And bare-breasted. God, she was beautiful. Beautiful and passionate and… Mine, mine, mine.

His body throbbed painfully and he knew it was nothing less than he deserved.

Steven blew out a frustrated breath. "You just don't understand."

Mike spread his hands out wide, palms forward. "So enlighten me. Explain to me why you're so upset that a smart, pretty woman desires you. I may not have a Ph.D., but I do have wisdom, which, incidentally, was taught at seminary. Too bad you didn't go. Looks like a good dose of wisdom is what you need right now." He folded his hands and resettled his chin. "I'm listening. Go ahead. Explain."

Explain. How? How could he explain when he didn't even understand it himself? When he didn't understand why he was so angry. Why he'd left Jenna standing alone without a single word of explanation. She probably hated him by now and would never see him again, so he may have solved his problem by default.

Not a particularly cheering thought.

"I don't know, Mike." Steven slumped down in his chair and closed his eyes. "It's just too much. Too fast.'"

"Meaning your relationship with Miss Marshall isn't molding itself into the little space you've made for it." Mike gestured with his hands, forming a box in the air. "'Not a tidy package. Can't put on the lid because it's a lousy fit. No ribbons or bows." Mike frowned. "You, Steven Thaicher, are a stupid control freak."

Steven's eyes flew open. "I am not a control freak."

"But you'll admit to stupid?"

Steven ground his teeth. "Yes."

"Well, that's some progress I suppose," Mike said thoughtfully. "You want my opinion?"

Steven narrowed his eyes. "1 dnn't know "

Mike shrugged. "Tough beans, you came here, tore me away from Sports Center, so you'll listen to what I have to say."

Steven folded his arms across his chest. "Okay," he said, his agreement sounding belligerent even to his own ears. He sounded like one of the boys, for God's sake.

Mike rolled his eyes. "And I can see from your body language how much you value my opinion. No matter. As for Miss Marshall. You like her." He lifted a brow. "You really like her."

Steven rolled his eyes and felt his cheeks heat. "Thank you, Dr. Watson. Now tell me who killed Professor Plum in the study?"

Mike grinned. "Miss Peacock with the rope because she caught him cheating with Miss Scarlet in the study but that's not important now. Pay attention, Steven. You like her. A lot. She likes you. A lot. You want to get to know her better, so you ask her out to dinner. Just dinner, nothing else. You plan to work your way up to a physical relationship only a little at a time, because as soon as it gets physical, the floodgates open because it's been four years, and then you have to marry her. But you can't marry her until you prove to yourself that she's not another Melissa, but all this proving takes time. I bet you laid out a timetable that allowed you to kiss her when? Next month? On the fifteenth?"

"This month," Steven muttered, then looked away. "On the fifteenth."

Mike's laughter boomed. "Control freak. You always have been." Mike reached across the table and patted the table in front of Steven. "Look at me, Steven. I'm your best friend. I care about you." Steven looked at him and felt his heart squeeze. Gone was the laughter in Mike's dark eyes, replaced by a caring so fundamental…

"I'm listening."

Mike nodded. "Good. It's about time. Lose the timetable, Steven. Let life happen as it happens. Stop trying to make everything happen to your specification. Enjoy your life. Your children. The possibility of a woman who can complete you."

Steven swallowed. "It sounds like you're telling me to marry her tonight."

Mike sighed. "You know that's not true. Your problem… well, one of your many problems," he amended, "is that you only see life in black and white. Good, evil. Right, wrong."

"I have to. That's my job." Steven glared. "I thought it was yours, too."

Mike shook his head. "That's the point, Steven. Life is not black or white. One or two. Yes or no. On or off. Nothing is safe. Nothing is guaranteed. Only the essence of life itself is on or off. You either wake up in the morning or you don't. You're breathing or you're not. I feel sorry for you."

Steven felt his gut tighten. "'Why?"

"You've forgotten what love is about. You are so afraid of losing it that you push it away."

Steven's eyes widened. "I do not."

"Yes. You do. Melissa left you, hurt your ego, made you choose to lie to your children, so you set up every possible barrier to avoid being hurt again. It's not abnormal, Steven. It's human nature. But it won't make you happy."

Steven picked up Mrs. Hennesey's jamjar and swished the melting ice around and around. "I don't even remember what that feels like," he murmured.

Mike sat back in his chair. "What? Being happy?"

Steven met his eyes and nodded. "Yeah."

Mike thinned his lips. "Then get off your butt and do something about it. You have a chance for happiness stanng you in the face."

Steven sighed. "Your point. This time."

Mike looked amused. "My point every time, but sometimes I let you think it's yours."

Steven took an ice cube from the jam jar and tossed it in Mike's face. "You're so full of it." He ducked when Mike returned the lob, then sobered. "I don't know if she'll see me again. I left kind of abruptly tonight."

"Call her. The worst thing she can do is tell you what you deserve to hear."

Steven didn't have a thing to say to that, so he stood up and shrugged into his coat. "I'll give you a call."

Mike walked him to the door. "Steven, how close are you coming to catching the monster who stole our girls?"

Steven shook his head. "How close are you to taking a wife?"

Mike sighed. "I thought so. I'll pray."

"We're going to check out the McDonald's, but I doubt we'll find anything. It's been too long."

"If only Serena had come forward sooner," Mike said sadly.

"Pray for her, too, Mike. She's got a hard row ahead of her for the next eighty years or so."

Wednesday, October 5, 5:45 A.M.

They'd found out where he'd met Samantha. Dear, sweet Samantha. How pretty she'd been.

He frowned thoughtfully. Until he'd shaved her head. Women were decidedly unattractive without hair. Just one more way men were different from women he supposed, sipping coffee from the McDonald's cup he'd just picked up at the drive-through. Men could get away with being bald.

Women just looked revolting.

He considered the two uniformed policemen standing next to the bright yellow police tape. They were bent over the tape, looking into the grass. The sun was just coming up and the police car had been there all night, guarding the "crime scene."

Hell, it was no crime scene. Not there anyway. True, Samantha Eggleston had met him there, but no crime had been committed. She'd voluntarily climbed into the car with him.

Little slut. She'd deserved what she'd gotten. His only regret was that she'd… expired… before he was completely finished.

Next time. He'd do all he'd planned next time. With the next one.

He took another sip of coffee and grimaced. He hated coffee, but he hadn't wanted to call attention to himself by getting a Coke at six A.M. For now he was just another guy enjoying his cup of joe as the sun came up. Just another guy planning the next girl he'd lure from her bed. He hadn't yet figured out who she'd be, but he had a short list.

He watched as another car drove up. Out hopped Detective Steven Thatcher, resident Columbo. Hah. The man couldn't find his way out of a paper bag. Thatcher hadn't even found Samantha's body yet. He'd have to make another anonymous phone call to the police before the critters did to Samantha what they'd done to poor Lorraine.