"Yes."

"And so he retreated. Found a safe place to hide."

"For now. To regroup, rethink. Consider his options. Perhaps even find a way to alter his developing rituals to fit this new dynamic."

"Because now he knows he's hunted."

Bishop nodded.

LeMott had given himself a crash course in the psychology of serial killers, immersing himself in the art and science of profiling despite Bishop's warnings, and his frown deepened now.

"Even if he was testing his limits or just figuring out what he needed to satisfy his cravings, to kill so many over such a short period of time and then just stop has to be unusual. How long can he possibly resist the sort of urges driving him?"

"Not long, I would have said."

"But it's been more than two months."

Bishop was silent.

"Or maybe it hasn't been," LeMott said slowly. "Maybe he's done a lot more than go to ground. Maybe he's adapted to being the hunted as well as hunter and changed his M.O. already. Dropped out of sight for a while, yes, but moved and began killing elsewhere. Killing differently than before. Altered his ritual. That's what you're thinking?"

Shit.

Weighing his words carefully, Bishop said, "Most serial killers have been active for months, even years, by the time law enforcement recognizes them for what they are, so there's more to work with in mapping the active and inactive cycles over time, the patterns and phases of behavior. We don't have that with this bastard. Not yet. He moved too fast. Appeared, slaughtered, and then disappeared back into whatever hell he crawled out of. We had no time to really study him. The only way we even pegged him as a serial was the undeniable fact that the young women he killed could have been sisters, they looked so alike.

"That was all we had, all we still have: that he targeted women who were smaller than average, petite, almost waifish, with big eyes and short dark hair."

"Childlike," LeMott said, his voice holding steady.

Bishop nodded.

"I know I've asked you before, but-"

"Do I believe he could begin to target children? The accepted profile says he might. I say it isn't likely. He's killing the same woman over and over again, and that is the experience he's recreating every time. Whatever else changes, he needs her to remain the same."

LeMott frowned. "But if he is changing or has already changed his ritual, if he knows he's being hunted and is as smart as you believe him to be, he must know what commonalities the police will be looking for in any murder case. He must know his M.O. is noted and flagged in every law-enforcement database in the country. Can we afford to assume he'll still target women who fit that victim profile?"

Bishop wasn't particularly reassured by the senator's calm expression and his matter-of-fact, professional tone; if anything, those were worrying signs.

Like nitroglycerin in a paper cup, looks could be terribly deceiving.

LeMott had kept a lid on his emotions for a long time now, and Bishop knew the pressure inside was going to blow that lid sky-high sooner or later.

A grieving father was bad enough. A grieving father with little left to lose was worse. And a grieving father who was also a powerful United States senator and former prosecutor with a reputation for having a tough stance on crime as well as a ruthless belief that justice be served no matter what was something way, way beyond worse.

But all Bishop said was, "He can't change who he is no matter how hard he tries. He'll try, of course. Try to overcome his urges and impulses, or just try to satisfy them in some way that won't betray who he is. But he'll give himself away somehow. They always do."

"At least to hunters who know what to look for."

"The problem isn't knowing what to look for, it's the sickening knowledge that he has to kill again to give us something to look at."

"Always assuming he hasn't killed again and the murder was just different enough to fly under the radar." LeMott wasn't about to let that idea go, it was clear.

Bishop said, "That is a possibility, of course. Maybe even a probability. So I can't say with any certainty that he has or hasn't killed again since he murdered your daughter."

If he had hoped to distract LeMott, back him away, shake him somehow with those last three very deliberate words, Bishop was disappointed, because the senator didn't flinch. He didn't even blink. He just responded to the information Bishop had provided earlier.

"And yet you know he headed south. That he's somewhere near Atlanta."

Shit.

"And you know how I can be certain of that-without any real evidence-when the federal and police task force is still combing Boston for any sign of him."

"You are certain?"

"In my own mind, yes. He's not in Boston anymore. He's somewhere near Atlanta. Probably not the city itself, though it's certainly large enough to get lost in."

"You have someone there?"

"Senator, I've spent years building a network, and it's still growing. We have people just about everywhere."

"Human people. Fallible people."

Bishop heard the bitterness. "Yes, I'm afraid so. We believe he's in the area. We suspect he may have killed again. But we have no hard evidence of either belief-and the visible trail ends in Boston."

"How can you know so much-and yet so little of value?"

Bishop was silent.

LeMott shook his head, his mouth twisting. Blinking for the first time in too long, even looking away, however briefly. "Sorry. God knows and I know you've poured more than your energy and time into trying to find this bastard and stop him. Just… help me to understand how it's possible for us to do nothing except sit and wait for him to kill again."

Once more, Bishop chose his words with care. "Officially, there isn't much else I can do. All the hard evidence we've been able to find on this killer has been in Boston; all the victims we can be certain died by his hand lived and worked in Boston; all the tips and leads generated have been in Boston, and the task force is still following up on those, probably will be for months.

"My team has been ordered to remain in Boston and continue working with the task force for the duration. Unless and until we have strong evidence, solid evidence, that he's surfaced elsewhere, Boston is where we stay."

"I'd call that a waste of Bureau resources."

"Officially, it's being called the opposite. The city is still on edge, the national media is still there in force, and all the media-from TV and newspaper editorials to internet blogs-call daily for more to be done to catch this killer before he targets another young woman. And the fact that his most recent victim was the daughter of a U.S. senator is virtually guaranteed to keep that spotlight very bright and that fire burning hot. For a very long time."

"Jobs are at stake."

"Yes."

"There's a new Director," LeMott said.

"Yes." Bishop's wide shoulders rose and fell in a faint shrug. "Politics. He's been brought in to fix what's wrong with the Bureau, to improve the very negative image a string of disastrous cases has left in the public's mind. Removing top agents from an investigation the entire country is watching wouldn't, from his point of view, be the best of moves."

"I could-"

"I'd rather you didn't. We may well need your influence at some point, but using it now isn't likely to help us-or the investigation."

LeMott nodded slowly. "I have to defer to your judgment on that."

Whether you want to or not. "Thank you."

"But why would the Director object to exchanging some of your people for more-conventional agents?"

"He doesn't really see the difference."

"Ah. The crux of the matter. He doesn't believe in psychic abilities."