Casey's eyes narrowed. Quick as a flash her small hand shot out and grabbed Jenna's chin. "There is. You call his parents, offer your support, then you step back, Jen. You aren't the savior of the world. He's not one of your pound puppies you can save from the needle. He's a high school senior with enough brains to make his own choices. There's nothing you can do to force him to make the right ones. That's just a cold reality of life. Understand?"

Casey had always assumed the role of Jenna's protector, ever since their college days at Duke. It was really quite comical as Jenna towered over Casey's petite frame. Mutt and Jeff they'd been called in college and it was a fair description. Jenna tall and dark, Casey small and blond. Casey, the perennial cheerleader and social butterfly; Jenna, much more quiet and reserved. Now, pushing thirty, Casey still played the mama tiger to perfection. Jenna had long since given up trying to dissuade her from it. "Yes, ma'am. You can let go now."

Casey let go, still eyeing her uncertainly. "Let me know how the talk goes with his parents."

Jenna found her list of students' parent or guardian contacts. "Brad only has a father."

"His mother died about four years ago," Lucas offered. "Car wreck."

Casey pushed her mouth into a thoughtful frown. "That alone's enough to impact a kid on top of what he went through last spring with his brother getting kidnapped and all. Look, I need to go. My fourth period's doing Macbeth and I need to set up the cauldron." She made her way to the faculty lounge door, then turned suddenly, her expression intense. "Don't let her get too involved in Brad Thatcher's problems, Lucas. She has a control problem, you know."

Lucas's lips twitched. "I know," he said soberly. "I won't, Casey."

When the door closed, Jenna rolled her eyes. "I have a control problem?"

"Yes, you do," Lucas said affably. "So does she. Are you sure you're not related?"

"Positive. Casey's mother didn't eat her own young." Jenna turned her focus back to the parent contact information. "Brad's dad works for the State Bureau of Investigation. I bet contacting him is going to be difficult."

"Probably."

"He'll probably say he's not available, that he doesn't have time."

"Possibly."

Jenna glared over at him. He just stared back, smiling.

"You are maddening, Lucas."

"Marianne's told me that every day for twenty-five years."

Jenna crossed her arms over her chest and sucked in one side of her cheek. "You know, as a mentor you really suck. Obi Wan told Luke Skywalker what to do."

Lucas's salt-and-pepper mustache quivered. "Listen to the

Force," he said in a deep voice, then raised a challenging brow. "So what will you do, young Jedi?"

Jenna sighed. "I'm going to call his father," she answered irritably. "Then if his dad yells at me like Rudy Lutz's father did, I'll come and cry on your shoulder."

Lucas stood up and patted her head. "My box of Kleenex has your name on it."

It actually did. Dr. Jenna Marshall, Ph.D., written across the box in Lucas's even hand. She smiled, a little sadly. Marianne was lucky to have shared her lifetime with such a kind man.

Her smile faded as inevitably her mind wandered. If only she and Adam had been lucky enough… But they hadn't been. She sat still, trying to remember the days when Adam was healthy, instead remembering those last days of his life she wished she could forget. She stiffened her back and shook her head, as if the memories could be shaken loose that way. Hardly.

She made herself stand up. She only had a few more minutes left on her lunch break and she needed to call Brad Thatcher's father. Today. Before Brad slipped even further away.

Friday, September 30, 2:45 P.M.

Two of them, Steven thought as he watched Kent Thompson comb the grass inside the twenty-square-foot area they'd cordoned off with bright yellow tape.

A second young girl stolen. A second family crushed.

They'd caught a break in the case of Samantha Eggleston's disappearance, thanks to a four-year-old Lab named Pal, his eighty-year-old owner, and Sheriff Braden who'd secured the cnme scene and called the SBI posthaste Steven watched Kent search the ground once again on his hands and knees this time wearing a contraption over his head that made him look halt welder and half German spy, complete with mono cle In Kent's hands were tweezers and carefullv labeled plastic evidence bags Harry Grimes canvassed the outer perimeter next to the woods, just as carefully No one wanted any evidence lost. They might not get another chance to catch their prey

Steven studied the scene with a clinical eye. It was a clearing, identical to the one where they'd found Lorraine Rush, surrounded by the pine trees that had given this suburb ot Raleigh its name Pineville, North Carolina. Soon this pretty little town would be known for a hell of a lot more than its Christmas tree farms. Soon it would be known as the hunting ground for a new serial killer

Lorraine Rush found four days ago. Samantha Eggleston reported missing yesterday morning. Both pretty high school girls. Both missing from their beds in the middle of the night. No sign of forced entry or evidence of an intruder in either case.With the current facts in hand it seemed they were related Steven couldn't afford to think anything else until he proved otherwise

The cleanng was deserted now but something had happened here within the last few hours. There was a patch of flattened grass, roughly five by three, which could have held a body at one point. It didn't now The area to one side of the flattened grass was spattered with blood-presumably from the dog that belonged to the owner of this land, although Kent would thoroughly check to make sure none of the blood was human-belonging to either the missing girl or her abductor. The blood trail went from the cleanng back to the owner's house, about a mile away on the other side of the trees, where the dog had shown up an hour before, stabbed and bleeding

The old man had acted quickly, following the trail of blood from his house to the clearing. The man's old eyes were sharp-he'd noticed the scrap of white that fluttered beneath the graceful limbs of one of the pine trees. It was a pair of women's underwear, size four with delicate little flowers- the same size and pattern worn by Samantha Eggleston. The old man had immediately called the sheriff, who'd immediately called Steven.

Kent sat back on his heels and pushed the monocle up and out of his line of sight. He glanced up briefly "I found a hair," he announced, deeply satisfied "Dark. Very straigh.t"

Steven's pulse spiked and he gingerly approached the area of flattened grass Kent was still inspecting, avoiding the areas that were spattered with blood. Samantha Eggleston's hair was dark but very long and curly. That the single hair belonged to their perp was almost more than he would dare to hope. "Unbelievable I can't believe you found anything in all this mess. "

Kent grinned before lowering the monocle and dropping back down to his hands and knees. "I'm good. "

Steven shook his head "And humble. Don't forget about humble "

"And humble," Kent added, now talking to the ground

"Bullshit," Steven said mildly "Tell me that hair has a follicle and I'll buy that you're good. Otherwise you're just one more geek in a welder's mask."

Kent chuckled "I wish I were a welder I'd probably make a hell of a lot more money."

Steven crossed his arms over his chest "Stick with me, welder-boy Follicle or not?"

Kent's smile dimmed "No. Sorry "

"Dammit," Steven hissed. Without the follicle they'd have no DNA analysis.

"Hold your horses," Kent said patiently. "I still may be able to get you a DNA print."