When the check came, I tucked my credit card over the bill.

“Hold on. What are you doing?” Emily said, going into her purse. “We’re splitting this. You’re acting like this is a date.”

“Am I?” I said, staring into her eyes as I handed the bill to the waitress.

She stared back for a couple of long, very pleasant moments. She blushed. No, actually that was me.

What the hell I was doing, I didn’t know. My wife had been dead two years, and usually I felt unsettled when it came to new lady friends. Special Agent Emily Parker was different, I guess.

Or maybe I was just going crazy. That was probably it.

IT WAS ALMOST nine p.m. when the end-of-day task force meeting ended, and an exhausted Emily Parker arrived back at her hotel. Six minutes after that, the top of her head hit the surface of the hotel’s indoor lap pool with a satisfying smack.

There was nothing like that first, magical moment for her. Like she did in every new pool she was in, she plunged down into the cold serenity of the water until her hand passed across the pool’s gritty bottom.

She sat Indian-style and closed her eyes. There were no worries down here. No aggravated bosses. No stresses. Certainly no dead children.

When she was growing up, her family had a pool in Virginia, and she’d spent practically every moment of every summer, from the time she was six until she turned ten, at the bottom of it pretending she was a mermaid. She’d close her eyes and put out her hand, waiting for it to be enveloped by her beloved mer-prince, who’d take her away to her lost kingdom.

When her lungs began to burn almost a minute later, Emily remembered that Chelsea Skinner had been a lifeguard.

She broke the surface and started her workout. Usually laps were enough to clear her head, but even after five, she couldn’t help thinking about the case. Swimming the English Channel probably wouldn’t have been enough to get her mind off this one.

The PD’s lab had still been working on the body by the time the task force meeting wrapped up. Mike had told her they’d had to cut off the top of the freezer with a Sawzall in order to get Chelsea out.

There was something so disturbing about this killer. Most serials went out of their way to avoid attention, Emily knew. This one seemed to relish it. It was as if he wanted to rub their noses in what he was doing.

What had he said? “Tell Mom I said hi.” Even for a sociopath predator, the callousness and arrogance of it was mind-blowing. This guy wasn’t just confident, he was cocky. With the exception of letting the one drug dealer spot him, he hadn’t made a single mistake.

Twenty laps later, Emily Parker carded back into her room and called home.

“How is she?” she asked her brother, Tom.

“You’re going to love this, Em. Today, one of Olivia’s knucklehead boy classmates overheard the teacher call her Olivia Jacqueline and then proceeded to call her OJ Parker for the rest of the morning.”

“That little bum,” Emily said.

“No, wait,” her brother said, laughing. “The kid’s name is Brian Kevin Sullivan, so the Olive dubbed him BK Sullivan. Now everybody calls him Burger King Sullivan. How do you like that? I think Burger King is going to think twice next time he wants to mess with the Olive.”

Emily couldn’t help but chuckle.

“Where is she now?”

“She’s in bed. Her My Twinn doll came for a sleepover tonight, so quarters are a little tight. She wanted to remind you that the American Girl store is on Fifth Avenue. And to make sure you say hi to Eloise at the Plaza Hotel.”

“Done,” Emily said, feeling a lightness in her heart that was sorely needed. “You’re the best uncle who ever lived, Tom.”

“Don’t forget the best brother,” he said. “Stay safe.”

As she hung up, she noticed that someone had left a message. Listening, she heard Mike’s voice, and she called him back.

“What now?” she said when he picked up.

“Nothing,” Bennett said. “I just wanted to let you know that there haven’t been any kidnappings in the past half hour.”

She thought of him. Their lunch, the wonderful dinner with his family. She sat staring at the utter loneliness of her room, her life. She hadn’t even thought of getting involved with anyone since her husband had abandoned ship. The more time she spent with Mike, though, the more she was starting to consider the possibility.

“Where are you now, Mike?” she discovered herself saying.

What the hell was she doing!

“I can’t hear you. One of these kids is screaming bloody murder. Hang on. There. I’m in the kitchen now. What did you say?”

Emily thought about it. She had to stop. A cop? In another city? How the hell would that work?

“Nothing,” she said. “See you in the morning, Mike.”

I STOOD THERE in my kitchen, staring at my cell phone.

There had been a moment there between us, some kind of hovering opportunity, but goddammit, I’d missed it somehow.

Still, it was nice just hearing her voice. Not as nice as seeing her face, but almost. She was a good cop, good for a laugh, and good-looking. All good, in my book. I felt like we’d known each other for two years instead of three days.

My phone rang while I was still standing there, pining like one of my love-struck tweens. Back to reality, Casanova, I thought.

It was my boss, Carol Fleming.

“Mike, I just heard some City Hall flack came by the task force for a copy of all your reports. You have any idea what the deputy mayor would want with them?”

“Unfortunately,” I said, “we banged heads with Hottinger when the Dunning kid was snatched. She’s probably just trying to make trouble for me, boss. Looking for something to jam me up.”

“That anorexic bitch can pound sand,” my boss said angrily. “Internal police records are strictly confidential, and if she wants information, it’ll come from me personally. This case couldn’t be run more professionally. Don’t you worry about her or anyone else as long as I’m around. Get some sleep, Bennett.”

Wow, I thought after I hung up. A boss who had confidence in me and who was willing to stick her neck out to protect me. That was a nice switch.

But about that sleep, I thought, walking out of the kitchen and staring at the wreckage that used to be my dining room table.

There were beakers, plastic tubing, stopwatches, food dye. Enough poster board to build a light aircraft.

Yep, it was that dreaded time of year again. Holy Name’s annual science fair.

Six of my ten kids were furiously finishing their projects. Jane was testing the soil in Riverside Park. Eddie was investigating the geometry of shadows. Brian was doing something on television watching and brainpower. Or was he just watching television instead of getting his work done? I wasn’t exactly sure.

Even my five-year-old, Chrissy, had been enslaved by the science police. They had her making a stethoscope out of toilet tissue tubes. The Manhattan Project had taken less work.

I reached out as a streak of tinfoil went past my head.

“Is this ball yours, Trent?” I said, handing it back to him.

“That’s not a ball, Dad,” I was informed with a groan. “That’s Jupiter.”

After I’d gotten in from work, I’d been immediately dispatched to our local Staples for some last-minute items. I hadn’t seen that many crazed-looking adults since April 15 at the post office. Didn’t the guidelines say that the students were to put together their own experiments? Yeah, right.

Ten minutes before midnight, I tucked in the last of the Edisons and Galileos and headed for the kitchen.

With glue-speckled cheeks and Sharpie-stained fingers, Mary Catherine was busy putting on all the finishing touches.

“Hey, Mary. I bet you never thought you’d have the pleasure of immersing yourself this deeply in the joys of science. Is your mind feeling as expanded as mine?”