"Lotta paper," Lindsay said. "But not a very helpful haystack."

"Yeah, but it has to be," Jaylene pointed out. "Doesn't it? He's here, we're here. After following him around for a year and a half, we've apparently reached the next stage of the game."

"If Zarina's right about that," Metcalf reminded them.

"Her name," Lucas said, "is Samantha."

"That's not what the posters say."

"Wyatt," Lindsay murmured.

"Well, it isn't. She goes by Zarina, right?"

"Only when she's working," Lucas said. "Wyatt, please. The problem with assuming about Sam's prediction-either way-is that we have to wait. We won't know if the kidnapper is still in this area unless and until he abducts another victim. Now, we can assume he's already gone and wait for a kidnapping report somewhere in the East, or we can assume he's still here and about to snatch his next vic-and wait for that to happen."

"Our part of the game plan sucks," Metcalf noted.

"Or," Lucas continued, "we can expect him to grab someone by tomorrow evening or Thursday morning-Carrie Vaughn, if Sam's right-and we can spend that time looking for his goddamned game rules and watching the potential target very, very closely."

"We already know one of his rules," Lindsay said. "When he takes the victims. Sometime between noon on Wednesday and noon on Thursday. Right?"

Jaylene nodded. "Right. Every single victim was snatched during that twenty-four-hour period."

"Rule number one," Lucas said. He reached out to draw a file folder close. "Let's start looking for rule number two."

Wednesday, September 26

Metcalf came into the conference room, saying briefly, "Carrie Vaughn has a detective in her living room as well as a patrol car in her driveway. She's safe. She's not happy, but she's safe."

Lucas glanced at his watch. "Just before noon. If he's still in Golden and has another kidnapping planned so soon, he'll move by noon tomorrow."

"If we got that rule right," Lindsay said.

"Yeah. If."

Metcalf said, "Just for the record, I locked Zarina in her room."

Lucas frowned slightly but didn't look up as he said, "A sensible precaution, from your point of view."

"I thought so. And she didn't seem too upset about it."

"Probably because you didn't call her Zarina to her face."

Shrugging, Metcalf sat down at the table. "I'm still surprised all her carnie friends haven't shown up here."

"She probably told them what she meant to do and asked them to stay away. They're a tight group; they'd handle it however she asked them to."

"You almost sound like you respect them."

"I do. Most of them have been on their own since they were kids but still managed to carve out a fair living for themselves without breaking a law or hurting others. That puts them in the Decent Human Being column of my book."

Lindsay noted that her hardheaded lover wasn't pleased to hear that information; it put human faces on his easy targets and made it more difficult for him to lump them together under a neat label. It also made him aware of what he was trying to do, and that naturally irritated him.

She couldn't help smiling wryly, but all she said was, "I guess we're all eating lunch in today. What does everybody want, and I'll go get it."

For the remainder of that day, they were all in and out of the room, going over the paperwork again and again, discussing the previous kidnappings and murders. And getting nowhere.

Even what had seemed a promising clue-the handkerchief Samantha had picked up at the carnival-proved to be fairly useless according to the report from Quantico. Mass-produced and sold in any retail store one might name, the handkerchief held a few grains of dirt, undoubtedly acquired when it was dropped onto the ground, but no sign of any human secretions whatsoever.

The lab technician allowed that there was a faint spot containing an oily residue, as yet unidentified, but it would require more time to determine what it might be.

"Ten to one," Metcalf said, "it'll turn out to be popcorn oil. And they've got-what?-at least two booths selling the stuff?"

"Four on a busy night," Lucas said with a sigh.

"Dead end," Jaylene murmured.

There was no good reason for them to remain at the station that night and every reason for them to rest while they could, so they called it a day well before midnight and went to their respective homes or hotel rooms.

Thursday morning proved to be busy, with numerous calls pulling both Metcalf and Lindsay out of the station for a considerable period of time, so Lucas and Jaylene found themselves alone in the conference room more often than not.

"Is it just me," he said around ten-thirty, "or is time crawling by?"

"It's definitely dragging." She glanced up to watch him prowling restlessly back and forth in front of the bulletin boards where they had pinned information and a timeline for the kidnappings and murders. "At the same time, we 're running out of it. If he's going to act this week…"

"I know, I know." He hesitated, then said, "You talked to Sam this morning."

"Yeah."

"And she didn't have anything else to add?"

"No. But she's as restless and jumpy as you are."

Lucas frowned, and returned to his chair at the conference table. "I just hate knowing I'd rather he went ahead and did whatever he's going to do so we might have something new to work with. I don't want another victim, and yet-"

"And yet another victim will tell us we're on the right track. More or less."

"Yeah, goddammit."

Metcalf came into the room and sat down with a sigh. "Did everybody go nuts all of a sudden? It's Thursday, for Christ's sake, and you'd think it was Saturday night. Fender benders, B amp;Es, domestic disputes-and some asshole just tried to rob one of our three banks."

"Unsuccessfully, I gather," Lucas said.

"Yeah, but not much credit to my people. Guy had a flare gun. A flare gun. I was ready to shoot him just on general principle. And because he fucked up my morning."

Jaylene chuckled, and said, "Quite a lot of action for a small town. Maybe it's the newspaper stories getting people all riled up."

"Yeah, let's blame them." Metcalf sighed. "So have you two made any progress?"

"No," Lucas replied shortly.

"He's a little cranky," Jaylene explained.

"Aren't we all." Metcalf looked up with a scowl as one of his deputies came in and handed him an envelope. "What the hell's this?"

"Dunno, Sheriff. Stuart told me to give it to you." Stuart King was the deputy on the front desk today.

Lucas looked across the table as the deputy left and Metcalf opened the letter. He saw a quiver disturb the sheriff's long fingers. Saw his face go dead white.

"Jesus," Metcalf whispered.

"Wyatt?" When he got no response, Lucas left his chair and went around the table to the sheriff. He saw the printed letter addressed to Metcalf. Saw a photograph. He actually looked at the photograph, conscious of a deep shock.

"Jesus," Metcalf repeated. "The bastard's got Lindsay."