He tugged on his beard. “Just waiting on the parts, Miss Saint Clare.”

“Sure you are.”

Harry pointed to Garcia. “This gentleman showed me his badge and asked me to let him inside. Hope that’s okay, Miss Saint Clare. Since he works for the feds same as you, I figured—”

“That’s fine,” she interrupted.

Harry said, “I escorted him up, to make sure he knew where to go.”

“He’s been here before,” she said.

Harry looked at Garcia and winked. “Is that right?”

Bernadette looked at Garcia and asked flatly, “Shall we take this inside … sir?”

“Sounds good.” Garcia smacked Harry on the back. “Don’t let them work you too hard, old-timer.”

Rolling her eyes, Bernadette closed the door hard behind them. “Old-timer. Give me a break. That lazy, overpaid turd.”

“He seems like a decent enough fella.”

She shrugged off her coat and tossed it over a kitchen chair. “He’s getting paid a lot and is doing absolutely nothing while the place is falling apart.”

“It’s not his fault that Murrick did a cut-rate renovation job.”

“August spent a ton of time and money fixing this place.”

Garcia followed her into the kitchen. “Awfully touchy about him, aren’t you?”

“It isn’t nice to speak ill of the dead.”

He took off his coat and dropped it over the back of a kitchen chair. “What did you get from the nursing home?”

She leaned her back against the kitchen island. “Ruth was only a few years older than we are when she died. She’d been in the home since she was a teen. Her parents put her there after she became brain damaged. She was injured in a ‘household accident.’ That’s the official line, at least. But I think …” She paused, unsure of whether she should unveil her theory.

“You think what?”

“I think her father tried to drown her, causing the brain damage. I think the brothers witnessed it. I think one of them went wiggy as a result and is drowning young women.”

“Why now? If the girl was injured years ago—”

“Remember. She died in April, the same month the first victim was found floating in the river.”

Garcia walked back and forth between the table and the island. “If you’re correct—”

“I am.”

“How did you get all this?”

“I talked to one of her former roommates at the home.”

“Why are all the victims college women, especially ones with emotional problems?”

“I don’t know. Could be the first victim happened to be a screwed-up coed and he decided to stick with a known quantity. That’s the sort of girl he would have grown accustomed to through the practice. Skinny, emotionally vulnerable women. Easy pickings. Maybe it has to do with the fact that Ruth was injured in the years before she would have started college.”

He stopped pacing and faced her, propping his butt against the edge of the kitchen table. “Which one, though? Which brother?”

“I came home to try to figure that out.”

“You’re going to use your sight.”

“That’s the plan. I’ve still got the scarf. All I need is the venue.”

He loosened his tie. “The urinal downstairs again, or should we find a church?”

“The basement’s good. I want to do this quick.”

Garcia took off his blazer and rolled up his shirtsleeves. “Let’s get to it.”

“One more thing: I got a call at the office.”

“Yeah?”

“Professor said he’s got a student missing.”

“Is he up to something?”

“I think I believe him. He said her name is Regina Ordstruman. Gone since Friday. Maybe since Thursday.”

“He volunteered that information?”

“That’s about all I could get out of him before his lawyer friend made him hang up the phone.”

Garcia yanked off his tie. “Fucking lawyer.”

“Forget about him. We might have a missing girl, and my sight could find her.”

He threw his tie on the table. “Right. That’s right.”

“I’ve got to run upstairs and get the scarf.” She headed for the steps spiraling up to her sleeping loft. “Mind if I quickly throw on some jeans while I’m at it?”

“Go ahead,” he said. “Wish you had a pair that fit me.”

While she changed, she heard him opening her refrigerator. Bernadette liked that he felt at home in her condo. It took her only a couple of minutes to change, but he was finished with his sandwich by the time she came down. “Superb salami.”

She held up the bagged scarf. “Ready?”

He pushed his chair back from the table and stood up. “Let’s rock.”

Chapter 35

THE DUCT TAPE was a bitch.

While the stretch of tape at her wrists developed a small tear, she’d made little additional progress in her bid to free herself. The stuff kept sticking to the shower door’s edging, forcing her to stop and start again. Her knees ached, and at the same time her taped ankles were losing sensation, making it difficult to keep her balance. She’d gone from perspiring to shivering as the sweat coated and cooled her body. The lack of food was making her light-headed. As her concentration wavered, so did her determination to escape.

She repeatedly rested her forehead against the edge of the shower door. Was she in the middle of a bad dream? Of all the rotten men in her life, why had she picked this bastard to star in her nightmare?

THE BASTARD was in the kitchen making a sandwich to settle his nervous stomach. There was something comforting in the mechanical assembly of layers. Bread. Mayo. Cheese. Meat. Tomato. Lettuce. Bread. On the counter, between the jar of mayo and the bag of sliced whole wheat, was a handgun. He’d brought it out of storage for reassurance.

He’d been startled by the information on the six o’clock news. While the suspect sketch was vague, the very fact that there was a description told him there was a witness to worry about. Switching from station to station, he’d waited for a name, but the police were holding that card close. Thankfully, no one had connected the most recent incidents to the earlier ones—not publicly at least. The diminutive FBI agent was the only one near to getting it right.

As always, he’d selected his prey carefully. With her frail form and fragile psyche, she’d been easy to manipulate and overpower. No one in her life cared enough about her to register her absence immediately. Those who did notice would dismiss her disappearance as a continuation of her pattern of unstable behavior. He had plenty of time to play with her before releasing her into the water.

Admittedly, with each woman he was feeling less and less satisfied. Rather than increasing his pleasure, pacing them closer together had frustrated him. He’d have to see if keeping one around before finishing her intensified his satisfaction.

Feeling generous, he fished two more slices of bread out of the bag and worked on assembling his guest a ham and Swiss. She’d need to keep her energy up for what he had planned. While he worked, he eyed the gun. Silly to take it out. Everything was fine. He’d put it back in the drawer before going upstairs.

BY THE TIME she heard him, it was too late for her to play possum. He stepped into the bathroom and gaped at his captive kneeling in front of the stall. He dropped the plate and in two strides was on top of her. She opened her mouth to scream, but all that escaped was a squeak. He slapped a hand over her open mouth, wrapped his arm around her nude body, and yanked her to her feet. “You’ve made a serious mistake,” he hissed into her ear as he held her body to his.

She felt his erection through his pants, pressing into her back. It terrified her, and she bit down hard on his palm.

He pulled his hand off her mouth. “Bitch!”

“Help!” she screamed, her voice bouncing off the walls of the tiled cubicle. “Help me!”