"Cold-blooded," Metcalf noted.

Understanding exactly what the sheriff meant, Jordan nodded. "It takes an utterly calculating nature and a particular brand of ruthlessness to spend time with someone you know you may have to kill. A nameless, faceless victim is one thing, but if they become individuals with personalities, if you put a human face on that object, then destroying it becomes much, much more difficult."

It was the sheriff's turn to frown. "How do we know he spent time with them? I mean, he could have kept them locked in a room or a basement somewhere, tied up, gagged, a bag over their heads.

I would have. What makes you believe he actually interacted with them?"

"Call it a hunch."

"Not good enough." Metcalf's frown deepened. "What did we miss?"

Jordan and Avery exchanged glances, and she said, "You didn't miss anything, Sheriff. There's just some information you weren't aware of. For the past eighteen months, we've been following a series of kidnappings in the East and Southeast."

"Following being the operative word, since we tend to get there too late to do anything to help the victims," Jordan said, half under his breath and with more than a little bitterness.

His partner sent him a brief look, then continued to the sheriff, "We believe they're connected. We believe this kidnapping and the other two in the area are part of that series; as Luke says, they certainly fit the pattern."

"A serial kidnapper? I've never heard of that."

It was Jordan who responded this time. "Because the vast majority of successful kidnappings for ransom are designed and engineered to be one-shot deals. Whether the victim lives or dies, the kidnapper gets his money, usually enough to live in some kind of style for the rest of his life, and vanishes to do just that. Even when they're successful, very few try a second time."

His partner added, "In this day and age, it's become increasingly difficult for any kidnapping for ransom to be successful, and because of the inherent complications it really isn't a common crime."

Thinking of possible complications, Metcalf said, "Electronic security, bodyguards, ordinary surveillance at banks and ATMs, now even on the streets-that sort of thing?"

Jordan nodded. "Exactly. Plus stiff penalties and the sheer logistics of abducting and holding a living person. Many victims end up being killed simply because it's too much trouble to keep them alive for the time necessary."

"That isn't what's happening with this serial kidnapper, assuming there is one?"

"No. He doesn't leave anything to chance. Holding his victims securely as long as necessary is just another step in his plan, and one he takes obvious pride in successfully devising."

"Like interacting with them is another step?"

"We believe so."

"Why do you believe so?"

Again, Jordan and Avery exchanged glances, and he said, "Because we had one survivor. And according to her, he was very friendly, very chatty. He treated her like a person. Even though it's at least possible that he intended to kill her from the beginning."

Carrie Vaughn was not what anyone would have called an easy person to live with, and she was the first to admit it. She was strong-willed, opinionated, extremely self-confident, and very set in her ways after twenty years on her own. Any lover was expected to adapt to her rather than the other way around, and those who hadn't been able to accept that fact had been no more than a blip on her radar.

Which was probably why she was uninvolved more often than not.

But that was okay. Carrie liked being alone, for the most part. Her career as a software designer was both lucrative and creative, plus it allowed her to work out of her home and to travel when and where she wanted. She had a lovely home she took a great deal of pride in, a passion for jigsaw puzzles and old movies, and the capacity to enjoy herself even when no one else was around.

She was also extremely handy, so when the late September afternoon turned unexpectedly chilly and her heat pump refused to come on, Carrie got her toolbox from the garage and started around back to check it out.

"That's dangerous, you know."

Startled, Carrie swung around to find a strange woman standing in her driveway. She was, maybe, ten years younger than Carrie, medium height, slight build, and with the darkest hair and eyes Carrie had ever seen accompany such ultrafair skin. She wasn't exactly beautiful, but definitely arresting; there was something curiously exotic in her heavy-lidded eyes and sullen mouth.

The bulky sweater she wore was a size too big for her and her jeans were worn to the point of being threadbare, but her straight posture held a kind of simple pride and there was something both cool and confident in her voice.

"Who are you?" Carrie demanded. "And what's dangerous?"

"I'm Sam."

"Okay, Sam. What's dangerous?"

"Your carelessness. No fence, no dog, no security system-and your garage door has been up all afternoon. None of your neighbors is even close enough to hear if you should need help. You're very vulnerable here."

"I have a gun inside. Two in fact." Carrie frowned at her. "And I can take care of myself. Hey, have you been watching me? Just who are you?"

"Somebody who's worried that you're vulnerable here."

"And why the hell should you care?"

For the first time, Sam's dark gaze faltered, darting away for just an instant, and her mouth twisted a little before it firmed again. "Because I-I don't want you to end up like that man. Callahan. Mitchell Callahan."

Carrie felt absolutely no threat coming from this woman and wasn't in the least frightened of her, but something told her not to laugh or dismiss what she was hearing. "The real estate developer who was kidnapped?"

"And murdered, yes."

"Why should I end up like him?"

Sam shifted her weight slightly and thrust her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. "There's no reason you should if-if you're careful. I'm just saying you should be careful."

"Look," Carrie said, uncertain why she was even allowing the conversation to go on, "I'm no target for a kidnapper. I have a little in savings, sure, but-"

"It's not about money."

"Kidnappings usually are."

"Yes. But not this time."

"Why not this time? And how do you know that?" While the younger woman hesitated, Carrie studied her and had a sudden realization. "Wait a minute, I know you. Sort of. I've seen your picture. On a poster."

Sam's thin face tightened. "Possibly. Miss Vaughn-"

"You're with that carnival out at the fairgrounds. You're supposed to be some kind of fortune-teller." She heard her own voice rising in indignation and wasn't surprised. A fortune-teller, for Christ's sake! On that poster advertising the services of Zarina, All-Knowing Seer and Mystic she'd been wearing a turban.

A purple turban.

"Miss Vaughn, I know you don't want to take me seriously. Believe me, I've seen the reaction before. But if you'll just-"

"You have got to be kidding me. What, you read the tea leaves and they told you somebody was going to kidnap me? Give me a break."

Sam drew a breath and spoke rapidly. "Whoever he is, he was at the carnival. I didn't see him, but he was there. He dropped something, a handkerchief. I picked it up. Sometimes when I touch things, I can see-I saw you. Tied up, gagged, blindfolded. You were in a small, bare room. And you were afraid. Please, I'm just asking you to be careful, to take precautions. I know I'm a stranger, and I know you have no reason to believe me, but would it hurt to just humor me?"

"Okay," Carrie said. "I'll humor you. I'll be careful. Thanks for the warning, Sam. See you around."

"Miss Vaughn-"

"Bye." Carrie shifted her toolbox to the other hand and went back into the house, deciding to check the heat pump later. When she looked out a front window just a few minutes afterward, it was to see Sam trudging down the driveway toward the road.