The whirring of the computer the only sound in the room, the picture changed again. The message on the screen was simple. Such a stupid boy. You are quite welcome for the service I provided in giving him the chance to prove his worth. Unfortunately for him, he failed. Which, I must say, is perhaps not so unfortunate for the rest of us trapped in a world populated by utter fools. Signed, Your Friend.

And suddenly Alec got it. Why Blackstone had come to him, had plucked him up from certain termination and given him a place on his team. Why he hadn’t been kicked on his ass out of the bureau.

Why he was so badly needed.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered, every cell in his body going on high alert.

Blackstone had suspected whom he was dealing with at the time of the help-wanted murder and had started working to get Alec on board. Now, on his very first day, the man’s intuition had paid off.

Alec’s heart raced; his pulse surged. Adrenaline coursed through him, as it always did when the chase was on. “It’s him.”

Blackstone nodded once, but Alec didn’t need the confirmation. He’d recognize the tone, the arrogance in the final e-mail, absolutely anywhere. The “your friend” signoff had been used in a note in one of the earlier murders for which Alec suspected this unsub had been responsible. It was only because he’d been focused on the bogus “Dr. Waffi” name that he hadn’t realized it before.

He should have figured it out sooner for other reasons. The unusual crime scene was a dead giveaway, as was the intentional psychological torment of the victims. Jason and Ryan had been put on the ice conscious and aware, intentionally left to spend their last moments in utter terror, wondering when it would break beneath them.

The teens had been lured into a trap that had been well thought out and beyond cruel. Murdered without their killer ever lifting his own violent hand against them. That alone revealed a wealth of information about the psyche of the suspect they were dealing with. Oh, yes. It all fit.

“Who?” Stokes sounded annoyed at being out of the loop. “What’s he talking about?”

Still not quite believing that he was going to get another crack at the criminal who’d haunted his most vivid nightmares, Alec sprawled back in his chair.

“Well?” Taggert asked. Appearing equally agitated that the newcomer was the only other person in the know, he glanced back and forth between his boss and Alec.

“Alec?” Blackstone said.

Not even quite believing he was about to say it, Alec smiled-a determined, dangerous smile holding absolutely no humor.

“We’re going after the Professor.”

InXile: Can u talk?

Wndygrl1: Yes. I was hoping youd b online. I’m lvng for work.

InXile: Wish I could visit you. But hav 2 b careful. Being watched.

Wndygrl1: You must go to the police! They can protect you.

InXile: Police in my own country couldn’t protect me.

Wndygrl1: It is so unfair that you had to leave your homeland. Can I help somehow?

InXile: Being my friend is huge help.

Wndygrl1: I want to do more. What else can I do?

InXile: Cannot trust online conversation. Traceable.

Wndygrl1: What are you saying?

InXile: If we could meet…

InXile: Friend?

InXile: R U there?

InXile: Never mind. Is a lot to ask, helping a stranger.

Wndygrl1: No! I feel like I’ve known you all my life, but we haven’t met in person.

InXile: Of course. You think I am thief wanting your money?

Wndygrl1: Of course not!!!!

InXile: Good. I would never ask for money. I have much of my own. Just cannot go out to spend it for fear of reprisals.

Wndygrl1: How sad!

InXile: If only I could see you and shower you with gifts.

Wndygrl1: You don’t have to buy me a thing.

InXile: Someday I will take you on a shopping spree. For now, though, we could meet somewhere safe, where I won’t be followed.

Wndygrl1: Well…

InXile: What?

Wndygrl1: It’s just… they say you shouldn’t meet someone you met online face-to-face.

InXile: They?

Wndygrl1: You know. Experts.

InXile: Right. You are wise. Don’t trust strangers. I am sorry to bother you.

Wndygrl1: Don’t go! You aren’t bothering me.

InXile: I have offended, though?

Wndygrl1: Not at all. I’m so sorry. You’ve never done anything to offend or bother me.

Wndygrl1: Sometimes I feel like you’re the only person who really knows me.

InXile: I am glad. So our friendship will stay as it is. Through computers and wires. You are my only ray of sunshine in these dark days.

Wndygrl1: You say such lovely things.

Wndygrl1: Maybe we could work something out.

InXile: No. Out of question. I don’t want u 2 feel uncomfortable.

Wndygrl1: I don’t.

InXile: So we think about it for now. Is that… how do you say it, okeydokey?

Wndygrl1: lol! Yes, we’ll think about it. That would absolutely be okeydokey.

“So tell me again everything you know about this Professor guy. All the stuff you told us yesterday in the briefing and anything else you didn’t.”

Alec glanced over at Jackie Stokes, his new partner. For the past thirty minutes, since they’d left the office, he’d tried to keep his eyes down, focusing on the case file in his lap. Studying ugly crime scene photos was somehow easier than watching her weave the dark sedan through the afternoon D.C. traffic, narrowly missing other cars. And pedestrians. And a poodle whose owner had snatched it from certain death-by-government-vehicle.

Alec hoped she hadn’t seen him surreptitiously double-check his seat belt. He’d recently finished re habbing his arm and shoulder after the shooting, and he didn’t particularly care to break any limbs, or his neck, in a car crash. “You planning to drive for NASCAR or something?” he muttered under his breath.

She pretended not to hear. “Why have I never heard of him?”

“He’s kept a pretty low profile.”

“A low-profile serial killer, huh?”

If there was such a thing.

“He’s been picky and methodical. Six kills in three years.”

“Including these latest two, plus the woman from the help-wanted ad?”

“Make that nine. He’s obviously accelerating.”

Maybe because he’d realized how easy it was to lure his victims via the Internet.

“Nine,” Jackie murmured, shaking her head.

Those nine lives had certainly meant a lot to the victims and their loved ones. But when compared to a Dahmer, a Bundy, or a Gacy, the number wasn’t too shocking. The crimes, however, had been. The Professor was one sick, malicious fuck.

“Nine murders but he’s the invisible man?”

“He’s never gone to the press, never tried for infamy. He simply does his thing, taunts the bureau occasionally, always in his condescending, arrogant way, and moves on. Sometimes he goes more than a year between victims, sometimes a few weeks.”

“Any particular location?”

“All in the mid-Atlantic region.”

“Sex of the victims?”

“Varies.” Before she could ask, he added, “And yes, that is unusual. We’ve got a lot on him, but we haven’t been able to determine a specific victim profile because the guy’s pretty indiscriminate in who he kills. Varying ages, races, sexes, economic backgrounds. He’s an equal opportunity bastard.”

“Why do they call him the Professor?”

Sensing Stokes wasn’t going to ease up on the questions until she’d gotten all the answers she wanted, Alec closed the file. Just his luck to draw the inquisitive talker for a partner.

Alec didn’t want conversation. He wanted to think, to go deep into unexplored fields of possibility in his mind, where every bit of information he had ever learned about the Professor had been taking root and sprouting. To get back inside the unsub’s head again, as he’d been trying so hard to do before getting sidelined by that damned woman and those twice-damned bullets.