There were a lot, and they’d begun shortly after midnight. Apparently avid fans waited for her weekly article and pounced right on it as soon as it went live.

The first several were “attagirl” posts from people who were probably her regulars. Then he got to the sixth one, posted at twelve forty a.m. He read it, and then read it again, this time aloud. “ ‘ My dear Samantha, you must know some people simply deserve what they get. What folly it would be to try to save everyone. Why do you even want to try?’ ”

The post was signed Darwin.

His senses started to tingle, the way they had when he’d read the e-mails Monday in the conference room. The wording was formal, ostentatious. The message cold and reprehensible.

“Condescending,” he murmured.

“Arrogant and literate,” Jackie said. “Like someone out to prove how much smarter he is than everyone else.”

It took a second; then he remembered what he’d said about the Professor in the car the other day, using exactly those words. “You really think he’s posting on a public message board?” he asked, trying to wrap his mind around the possibility.

“You’re the expert. Would the Professor do it?”

Alec considered it. Just because the killer had never reached out to the press didn’t mean he lacked the narcissistic need to be recognized. Many serial killers had done the same, wanting to evade capture, yet also, somehow, wanting their work to be acknowledged. Admired, even. And interacting with someone who worked to educate people about the very scams he was using to lure his victims-well, it made sense, in a twisted way.

“Yes,” he finally replied, frowning as the implications washed over him. “I think he might. We’ve already noticed other graphic changes in the past few months. He’s accelerating, less downtime between kills. He’s changed his MO in how he lures his victims. Why not reach out and try to engage someone in cyberspace? Someone who’s familiar with the kinds of things he’s doing, perhaps even someone he wants to educate?”

Not just someone, though. Samantha Dalton. They were talking about the woman he’d been thinking about nonstop since he’d met her.

“It’s thin,” he said, shaking his head, torn between the thrill of a lead and his concern over a woman he barely knew.

“Supermodel thin. But keep reading. He posted two more times before six a.m. Got wordier each time, pompous blowhard,” Jackie said, pointing to comments farther down the page. “I didn’t even begin to suspect until I read his third message. I guess you saw it quicker because you know him better.”

Alec read the second comment, left about an hour after the first. A little stronger in the wording, every bit as blasé about his fellow man as the first. Then he read the third. In an instant, he zoned in on exactly what Jackie was talking about. “Damn.”

“Yeah.”

They were definitely onto something. It seemed crazy that this guy could end up in their lap within a couple of days of their meeting with Sam. Then again, their visit to the woman had provided the catalyst for her blog post-which had apparently stirred the Professor enough to draw him out of hiding. Circular motion.

Alec quickly zoomed through the rest of the pages, looking for any response from Samantha, but saw none. It was perhaps because of her lack of response that this Darwin kept coming back. He seemed to want to know she’d read his words. Validation, almost, of his ideas. But she hadn’t given it to him. Most likely, she’d been in bed asleep.

This morning, though, she would sign on and almost certainly give him what he was asking for. Acknowledgment. Considering how upset she’d been by Ryan’s murder, especially judging by the rant she’d written, that acknowledgment would probably be very strongly worded. And could really tick off the man she was addressing.

If this Darwin was the Professor, he’d be the last person anybody should ever tick off.

“We need to talk to her before she posts anything back to him.” He heard the urgency in his own voice and wondered whether Jackie did, too.

Jackie nodded. “No kidding. I’ve already tried calling but got no answer, e-mailed but got no response. So I guess we’re taking another road trip.” She reached into her pocket, pulled out her car keys, and gave him an evil smile. “I’ll drive.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have breakfast,” he muttered as he followed her out into the corridor. But instead of heading for the exit, he glanced toward a partially open door. “Fletcher and Cole’s office, right? And they’re the computer geniuses on the team?”

She realized where he was headed. “I wonder if they can track him from these posts.”

“I’m not the cyber crimes nerd,” he said, hiding a slight smile as he remembered Sam Dalton’s words. “Can they?”

She nodded once. “It’s possible.”

“So let’s bring in the rest of the team and go at this together,” he said, the entire concept tasting strange, since he was used to a more cutthroat environment. Strange, but good.

Cole and Fletcher, however, weren’t in their office. A quick visit to Blackstone’s told them why. “They left a few minutes ago, going to see what kind of computer forensics they can get from the local PD investigating the help-wanted murder.” Wyatt handed back the screen-shot printouts. “But you can start working on the IP, can’t you, Jackie?”

“Yeah. But we still need to get to Mrs. Dalton and make sure she doesn’t respond to him.”

“At least, not until we decide how we want her to respond,” Alec interjected.

Wyatt stared at him, nodding once to indicate his thoughts had gone in the same direction. “Very well, then. Jackie stays here and works on identifying where those posts came from. Alec, you’ll have to go up to Baltimore and convince Mrs. Dalton to remain silent for the time being. We’ll keep trying to reach her on the phone to make sure she stays offline.”

Ordinarily, it would have been a simple task. Alec, though, found his stomach rolling at the thought of it. Not that he couldn’t control his libido, or keep himself from revealing the attraction he’d felt for her from the minute she’d opened the door Tuesday afternoon. He just wondered whether he’d be able to resist trying to get into her head a little. Searching to find the caustic woman whose words he’d read, figuring out more about what made her tick and why she’d chosen the path she was on. Filling in the profile.

And, yeah, concealing that attraction.

Throughout her marriage, Sam had become accustomed to getting up early. Not by choice-she wasn’t what anybody would call a morning person.

She had always done her best thinking and her best work in the silence of the night, preferring the thick, heavy darkness of a sleeping world to the bright, loud one awash with daylight. She’d made friends with the shadows and the soothing voices of the smooth-toned, late-night radio deejays, had become accustomed to eating cereal at one a.m.

Her ex, however, had liked to get up with the dawn. When she’d moved into his house, she’d been expected to conform to his routine. Alarm at six a.m. Then a work-out, which he’d harass her into doing with him, even though she’d rather go through an IRS audit than exercise. But she’d been eager to please, still shocked such a rich, handsome man had wanted her. Had pursued her. Had married her.

Then he would dress in a beautifully tailored suit and set off for another beautiful day of screwing people over in the beautiful land of get-rich-quick corporate America. Beautiful.

Since the divorce, she hadn’t set her alarm. Not once.

She could therefore muster no surprise when she opened one bleary eye and saw the numbers nine-five-zero shining in neon green from her bedside clock. Late for most people, especially on a weekday. Not for her.

The only question was, why had she awakened at all? She’d shut down her computer right after putting the final touches on her Sam’s Rant column at midnight. Not tired enough for bed, she had turned off all the lights and curled up on her couch in the living room, wishing she could turn her brain off, too.