“If my memory serves, we’re still in Virginia.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Ray didn’t ask you nearly enough questions now, did he?”

“Ray was very helpful in our investigation. We appreciate his efforts and are happy you were able to talk to us.”

Levine wasn’t fooled. She drew a bead on Kimberly. “I’m guessing you have no ID at all.”

Kimberly turned back around. She kept her voice even. “No, I don’t.”

“Look, it’s gotta be a good hundred degrees in the shade right now, and while I’m not a big fan of doing field work in this kind of heat, that’s my lot in life. So you both had better start talking fast, because I’m not amused to be yanked from my federally required duties to talk to two wanna-be cops who seem to be way out of their jurisdiction.”

“I am pursuing a case,” Mac said crisply. “The killer started in Georgia, where he attacked eight girls. You wanna see photos, I can give you all your stomach can take. I have reason to believe he’s now operating in Virginia. The FBI is involved, but by the time they figure out who did what to whom, this girl will probably have fed ten bears for a week. I, on the other hand, have been working this case for years. I know this man. And I have legitimate reason to believe that he has kidnapped a young woman and abandoned her all alone in the middle of your park. Yes, it’s hot outside. Yes, she is lost. And no, I don’t plan on standing idly by and waiting for a bunch of Feds to complete all the required paperwork. I plan on finding this girl, Ms. Levine, and Ms. Quincy has agreed to assist. So that’s why we’re here and that’s what we’re doing. And if that offends you, well, too bad. Because this girl probably is in your park, and boy oh boy, does she need some help.”

Kathy Levine appeared troubled. “Do you have references?” she asked at last.

“I can give you the name of my supervisor in Georgia.”

“He knows about this case?”

“He sent me here to pursue it.”

“If I cooperate with you, what does that mean?”

“I have no jurisdiction, ma’am. Officially speaking, I can’t ask you to do anything.”

“But you think the girl might be here. For how long?”

“He would’ve abandoned her yesterday.”

“It was nearly a hundred degrees yesterday,” Levine said curtly.

“I know.”

“Does she have gear?”

“He kidnaps women from bars. The best she has is her purse and her party clothes.”

Levine blinked twice. “Sweet Jesus. And he’s done this before?”

“Eight girls. So far, only one has survived. Today, I’d like to make that two.”

“We have a search-and-rescue team for the park,” Levine said briskly. “If… if you had strong reason to believe there was, say, a lost hiker in the Big Meadows area, and if you reported that lost hiker, I would have authority to call the team.”

Mac stilled. The offer was both unexpected and desperately needed. A search-and-rescue team. Multiple people. Trained experts. In other words, the first genuine chance at success they’d had all day.

“Are you sure?” Mac asked sharply. “It could be a wild-goose chase. I could be wrong.”

“Are you wrong often?”

“Not about this.”

“Well, then…”

“I’d like to report a lost hiker,” Mac said immediately.

And Kathy Levine said, “Let me make a call.”

Quantico, Virginia

2:23 P . M .

Temperature: 99 degrees

KAPLAN HAD SCHEDULED A TWO-THIRTY MEETING with Dr. Ennunzio to follow up on Mac’s conversations with the forensic linguist. Rainie didn’t think Kaplan believed Dr. Ennunzio was a link to Georgia’s Eco-Killer, as much as he wanted to grill a new person about the various doings of Special Agent McCormack.

Still, she and Quincy followed gamely along. Kaplan had his questions, they would have theirs. Besides, the BSU offices would probably be only eighty degrees, and that sure as hell beat the places they’d been thus far.

The offices of the Behavioral Science Unit were located in the basement of the indoor firing ranges building. Rainie had only been there once before, but she always thought it was a little funny. Not just because people were literally firing weapons two floors above you, which should give anyone pause, but because the elevators going down to the highly esteemed BSU offices were tucked in an isolated corner next to the laundry room. Walk by bins of dirty linens and used flak vests. Go to work for the day.

In the basement, the elevator door opened to a wood-paneled lobby area, with corridors going off every which way. Here, visitors could sit on the leather sofa while admiring various posters advertising BSU projects. “Domestic Violence by Police Officers,” declared one, promoting an upcoming seminar. “Suicide and Law Enforcement,” said another. “Futuristics and Law Enforcement: The Millennium Conference,” advertised a third.

When Rainie had first met Quincy seven years ago, he’d been conducting research for the BSU. His project of choice-developing a schema for the effective profiling of juvenile mass murderers. Never let it be said that the BSU researchers were a bunch of lightweights.

And just in case someone thought the group was without a sense of humor, a new addition had been included in the lineup of agent photographs adorning the wall. Last photo in the middle row-a lovingly framed headshot of an extraterrestrial. Complete with a cone-shaped head and big black eyes. Really, it was the best-looking photo of the bunch.

Kaplan took off down the middle corridor and Rainie and Quincy followed in his wake.

“Miss it?” Rainie whispered in Quincy’s ear.

“Not in the least.”

“It’s never as dreary as I expect.”

“Wait until you’ve spent an entire week working without any natural light.”

“Whiner.”

“Be nice, or I’ll lock you in the bomb shelter.”

“Promises, promises,” Rainie murmured. Quincy squeezed her hand, the first contact he’d made with her all day.

From what Rainie could determine, the space down here was basically a large square, bisected by three rows of hallways sprouting narrow offices. Kaplan came to the last door of the middle row, knocked twice and a man promptly opened it as if he were expecting them. “Special Agent Kaplan?” he asked.

Rainie bit her lower lip just in time. Wow, she thought. A Quincy clone.

Dr. Ennunzio wore a trim-fitting navy blue suit with proper Republican-red tie. In his mid-forties, he had the lean build of an avid runner and the intense gaze of an academic who always took work home at night. His short-cropped hair was dark, but beginning to gray at the temples. His manner was direct, his expression slightly impatient, and Rainie already had a feeling he considered this meeting a waste of his very valuable time.

Kaplan made the introductions. Ennunzio shook Rainie’s hand briefly, but paused with genuine sincerity in front of Quincy. Apparently, he was familiar with the former agent’s work.

Rainie simply kept gazing from the linguist to Quincy, back to the linguist. Maybe it was an FBI hiring requirement, she thought. You must wear these suits and have eyes this intense to ride this ride. That could be.

Ennunzio gestured to his cramped office, much too small to hold four grown adults, then ushered them back down the hallway to an unused conference room.

“This used to be the director’s office,” he explained, his attention returning to Quincy. “Back in your day. Now it’s a conference room, while the bigwigs are across the way. It’s not so hard to find their new offices. Just follow all the posters for the Silence of the Lambs.”

“Everyone loves Hollywood,” Quincy murmured.

“Now then,” Ennunzio said, taking a seat and placing a manila folder in front of him, “you had questions about Special Agent McCormack from the GBI?”