Lennie took the bait, flipping through the pictures of the body in the clearing, his seasoned cop's face showing no sign of emotion. But he swallowed hard before closing the folder.

"And our suspects?" Lennie asked, his eyes still on the folder cover.

"Not many," Steven said. "Lorraine Rush was a well-liked girl, a cheerleader at High Point High School. Sixteen, no boyfriends her parents knew about. Her friends are stunned."

"And her teachers?'

"Nothing mere either. We've checked her whereabouts every day for three weeks before she was reported missing and nothing stands out. Lorraine was a clean-cut all-Ameri-can girl."

"With a tattoo on her buttock," Lennie said.

Steven shrugged. "She was a teenager, Lennie. They paint and pierce themselves, God knows why. In my day it was dyeing your hair green and sticking safety pins in your nose. We ran a tox screen on what was left and didn't find any evidence of the usual teenage party scene."

"So, in other words, no suspects," Lennie said, frowning.

"Nope."

"And the Forensics report?"

"She was killed there in the clearing. Her blood was found soaked three inches into the soil."

"It's been so dry lately," Lennie murmured. "The ground just drank her up."

Steven eyed his half-drunk coffee with new distaste. "Yeah. Cause of death may have been stabbing, but the ME wouldn't swear to it There just wasn't enough of her body left. She'd been there five days based on the larval state of the maggots that were busy eating what the animals left behind. She was probably raped, although the ME wouldn't swear to that either."

Lennie's mouth tightened. "What will the ME swear to?"

"That she's dead."

Lennie's lip twitched. Once. Through all the horror, they had to find ways to lighten the stress. Humor normally sufficed, as long as they kept it to themselves. But the humor was a trapping, a cover that just hid the horror for a moment or two. Then it was there again, staring them in the face.

Steven sighed and opened the folder. "Kent also found what looks like a new tattoo on the Rush girl's scalp. Whoever killed her shaved her bald and left his mark on her."

Lennie bent down and squinted at the picture. "What is it?"

"Not enough left to say. Kent's investigating. Whoever shaved her head didn't do it there in the clearing or if he did, he's one meticulous sonofabitch. We picked at the grass with tweezers for two days and didn't find a single hair. Nothing," Steven added irritably.

It was Lennie's turn to sigh. "Well, now you've got another place to look."

Steven straightened in his chair. "What are you talking about, Lennie?"

Lennie pulled a folded sheet from his pocket. "We got a call from Sheriff Braden over in Pineville. His sister went in to wake his sixteen-year-old niece for school this morning and-"

Dread settled in the pit of Steven's stomach. Two of them. Two meant the "s" word. Serial killer. "And the girl was gone," he said woodenly.

"Bed slept in, no evidence of forced entry, window left unlocked."

"Could be unrelated," Steven said.

Lennie nodded soberly. "Pray they are. This one's yours. I have to ask if you can handle it."

Irritation bubbled and Steven let just a little of it show. "Of course I can, Lennie. I wish you'd just leave it the hell alone."

Lennie shook his head. "I can't, you know that. I don't want one of my lead agents cracking in the middle of what could turn out to be a high-profile serial murder case. I also don't want you to have to go through another case where children are stolen out of their beds."

Like Nicky had been, six months before when a wife-beating, murdering cop took his littlest boy hostage to make Steven back down. Nicky was returned, physically unharmed, in large part due to the heroics of the cop's abused wife, but his baby had not been the same. Gone was his infectious laughter, the way he'd hugged them for no reason at all. Nicky had allowed no hugs since that day six months ago. He hadn't slept in his own bed, either, and he hadn't slept through the night.

Steven knew this because he sure as hell hadn't slept through the night either.

Lennie broke into his thoughts. "Steven, can you handle this or not?"

Steven looked at the picture of the mutilated body of Lorraine Rush and thought about the newest girl, missing from her bed. These girls deserved justice, above all else. He looked up at Lennie, his smile a mere baring of teeth. "Yes, Lennie. I can handle it."

Lennie handed him the report, concern still evident in his eyes. "Her name is Samantha Eggleston. Her parents are waiting for your call."

Thursday, September 29, 11:00 P.M.

Thunder rolled off to the east. Or was it west? It really didn't matter, he thought, scratching the back of his neck with the flat of the blade. With his very sharp blade. He grinned to himself. One slip would be the end of him. He glanced down at the ground and raised a brow thoughtfully. One slip would be the end of her, too. But never stop with just one slip. Not when he'd gone to so much trouble. Every movement must be planned. And savored. He rolled up his left sleeve, then transferred the blade from one gloved hand to the other and methodically rolled up the right while she watched, her blue eyes wide and terrified.

Terrified was good. Just looking at her lying there tied, and scared-and nude-made his skin tingle with anticipation. She was completely under his control.

It was like… electricity. Pure electricity. And he'd made it. He'd created it. What a rush.

Rush. As in Lorraine Rush. No pun intended. Lorraine had been a good practice run. A good way to return to the game after so long on the sidelines. He'd forgotten just how damn good it felt.

This new one, she hadn't made a sound yet. Well, she was wearing a thick strip of duct tape over her mouth to be perfectly fair. But he'd take the tape off eventually and she would. She'd try not to. She'd bite her lip and cry. But in the end she'd scream her head off. They always did. And it wouldn't make one lousy bit of difference. That was one good thing about Hicksville. There were places you could go and scream bloody murder and nobody would ever hear a single word.

Another roll of thunder rattled the dry ground under his feet and this time he looked up to the night sky, totally annoyed. It could actually rain. How irritating was that? "The best laid plans," he muttered, then had to grin as he punned once again. Laid. That was the operative word. One of ' em anyway. Then the wind changed and his grin faded. Of all the sonofabitch nights to rain.

He crossed his arms over his chest, holding the ten-inch blade out to one side, and frowned. He could just get it over with, but that seemed anticlimactic. He'd planned for quite a while to bag this little doll. She'd been so unsure. "I just don't know," she'd whispered into the phone, trying not to wake her parents and sound breathy at the same time. In his mind he mocked her maidenly refusals. If her parents only knew their little darling was a real little slut, meeting a stranger after they'd gone to sleep. No brainiac here. They'd raised a slut and an idiot.

He closed his eyes and brought the image of another to mind. He could see her face in his mind. So incredibly beautiful, so… pure. He'd have her someday. Soon. But until then… He looked down at the huddled form at his feet. Until then, this one would have to do.

Thunder rolled again. He needed to make up his mind. Either hurry up and finish before the rain closed in or pack her up and store her until the storm passed through. Either way he was taking a chance being out here in the rain. A hard rain would leave the ground soft. Soft ground left footprints and tire prints and cops were pretty good about tracking those kind of clues these days. Damn forensics. No matter. He was as smart as they were. Smarter.