“We’ll check it out right away, Agent Vartanian.”

“Thanks.” Daniel turned back to Felicity, who still watched him.

“Sit down, Daniel,” she said calmly. “You’re pale.”

He obeyed. He made himself breathe. Made himself think. Then his cell phone buzzed in his hand. Alex’s number. He answered, heart in his throat. “Vartanian.”

“Daniel, it’s Alex.”

It was her cool voice. She was scared. “What happened?”

“I’m okay. Daniel, somebody just tried to run me over.”

The heart in his throat began to race. “Are you hurt?”

“Just scraped up. There’s a policeman here. He wants to talk to you. Hold on.”

“This is Officer Jones, APD. Who is this?”

“Special Agent Vartanian, GBI. Is she hurt?”

“Not badly. She’s a little disoriented and banged up a bit. She says she’s a nurse and doesn’t need the ER. Is she part of an ongoing investigation?”

“She is now.” Too late Daniel remembered Alex’s satchel. He’d bet good money she had her gun with her. If she set one foot inside a police station, she’d be busted for carrying a concealed. “But she’s not a suspect, so there’s no need to transport her. Are you outside the Underground?”

“By the valet station. Are you coming or sending someone for her?”

The thought of sending anyone else hadn’t entered his mind. “I’m coming myself. Will you wait with her until I get there?”

“Yes. My partner ran after the car that tried to hit her, but he lost them. We’ll take statements from the crowd. Once we get a description of the car, we’ll put out an APB.”

“Thanks.” Daniel flipped his phone shut. “Felicity, I have to go.” He handed her the bag containing the hair the killer had left for them to find. “Can you have someone take this out to Ed? Ask him to run a color check.”

Felicity nodded, her eyes still unreadable, and Daniel got the uncomfortable feeling she was working very hard to keep them that way. “Sure. I’ll call you when I have more.”

Tuesday, January 30, 1:15 p.m.

“You know, Bailey, you’re becoming a real pain in my ass.”

Blearily Bailey looked up through the haze of pain and fear. He was standing over her, breathing hard. He’d broken a few of her ribs this time, and she wasn’t sure how many more kicks she could take before she lost consciousness. Again. “Too bad.” She’d meant for it to come out sarcastic and strong, but it was a pathetic little croak.

“Are you going to talk into the nice little machine or not?”

She glanced over at the tape recorder with contempt. “Not.”

He smiled then, his cobra smile. It had terrified her at first. Now she was beyond terror. What more could he do? Except kill me. At least then the pain would stop.

“Well then, Bailey, darlin’, you’ve left me no choice. You won’t tell me what I want to know and you won’t say what I want you to say. I’m going to have to go with Plan B.”

This is it. He’ll kill me now.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill you,” he said, amusement in his voice. “But you’ll wish I had.” He turned around to pull something from a drawer and when he turned back…

“No.” Bailey’s heart froze. “No, please not that. Not that.”

He just smiled. “Then talk into the tape recorder or…” He tapped the end of the syringe and pushed the stopper just enough to force a few drops of liquid from the needle. “It’s the good stuff, Bailey. You remember the good stuff.”

A sob tore from her parched throat. “Please, no.”

He sighed dramatically. “Plan B it is. Once a junkie, always a junkie.”

She struggled, but her attempts were as pathetic as her voice. He held her down easily, shoving one knee into her back and grabbing her arm. She tried to pull away, but even healthy she would have been no match for his strength.

Quickly he tied the rubber strap around her arm and pulled with the quick expertise of someone who’d had years of practice. He ran his thumb along the inside of her forearm. “Do you have good veins, Bailey?” he taunted. “This one will do nicely.”

There was a quick prick, the slide of the plunger, then… She was floating. Soaring. “Damn you,” she croaked. “Damn you to hell.”

“That’s what they all say. A few more hits and you’ll be begging to do anything I ask.”

Atlanta , Tuesday, January 30, 1:30 p.m.

Alex winced as Desmond swabbed her palm with disinfectant. She still sat on the edge of the planter and he knelt on the pavement beside her. Word traveled fast in the Underground Mall, and Desmond had come running. “That smarts.”

He looked up, his eyes unsmiling. “You should go to the hospital.”

She patted his shoulder with her fingertips, the only part of her hands that didn’t burn like fire. “I’m fine, truly. Just a poor patient.”

“First Bailey, now this,” Desmond muttered. He swabbed the other palm and again she winced, purposing to be a little more sympathetic the next time she did the same for a patient in the ER. It did really smart. But it could have been so much worse.

Desmond pulled an Ace bandage from his drugstore bag. “Hold your hands out, palm up.” He applied the gauze, then wrapped each hand with gentle care.

“You should be a nurse, Desmond.”

He gave her another unsmiling look. “This is a nightmare.” He rose from his knees to sit next to her. “You could have been dead like Bailey.”

“She’s not dead,” Alex said, just as quietly. “I won’t believe it.” He said no more, just sat quietly beside her until Daniel’s car pulled up to the curb.

He’s here. He came.

Daniel approached her as he had the night before, his face almost stern, his eyes piercing, his stride full of purpose. She stood, wanting to meet him on her own two feet, although the very sight of him made her almost dizzy with relief.

He checked her out from head to toe, his gaze lingering on her bandaged hands. Then he gently pulled her to him and threaded his hand through her hair, holding her head against his chest where his heart thundered hard and fast. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and let out a single shuddering breath, as if he’d held it all in.

“I’m all right,” she said and held up her hands, attempting a smile. “All taken care of.”

“Her knees are scraped up, too,” Desmond said from behind her.

Daniel moved his stare to Desmond’s face. “You are?”

“Desmond Warriner. Bailey Crighton’s boss.”

“He bandaged me up,” Alex said.

“Thank you,” Daniel said, his voice gone husky.

“Are you looking for Bailey?” Desmond asked tightly. “Please say someone is.”

“I am.” Daniel took her purse and satchel in one hand and slid the other to her waist, then turned her toward his car, against which a tall black-haired man now leaned, regarding her thoughtfully. “That’s my friend, Luke. He’s going to drive your car and you’re going to come with me.” Luke gave her a courteous nod.

Alex gave Desmond a quick hug. “Thanks again.”

“Take care of yourself,” Desmond said fiercely, then pulled a card from his pocket. “Sissy’s phone number. Bailey’s friend,” he added. “You ran off before I could give it to you. I was trying to catch you when I heard… Just call me when you hear anything.”

“I will.” She looked up at Daniel, who still looked very stern. “I’m ready to go.” She let him put her in his car, but stopped him when he started to buckle her in. “I can do that. Honestly, Daniel, I’m not hurt that badly.”

He dropped his head, staring at her hands. When he looked up his eyes were no longer stern, but stark. “When you called I was in the morgue with the second victim.”

Her heart clenched. “I’m sorry. You must have been scared.”

One side of his mouth lifted wryly. “That’s putting it mildly.” He put her satchel and purse at her feet. “Just stay here and try to rest. I’ll be back.”

Daniel stepped back from the car. His hands were shaking, so he shoved them into his pockets and turned away from her before he did something that might embarrass them both. Luke was coming toward him, a set of keys in his hand.