“So you played games?”

“All the good ones. Monopoly, Scrabble, Yahtzee, Boggle, Life, and my personal favorite, Risk.”

Kimberly raised a brow. “And who won?”

“I did, of course.”

“I believe that,” she said seriously. “You attempt this whole laid-back Southern routine, but deep down inside, you’re a natural-born competitor. I can see it every time you talk about this case. You don’t like to lose.”

“The person who said there are no winners or losers obviously lost.”

“I’m not disagreeing.”

His lips curved. “I didn’t think you would.”

“My family didn’t play board games,” she volunteered finally. “We read books.”

“Serious stuff or fun stuff?”

“Serious, of course. At least when my mother was watching. After lights out, however, Mandy used to sneak in copies of Sweet Valley High. We’d read them under the covers using a flashlight. Oh, we giggled ourselves sick.”

“Sweet Valley High? And here I figured you for a Nancy Drew kind of gal.”

“I liked Nancy, but Mandy was better at smuggling contraband, and she preferred Sweet Valley High. And booze for that matter, but that’s another story.”

“You rebel.”

“We all have our moments. So.” She turned toward him. “Big charming Southern man. You ever been in love?”

“Uh oh.”

She stared at him intently, and he finally relented with a sigh. “Yeah. Once. One of my sister’s friends. She set us up, we hit it off, and things went pretty well for a while.”

“What happened?”

“I don’t know.”

“That’s no kind of answer.”

“Honey, coming from a man, that’s the only kind of answer.”

She resumed staring and he caved again. “I was probably an idiot. Rachel was a nice girl. Funny, athletic, sweet. She taught second grade and was really good with kids. I certainly could’ve done worse.”

“So you ended it, broke your sister’s best friend’s heart?”

He shrugged. “More like I let it trickle out. Rachel was the kind of girl a guy should marry, then settle down and raise two point two kids. I wasn’t there yet. You know how this job is. You get a call, you have to go. And God knows when you’re comin’ home. I had visions of her waiting more and more and smiling less and less. It didn’t seem the thing to do.”

“Do you miss her?”

“Honestly, I hadn’t thought of her in years.”

“Why? She sounds perfect.”

Mac shot her an impatient glance. “Nobody’s perfect, Kimberly, and if you must know, we did have a problem. A significant problem, in my mind. We never fought.”

“You never fought?”

“Never. And a man and woman should fight. Frankly, they should have a good head-to-head battle about every six months, then make love until they break the box springs. At least that’s my opinion. Your turn. What was his name?”

“I don’t have a name.”

“Honey, everyone’s got a name. The boy you sat behind in math class. The college quarterback who got away. Your sister’s boyfriend who you secretly wished was your own. Come on. Confession’s good for the soul.”

“And I still don’t have a name. Honest. I’ve never been in love. I don’t think I’m the type.”

He frowned at her. “Everyone falls in love.”

“That’s not true,” she countered immediately. “Love’s not for everyone. There are people who live their whole lives alone and are very happy that way. To fall in love… It involves giving. It involves weakening. I’m not very good at that.”

Mac gave her a slow, lingering look. “Ah, honey, you obviously haven’t met the right man yet.”

Kimberly’s cheeks grew red. She turned away from him and resumed staring out the window. The road was steep now; they’d officially hit the Blue Ridge Mountains and were now making the grinding climb through Swift Run Gap. They zigzagged around sharp corners, getting teasing glimpses of million-dollar views. Then they were up the side, cresting at twenty-four hundred feet and watching the world open up like a deep green blanket. Before them, green valleys plunged, gray granite soared, and blue sky stretched for as far as the eye could see.

“Wow,” Kimberly said simply and Mac couldn’t think of a better response.

He took the entrance into the Shenandoah National Park. He paid the fee and in turn they got a map of all the various lookout points. They headed north, toward Big Meadows, on Skyline Drive.

The going was slower here, the speed limit a steady 35 mph, which was just as well because suddenly there were a million things to see and not nearly enough time to look. Wild grass bordered the winding road, thickly dotted with yellow and white flowers, while deeper in the woods a vast array of ferns spread out like a thick green carpet. Towering oak trees and majestic beeches wove their branches overhead, breaking the sun into a dozen pieces of gold. A yellow butterfly darted in front of them. Kimberly gasped, and Mac turned just in time to see a mother and fawn cross the road behind them.

He spotted two yellow finches playing tag in a grove of pine trees. Then they were already upon the first viewing platform, where the trees gave way and half of Virginia once again opened up before them.

Mac pulled over. He was no neophyte to the great outdoors, but sometimes a man just had to sit and stare. He and Kimberly absorbed the panorama of emerald forest mixing with gray stone outcrops and brightly colored wildflowers. The Blue Ridge Mountains really knew how to put on a show.

“Do you think he’s really an environmentalist?” Kimberly murmured quietly.

Mac didn’t need to ask to know whom she meant. “I’m not sure. He certainly picks some great places.”

“The planet is dying,” she said softly. “Look over to the right. You can see patches of dead hemlocks, probably killed by the wooly adelgid, which is infesting so many of our forests. And while this range is protected as a national park, how long will the valley before us remain untouched? Someday, those fields will become subdivisions, while all of those distant trees will be turned into yet more strip malls to feed hungry consumers. Once upon a time, most of the U.S. looked like this. Now you have to drive hundreds of miles just to find this kind of beauty.”

“Progress happens.”

“That’s nothing but an excuse.”

“No,” Mac said abruptly. “And yes. Everything changes. Things die. We probably should fear for our kids. But I still don’t know what that has to do with why one man kills a bunch of innocent women. Maybe this guy wants to think he’s different. Hell, maybe he does have some sort of conscience and it bothers him to kill for killing’s sake. But the letters, the environmental talk… Personally, I think it’s nothing but a bunch of bullshit designed to give the Eco-Killer permission to do what he really wants to do-kidnap and kill women.”

“In psychology,” Kimberly said, “we learn that there are many different reasons for why people behave certain ways. This applies to killers as well. Some killers are driven by ego, by their own overdeveloped id, which puts their needs first and refuses to accept limits on their behavior. It’s the serial killer who kills because he likes to feel powerful. It’s the stockbroker who murders his mistress after she threatens to tell his wife, because he honestly believes his own desire for security is more important than another person’s life. It’s the kid who pulls the trigger, just because he wants to.

“There’s another kind of killer, though. The morality killer. That’s the fanatic who walks into a synagogue and opens fire because he believes it is his duty. Or the person who shoots abortion doctors because she believes they are committing a sin. These people don’t kill to satisfy their inner child, but because they believe such an act is right. Perhaps the Eco-Killer falls into the morality category.”

Mac arched a brow. “So these are our choices? Immature whackos on the one hand and righteous whackos on the other?”