The thing had landed in his own in-box dozens of times, so he knew exactly what she meant, but he let her expound.

“It’s amazing how many people still fall for this scheme. Losses in the hundreds of millions, all because Joe Naive thinks he’s going to get rich if he just puts out a little more money for bribes or taxes or legal fees or security. Until the money’s all gone and the ‘finance minister’ or ‘bank manager’ or ‘estate executor’ is gone with it.”

Her tone had gone from conversational to hard, verging on bitter. The tautness in her form told him even more about her-like exposing fraud online might be a personal crusade, rather than a professional one. She was emotionally affected by the issue, not a bit detached.

He had a feeling she was going to take Ryan Smith’s murder very hard.

“Did he forward you the actual e-mail?”

She shook her head, pushing back a few long strands of silky hair, which had escaped the ponytail. “No. He told me about it and I responded.” A tiny furrow appeared on her brow, and she added, “Oh, I just remembered: He also asked about certified checks. Whether the scheme ever included them.”

Alec leaned forward, leafing quickly through the copies of the e-mails. “Where?”

Frowning in concentration, she said, “It was… Wait, actually I think it was in an instant message.”

That surprised him. “Strangers can IM you?”

“He was a bright kid with a lot of potential, so when he figured out my ID, I was impressed enough to chat with him on occasion.”

The investigative team already had Ryan Smith’s computer and would find the history, but going to the source was quicker. “Can you tell me what you remember?”

As she closed her eyes to concentrate, Alec couldn’t help noticing the long sweep of the woman’s lashes brushing against her high cheekbones. He shifted in his chair, uncomfortably aware of his attraction to her. To a potential witness. Which was not only a no-no, but in his case, possibly a career killer.

Not that attraction had been the problem in Atlanta. Sympathy and misplaced trust had been his downfall there. But the lesson was the same: No mixing it up with witnesses. Emotionally or physically.

“I’d responded to his e-mail”-she glanced at the printed version, checking the time-“at around five. I told him it was a scam and I was shocked he didn’t know about it.” She nibbled her bottom lip. “I told him he wasn’t much of a fan if he hadn’t noticed I’d written a whole chapter about it in my book. Then I suggested he print out the articles I linked to, roll them up, and smack his buddy in the head with them for even considering going along.”

She managed a weak smile. Alec couldn’t bring himself to return it. Judging by what he knew of the boys, he suspected there was nothing Ryan wouldn’t have done to try to stop his friend. Yet, in the end, he’d gone with him to his death.

Tragic. So damned tragic.

“And the instant messages?”

“I had run down to the corner market, and didn’t log off. When I came back, I saw he had IM’d me a couple of times.”

“What did he say?”

“He was asking if any of these scams ever included getting a certified check, and if those checks could bounce. Which, of course, they can, if they’re faked. It’s happening all the time, especially to people who sell stuff on Craigslist and Internet auction sites. Or those who respond to ads for ‘mystery shoppers’ or work-at-home opportunities.”

Alec made a note to look into the certified-check angle. There’d been no mention of it in the crime scene report, or in any of the interviews with Jason’s or Ry an’s parents. He also wanted to know more about those work-at-home ads she’d mentioned, given the other murder five weeks ago.

“I tried to respond, but he was offline by then. It was the night of the big snowstorm, and my Internet connection went out, and I forgot about it.”

The night of the snowstorm. The night the boys had disappeared. Would they have gone through with the meeting, driven to their deaths, if the scam expert Ryan so trusted had personally warned him of the danger? From what the computer guys could tell, Ryan had not opened Samantha’s return e-mail. It had been hung up in one of those cyberspace black holes and hadn’t shown up in his e-mail account until the next morning.

But the IMs… If Samantha Dalton had been sitting at her desk to receive them and respond right away, how different might things be today?

She was definitely going to take the news of Ryan Smith’s murder very hard.

And though she was a perfect stranger, Alec already dreaded having to tell her.

They’d discovered the bodies right on schedule.

He’d been watching for the story on the news, knowing that as the weather warmed back up to above-normal temperatures, the chances of the car being spotted in the thawing pond would improve. And that once the car was found, the water would be searched for its occupants.

He laughed softly, wondering how the state police divers had enjoyed dipping beneath the frigid surface.

How had the boys looked after their winter dip? Had their toes snapped off like the tips of delicate icicles? Had their eyes become glittering glass marbles? Was the skin as fine as porcelain or veined like marble? Did their hair float about their heads before freezing, forming beautiful, crystallized halos of white?

He would have enjoyed seeing them. Two fools frozen in a pose of eternal stupidity.

“Not two fools,” he reminded himself. “Not the second boy.”

No, Jason’s unfortunate friend had exhibited a modicum of intelligence. But not enough to keep him from riding along to a cold and dark final destination.

“Ahh, well.” He shrugged off the unease. Because misplaced loyalty was nearly as damning as outright stupidity. The world had no place for it.

He studied the article on his computer screen for a moment longer, looking for nuances in the tone or quotes from the investigators that might hint at whether they had determined his involvement. The moment the FBI became part of the investigation, he’d know for sure, but there was no mention of that particular entity.

Not yet, anyway. But there would be. His last taunting message to the boys’ parents, sent after he’d seen the story on the Wilmington news station’s Web site, had ensured it.

Having studied every word of the article, and being unable to contact his latest project, the dull and unimaginative Wndygrl1, from here at work, he skipped over to another familiar site. The newest weekly “rant” column wouldn’t go up until late tomorrow night, and he would be alert and awake, hungering for her words, her thoughts, the entrée into her beautiful mind.

Until then, he couldn’t resist reading over the entry from last Wednesday night. And the one from the week before. And the week before that. All the way back to the article warning about so-called finance ministers offering to make people rich.

He tsked. “They really should listen to you, darling.”

He’d certainly paid close attention. Close enough to know how to word his lure and cast his reel. He’d hooked quite a few prospects, but only one, young Mr. Todd, had followed the bait all the way into the net.

“Youngsters. Can’t teach them anything.”

Ahh, well. If the fools were incapable of appreciating the advice to be gained and the lessons to be learned on this, his favorite Web site, he himself was not. After all, how better to test the intelligence of his prey than by seducing them with a promise that could be easily disproved with a few flicks of the fingers on a keyboard?

Those too gullible to spend two minutes searching for the information that could save their lives didn’t deserve to live.

As he gathered his things to leave for the day, he smiled in anticipation of tomorrow night’s column. The “deposed royalty” dating scheme was progressing nicely, but should be coming to its inevitable conclusion soon.