Newport News, Virginia, Monday, May 3, 1.25 P.M.

Clay could see the gray water of the Bay and boats bobbing in the distance. On any other day he might have been thinking of a quiet day fishing. But not today.

He pulled into the run-down subdivision where Evan had last lived. According to Nicki, it was all the man could afford after his wife had kicked him out.

Which, Clay thought, she'd been more than entitled to do. By his own admission, Evan had cheated on her multiple times with multiple women. The last of his women was the game-changer. Margo Winchester was certifiably insane, but would she- Oh God. Yes, she would. Clay slowed his car as he passed the little frame house which Evan had rented. It was gone. Burned to the ground. A Condemned sign was planted in the front yard, yellow crime-scene tape across what had been the door.

Margo had made good on her threat. Part of it anyway. She'd told Evan she'd kill him, then lay waste to everything he owned, including his children. She'd sent him letters, included photographs of his house, of his children at play in the schoolyard.

She'd meant business.

Clay dragged one hand down his face. He was tired. Which didn't matter at the moment. He needed to check the local death notices. Find out if Evan's body had been found. He needed to have a chat with Ms Margo Winchester. Because if Evan was still alive, Clay needed to get him to safety.

It was what Evan Reardon had paid for. Safe passage to a new life.

Of course, if Evan was dead, Margo needed to pay, and Clay would have to bring the matter to the attention of the police.

Without bringing attention to me. He pulled his cell from his pocket and dialed Alyssa, who answered on the third ring. 'Evan's house is a pile of charred rubble.'