She tried to imagine what other cells Thora could take from Chris. Hair? Skin? Or-Her mouth twisted in horror and disgust.

"You get it now?" Chris asked.

"Semen?"

"Exactly. How's that for cold and calculating?"

Alex shook her head. "I can't believe she'd be capable of that."

"Why not? Once you've made the decision to commit murder, how does the method matter? You think any of the other victims died pretty?"

She stared at him, not knowing what to say or do. The situation was simply beyond her comprehension.

"The other night," Chris whispered, "the night of the day that you and I met, Thora came out to my studio and made love with me. She told me she wanted to get pregnant. It was really out of character, with the way things had been, but I went with it, hoping for the best." Chris's jaw flexed in fury. "Three days later, I found out she'd taken a morning-after pill."

Alex felt cold.

"Thora never meant to get pregnant at all. So…why the sex?"

Alex shook her head in disbelief. "But surely no one could induce cancer in those cells that rapidly, not even in the lab."

"I hope not. That's one reason I haven't taken the chemo yet. But who knows what's possible?"

Alex put both arms around him and hugged tight. Chris stiffened at first, but then she felt him go limp. When his arms closed around her back, she realized he was shivering. Was it the drugs? Or was he about to break down right there in the lobby? Anybody would, given the unimaginable strain he was under.

"Let's go upstairs," she said. "Have you checked in?"

He nodded.

She left a message at the desk for Will, and sixty seconds later they were unlocking the door to room 638. Alex had reserved a suite on the "executive" floor. Attached to the bedroom was a little den with a sofa, two club chairs, and a desk against the wall. In one corner was a sink, a minifridge, and a microwave oven.

"Is that a minibar?" Chris asked.

Alex checked the fridge. "No alcohol."

He cursed softly.

"What do you want?"

"I don't care."

She checked the bedroom. "Here we go, under the TV."

"Vodka?"

"Coming up. I'll get you some ice."

She handed him a tiny bottle of Absolut, and he drank most of it in a single gulp. Alex wasn't sure how Kaiser would react to a drunken witness, but she wasn't about to reprimand a man who had just learned he might be dying.

"Is Kaiser in town yet?" Chris asked.

"He'll be up any minute."

"Why did you pick him?"

She walked to the window and looked out at the verdant campus of Millsaps College, with its clock tower rising into the sky. She'd been offered an academic scholarship there as a high school senior. "Kaiser worked with the Investigative Support Unit for a long time. He worked with the guys who invented it, when it was still called Behavioral Science. He's seen stuff that the suits in Washington can't even imagine. Reading it in a report just doesn't communicate the horror of some things, you know?"

Chris nodded. "It's like reading about diseases in a textbook. You think you know what something is until you see a patient rotting away before your eyes."

"Exactly. Kaiser gets it. He served in Vietnam before he entered the Bureau, heavy combat. He's a first-class guy. His wife is the best, too. He met her during a serial murder case. She's a war photographer."

"What's her name?"

"Jordan Glass."

"You're kidding."

"You know her?"

"No. But I do some documentary-film work, as a hobby. Jordan Glass is up there with Nachtwey and those guys. She's won a Pulitzer."

"Two, I think."

Chris drank off the rest of the vodka and went back to the minibar. Alex started at a knock on the door. She answered expecting Kaiser, but Will stood there with a shoe box in his hands.

"Thanks," she said, taking the improbably heavy box. "What is it?"

"A Sig nine. Untraceable."

"Thanks, Will. You'd better get going."

The old detective looked as if he'd been wrestling some dark demons.

"What is it?" she asked. "What's wrong?"

"I feel like I let the doc down."

You have no idea. "Last night doesn't matter now. It's going to work out. Get going, Will."

Kilmer trotted down the hall to the fire stairs.

When Alex went back inside, Chris was drinking bourbon.

"Room service delivers shoes?" he asked.

"Nine-millimeter shoes." She took the box into the bedroom and stowed it on the top shelf of the closet. "Kaiser doesn't need to know."

Chris nodded. "My.38 is down in my car."

"I'll get it for you after John leaves."

"I can definitely see myself using it on a certain person."

Who? Alex wondered. Thora? Shane Lansing? Both of them? "Chris…you're not really thinking that, are you?"

"I was raised in Mississippi. I've got some redneck in me that'll never wash out."

Alex touched his arm. "I hope you're kidding. Because that wouldn't solve anything. It would only guarantee that Ben would be raised by someone besides you."

Chris's eyes went dead.

"What do you think caused the headache?" she asked, trying to divert him from thoughts of Ben.

"I think we were all sedated before the attack. I'm not sure how. Will ate the same turkey and cheese I did, but Ben had frozen pizza. And Ben didn't drink any beer. We have a watercooler…it could have been that. In the end, it doesn't really matter, does it? As long as Ben and Will aren't sick."

Three strong knocks echoed through the room.

Chris followed Alex to the door.

A tall man with deep-set eyes and longer hair than Chris had expected stood there. Chris could hardly believe the guy had served in Vietnam, because he looked about forty-five. He had to be at least seven years older.

"You gonna invite me in?" asked the newcomer.

Alex smiled and hugged Kaiser, then pulled him into the suite. Chris stepped back and watched the FBI agent set a leather bag down on the sofa. Then Kaiser turned and held out a hand to Chris.

"Dr. Shepard?"

"Yes." Chris shook his hand.

"Glad to meet you."

"You, too."

"I have a lot of catching up to do."

Alex folded her arms and looked up at Kaiser. "It's worse than I thought, John. Chris is already in bad trouble. He was hit last night."

Kaiser's eyes roamed over Chris for several moments. He was taking in the smell of alcohol, the look of fatigue, even desperation. Alex knew he would have a lot of questions, and right now Chris looked as if he wanted only to climb into one of the beds and go to sleep. Kaiser looked at Alex.

"Somebody fill me in before Dr. Shepard passes out."

John Kaiser stood at the window overlooking the college. Alex was sitting beside Chris on the bed, holding a trash can for him whenever he vomited. He'd started about twenty minutes into Alex's summary of events, and the waves were still coming.

"It's probably the drugs," he said, clutching his cramping midsection with both arms. "My body's not used to them, and I'm taking three at once."

Kaiser didn't look away from the window when he spoke to Alex. "So you feel like you got active resistance from Webb Tyler?"

Webb Tyler was the SAC of the Jackson field office. It was Tyler that Alex had first approached with her murder theory. "You could say that. Five minutes after I walked into his office, Tyler was praying I'd disappear."

Kaiser tilted his head to one side, as though looking at something on the ground six floors below. "I'm sure he was."

"I also think he started complaining to Mark Dodson about me from that first day."

"Right again."

"What do you think, John? Is there anything you can do?"

Kaiser turned from the window at last. "You need objective evidence of murder. Some kind, any kind."