Eve smiled wryly. “It’s really not that hard. High school kids do it all the time.”

She hadn’t denied hacking, Noah noted. “Take us to the club. Ninth Circle.”

The club was a neon castle where flames burst from the turrets. Greer pushed her way in, stride confident. Eve moved that way, tall and sure of her own space. He wondered how she’d managed that given her past.

“The band sucks,” he said, wincing at the screeching noise.

“True. But nobody comes here for the music. What do you want to see?”

“Do you see who Christy was dancing with last night?” Noah asked.

She searched the room bursting with gyrating avatars. “No. He was one of Claudio’s. Claudio runs the most exclusive avatar shop in Shadowland. But the dancer-guy’s not here now. And I never spoke to him so I don’t know his screen name.”

“Write down a description,” Abbott said. “We can track him through his registration.”

“Maybe,” Eve said doubtfully. “If he used his real name. Hardly anyone does. The only place you’ll find real personal info is through the banks and money exchanges.”

“Follow the virtual money,” Noah said. “I guess that’s true everywhere.”

She logged off. “I’ll get on later from home. If I see him, I’ll call you right away.”

“Don’t approach him,” Noah said. “We’ll take it from here.”

She nodded, her dark eyes serious. “Of course.”

He knew she lied, but didn’t care. Let her hack in. It would save them a lot of time.

Matthew Nillson had also risen. “I’ll take you home, Eve.”

I don’t think so, Noah thought. He thought about the flash of hunger he’d seen in her eyes the night before. That their paths had crossed today could be no accident.

“I’d prefer if someone could take me to my car,” she said. “It’s still up at Christy’s.”

“Then I’ll take you. It’s still a crime scene,” Noah said when Nillson started to object.

“It’s okay,” Eve said to Nillson. “I’ll be careful of what I say.”

“For the record, I’m telling you it’s not wise,” he said and she smiled, then winked.

“Thanks for helping me. I’ll give Callie a good report. I’m ready, Detective. Let’s go.”

Monday, February 22, 9:00 p.m.

Webster’s inside source had been at Christy Lewis’s house and in all the excitement had dropped her keys. Careless of her, he thought as he crept up the three flights of stairs to her apartment. She wasn’t home now, but she’d be back. He could wait.

She’d have to catch a ride with someone else as she had no car key. He doubted Eve was as foolish as Christy, who’d kept keys under her doormat and under her car.

He hoped whoever brought Eve home would just drop her off at the front entrance downstairs, where he would be waiting. He hoped she’d be alone, for her companion’s sake and his own. He’d killed two at a time before, but it was logistically more difficult.

It would look as if she’d left town for a few days. Finding a dead body could be so stressful, after all. He wanted Eve silenced. He wanted no connection between her thesis and his six victims. She shouldn’t know of any connection. She shouldn’t know Christy was a participant in her study. And maybe she didn’t, but he wouldn’t count on it.

He opened her front door and slipped inside. She was tidy, but her roof leaked. If he had to listen to that constant dripping into pots, it would certainly make him insane.

Eve wouldn’t have to worry about the dripping for much longer. The gun in his pocket would ensure her compliance as he forced her into his SUV. The syringe in his other pocket would keep her quiet during transport. Disposal in his pit would ensure no one would ever find her. And whatever happened in between… Icing on the cake.

To his surprise he saw her laptop on the arm of a stuffed chair. He hadn’t expected she’d leave it behind. He’d definitely be taking that with him. But there should be more. Papers. Notes. He needed everything connecting to her thesis. He was searching her desk when he heard a door slam below. Damn. He’d wanted to catch her downstairs.

“Evie?” A man was coming. Footsteps pounded as the man ran up the stairs. “Evie?”

Her door stood ajar and there was no time to close it. He darted into the coat closet empty-handed, listening, pulse racing. I should have grabbed the laptop first and run.

“Evie?” The man pushed the front door open. Through a crack in the closet door he watched him come into the living room and stop a foot from where he hid. All he could hear was the pounding of his own heart as he lifted his eyes, higher, assessing the stranger. The man was big, far too big to overpower long enough to get a syringe in his neck. Shoot him. Now. But that would leave quite a mess and getting that gorilla body down three flights of stairs would be difficult to say the least.

Perspiration beaded his forehead and he stood poised, his finger on the trigger.

“Evie. You left your door unlocked. Again.” The man’s annoyance became fear and he rushed back to the bedroom. “Evie?”

Get the laptop. He slipped from the closet and took a step toward the stuffed chair when he heard footsteps returning. Damn. Leaving the laptop, he ran through the door and down the first flight as Eve’s visitor came rushing back to the living room.

He crept down the remaining stairs and climbed into his SUV, adrenaline pumping. A red pickup truck was parked on the street. It had not been there when he went in.

He brought up a license plate lookup site on his BlackBerry and keyed in the man’s Illinois plate. His name was David Hunter. Means nothing to me. Maybe he’ll go away.

He certainly hoped so, because if not, he’d have to get rid of him, too. Because eliminating Eve was of paramount importance. She knew far too much.

Monday, February 22, 9:15 p.m.

“I can bring you back tomorrow, and you can search for your keys in the daylight,” Webster said as he pulled away from Christy’s house.

“I must have dropped them when I got cuffed.”

He hesitated. “They didn’t hurt you, did they?”

Treating her carefully was a common reaction of people on learning of her assault. Normally it annoyed, but tonight, coming from him… it hurt.

“No,” she said sharply, then sighed. “I can always tell when someone knows what happened. That you found out is okay, but it’s not okay to treat me like I’m broken, because I’m not.” She smiled to soften her words. “Everyone wants to know about my scar, and the evil villains, and what it was like to die, and did I see bright lights and God. You’ve got questions. Stop tiptoeing around and ask them.”

He shot her one of his unreadable glances before returning his eyes to the road. The minutes ticked by as she waited for him to ask what he really wanted to know, but he didn’t. Instead the air between them grew heavy. Charged. Dangerous, even.

Which seemed dichotomous as she actually felt safer right here, right now, with him, than she had in years. The danger was the same she sensed every time she watched him framed in Sal’s doorway. That feeling of standing on the edge. A precipice.

Of putting out her foot and feeling only air.

Hot, heavy air. It was intoxicating. Her skin tingled and her body throbbed even as she told herself it wasn’t going to happen. Still, it compelled her to ask what she’d wanted to know for a year. “Why do you come to a bar and drink tonic water?”

He started. “What?”

“I’ve filled your drink order for a year. You never drink anything but water. Why?”

“Because I’m a recovering alcoholic,” he said, then glanced over, as if surprised he’d told her. “That’s not in my personnel jacket.”

“Bartenders don’t tell. But that wasn’t really my question. Why come to Sal’s at all?”

She knew, but felt a perverse need to hear him say it out loud. That’s cruel, Eve. Making him admit he wants you might make you feel better, stronger, but it’ll hurt him. You can’t give him what he needs. You can’t give any man what he needs. So let it go.