He glanced back at her, red hair billowing out of a ponytail, a small moue of distaste on her lips, and felt his breath catch when he thought of that hair lying across his thighs. She’d been at his place every night this week, and he was starting to enjoy not waking up alone. She’d become a comfort, in addition to a bed mate, and he knew he was getting in way over his head. The two halves of his brain had been arguing in the background, creating a fuzz of noise like an out-of-range radio station. He’d been trying very hard to ignore the fight, but in the quiet of the forest, he couldn’t tune it out. Now she wanted to transfer out of the BAU so they could be together. The thought frightened him more than anything. He wasn’t ready.

It’s just sex, for Christ’s sake. What are you so twerped out about?

I’ve been alone for too long. That’s what. I might get too comfortable with the situation, and you never know where it will lead.

That’s your hormones talking. She’s worth lusting over. She might even actually like you, dummy. Did you ever think of that?

He hadn’t. Not really. He just assumed he was a tool, a rung on the career ladder for her. What if he was wrong? What if she had real feelings for him? What if he had real feelings for her?

Get your head back in the game, damn it. You’re about to see a dead girl. One who died because you were too busy fucking Charlotte to catch the killer.

He breathed deeply, synchronizing his breath with the breeze cascading through the fragrant pines. Sunlight dappled the thick branches, turning the path gold. Physically, he was fine. He’d been training for the Marine Corps Marathon for the past few months and was in the best shape of his life. Emotionally, though-that was another story.

He’d never been so sure of his gut instinct before. Harold Arlen was their suspect. He was the Clockwork Killer. Every law enforcement officer, every neighbor, every member of the media, everyone, everyone thought Arlen was responsible. The pictures on his computer, his interactions with Evie Kilmeade, all of his actions led them to that conclusion.

But there was still absolutely zero physical evidence to prove that. They had no semen, saliva, hair, blood, epithelials, fingerprints. Nothing. He’d violated his probation, but at the arraignment, the judge had unfathomably let him out on bond, A decent defense lawyer would make mincemeat of their case, and Arlen knew it. He had covered his tracks too damn well.

Baldwin felt like he had gotten to know Harold Arlen, better than he’d known most suspects he’d hunted. Kilmeade had been right. On the surface, Arlen was the poster boy for reformed sexual predators. The nicest touch was helping to run the group for reformed molesters who met and worked their way through a specific twelve-step program designed just for them. No one could get inside his head, though- into the tiny, nasty little crevices that housed his innermost desires. Baldwin had caught a glimpse or two during the interviews, when Goldman had struck a nerve and Arlen had reacted. But for the most part, Arlen had taken the accusations in stride, shaking his head and occasionally quoting his “sponsor.”

They’d had people on him 24/7, tracking his every move. Yet here they were, hiking deep into a forest to see the body of the latest little girl who’d disappeared, exactly one week ago today. Like clockwork.

Forty-Six

Nashville

6:00 p.m.

Taylor saw Ariadne safely out of the building, then joined Marcus to talk to the Ho wells. The Norwoods already had counsel present and were making noise-there was no sense in forcing them to wait too much longer. But Taylor needed to ask Theo Howell a question before she went any further.

He and his parents were sitting calm and quiet in their interrogation room. Blake Ho well was a well-built man, clean shaven, wearing a black suit, white shirt and orange silk tie. His wife was equally decked out, a beautiful spice-col or ed Turkish pashmina draped across her shoulders. Her blond hair was carefully highlighted and shellacked into place; his was salt-and-pepper, with the salt winning the race. They both stood and introduced themselves when Taylor entered the room.

“Mr. and Mrs. Howell, it’s good to meet you. Thank you for being so patient with us this afternoon-we have a lot of ground to cover, as you can imagine. I only have a moment, and we’ll be right back to you. But I need to ask Theo a question.”

Mr. Howell took his seat.

“Wait just a second? Lieutenant, Is Theo in any sort of trouble? Do we need a lawyer here?”

“That’s certainly your right, sir. But we’re not seeking charges against Theo at this time, We just need some information.”

“It’s okay, Dad,” Theo turned to Taylor. “I’ve already told them everything we discussed last night. I’m grounded.”

“I’ll bet,” Taylor said. “Okay, I need you to think about something for me. Do you remember Jerrold King and Brandon Scott having a fight last week?”

Theo creased his brow for a moment, then said, “Oh, yeah. They got into it before practice. I figured they were arguing over Letha.”

“Letha King, Jerrold’s little sister?”

“Yeah, She and Brandon had dated earlier in the year. She broke up with him, though, beginning of October. Said some pretty raunchy things about him, too. He went back and called her some names, they had a little war online, saying nasty things back and forth. But it stopped weeks ago.”

Weeks ago. Ah, how quickly time flies to the young.

“So why would they be fighting now?”

“Like I said, Letha said some…things about Brandon.” He glanced at his parents, tips of his ears red. “She called him a faggot.”

“Was Brandon a homosexual?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. He went with a lot of girls, was really popular, but never seemed that into it, if you know what I mean.”

“Are there any boys that you know he might have dated?”

“Well, not really. That’s not the kind of thing we all talk about openly, you know?” He began fidgeting in his chair. Theo Howell wasn’t a very accomplished liar.

“Is there any chance that Brandon and Jerrold were dating?”

Theo laughed. “No way. Jerry was very much into girls. He was furious that Brandon was using Letha as his beard.”

Evelyn Howell touched her son’s arm. “Theo,” she said, the note of warning enough for him to start talking again.

“Sorry. Definitely not Jerry, But he might have gotten together with this guy Schuyler a couple of times. That’s what the rumor was, anyway. But Schuyler doesn’t go to Hills bora anymore. His parents sent him to reform school or something, up in Virginia, a couple of semesters ago, so I have no idea. And it was only gossip.”

Mrs. Howell’s eyes popped open. “Schuyler Merritt? That’s who you’re talking about? Jackie Merritt’s boy?”

Theo nodded.

“Why, I had no idea. The Merritts are friends of ours, Lieutenant. They sponsored some of the events at the bookstore. Or they used to. They split up last year. The divorce was just finalized a few months back. Jackie remarried lickety-split, the ink was hardly dry on the forms, you know. Her new husband is a marine, was shipped off just a few weeks after they got back from their honeymoon. Sky Senior took it all hard, started drinking. He hasn’t been worth much these past few months. Hard on the kids too, they split them up.”