“That’s mine.” She turned to Griffin. “He got me to surrender it with some bullshit story about not allowing cameras inside.”

The investigator pressed a button on the phone through the plastic bag. The screen lit up. “You may be interested in this.”

Kendra and Griffin leaned over to look at the screen. A memo page was on the main screen with a succinct message:

A PLEASURE TO FINALLY MEET YOU, KENDRA. DON’T FORGET THE MOLE …

YOURS TRULY

MYATT

Griffin stared at the message. “Do you know any Myatt?”

Kendra thought for a moment. “I don’t think I’ve even heard that name before.”

“We’ll search every database we can find. But what about that message? ‘Don’t forget the mole?’ What the hell?”

Kendra turned away, revolted by the thought of that nutcase pawing at her phone, tapping out a message to her. He must have taken the time to write this before he had fled the scene. “He had a small mole just above his left nostril.” She made herself look back at the message. “He obviously isn’t too worried about our police sketch.”

“Or he wants us to think he’s not worried.”

Kendra looked up at the investigator. “You said this was hanging in the porch? How exactly?”

He raised another clear evidence bag with a piece of sheer, tan-colored fabric inside. “It was in this, hanging from the doorknob.”

Griffin grabbed the evidence bag and held it up toward one of the work lights. “Is this what—”

“It’s woman’s hosiery.” She moistened her lips. “Calf high, sheer nude.” She was feeling that icy chill again.

Griffin’s eyes narrowed. “The bastard’s referring back to another one of your cases, isn’t he?” He added slowly, “I remember this.”

“So do I. Griffin, pull together everything you have on the Vince Dayton case.” She flung off the blanket and strode toward the unmarked police car parked next to the driveway. One of the work lights was angled toward the vehicle’s front end, clearly marking it as the site’s unofficial command center. Four cops had maps spread out on the hood, marked with highlighter pens of possible escape routes.

“Forget the streets and freeways,” Kendra said curtly. “Map out the nearest bodies of water.”

The cops just stared at her.

“Do it. Beaches, ponds, marshes…” She shouldered her way into the group and stared down at an unfolded map. “And it has to be someplace he can access without being easily seen.”

A tall, graying officer dressed in his dress blues gazed at her from the other side of the car. “Dr. Michaels, I’m Captain Yates. Do you know something that we don’t?”

She wished she didn’t. “My phone was left inside a sheer stocking on the front porch. The exact same size and type of stocking used by Vince Dayton in four Central Coast killings a few years ago. It was one of my cases.”

Yates brow wrinkled. “He strangled his victims with a stocking?”

“No. He injected them with a paralyzing agent and drowned them, usually in just a couple feet of water.”

Yates nodded. “I remember now. Each victim was found with a stocking over her head and face.”

“Exactly. A stocking like the one your investigator found around my phone. Your missing officer may be wearing one of those right now. And I’m afraid he’ll soon be facedown in a nearby body of water, if he isn’t already.”

Yates spoke to Griffin, who had joined the group. “I know the FBI has taken the lead in this investigation, Special Agent Griffin. But if there’s a chance of getting our officer back, there’s no way we aren’t going after this guy right now.”

“Of course,” Griffin said smoothly. “I wouldn’t think of interfering. We’re only here to provide whatever support we can.”

Kendra ran her fingers over the map, tracing an east–west line to the coast. “I’d start here, with the closest and most direct route to the bay. Then work north and south to the more isolated areas. He’s going to want to get his car as close to the water as possible but still do it without being seen.”

Yates thoughtfully studied the map. “You sound as if you’ve got a real bead on this son of a bitch.”

“It’s what Vince Dayton would have done. And whoever this copycat is, he’s shown us that he does his homework.”

Yates nodded. “Good enough for me. We’ll bring in the Harbor Police and get a ’copter out. If he’s there, we’ll find him.”

Scripps Park

La Jolla

MYATT GRIPPED THE STEERING WHEEL tighter as the adrenaline surged through him. Damn, he felt alive.

He had been face-to-face with Kendra Michaels, and she hadn’t had the slightest idea. He could have killed her right there and then, but Colby was right. It was better to delay gratification, like the jungle cat that toys with its prey before finishing it off.

He turned onto a dark side street and parked. He sat in silence for a moment, listening for breathing in the rear compartment of his Infiniti G37 SUV. At first he heard nothing. Had he botched it? Dammit. After all his preparations—

There it was. Labored, shallow breathing. The cop was still alive.

Tricky stuff, this Vecuronium. Too little, and the cop could possibly move and call for help. Too much, and his respiratory system would seize.

Myatt smiled. He’d struck that delicate balance. Not that it would matter for too much longer anyway.

He opened the door and climbed out of the SUV.

Torrey Pines State Reserve

12:15 A.M.

DAMMIT, WHY HAD THERE BEEN NO WORD? It had been hours since they’d arrived here.

Kendra’s hands clenched as she paced outside the police department’s mobile command vehicle, which to her looked like an RV on steroids. It was equipped with an array of microwave and satellite antennas on the roof, plus an interior wall of flat-screen monitors that reminded her of NASA mission control. The vehicle and its four identical siblings had been the subject of much controversy because of their five-hundred-thousand-dollar price tags.

The search for Officer Jillette was being coordinated from this command center, which was now parked on a beach parking lot in the Torrey Pines State Reserve, a coastal state park that offered hundreds of acres of prime hiking trails and spectacular lookout points. The search had been under way for more than three hours, and Kendra could see two helicopters in the distance with the searchlights playing over the surf.

Find him. Find him alive. Don’t let that bastard have played his twisted games.

She tensed as her cell phone rang. Griffin?

No. And she didn’t need this right now, dammit. She accessed the call. “Who phoned you, Lynch? You’ve barely had time to get to D.C.”

“Evidently enough time for you to try to get yourself killed,” Lynch said roughly. “And Griffin says you won’t check in to a hospital. Stupid. Very stupid, Kendra.”

“I don’t need any more treatment. And I don’t need your telling me what to do. You have business to take care of for all those bureaucratic types, and I have business here.”

“At least, go home and rest. Griffin told me that you hadn’t stopped since you did a swan dive out of that window.”

“So he called you and told you to persuade me to do what he wanted me to do. It’s not going to work.” She paused. “We haven’t found that police officer yet, Lynch. I saw a photo of his wife and child in his squad car when I searched it. It was warm and sweet and…” She stopped and cleared her throat. “He’s alive for me now. I can’t go home until we find him … one way or the other.”

He was silent. “Okay, I can see that I’m not going to get anywhere. Just be careful.” He added impatiently, “And Griffin didn’t tell me to do anything. I’m not under his orders.”

“No, but he played you. Admit it.”

Another silence. “Maybe. Griffin is no fool.”

“But nowhere near as manipulative as you are, Lynch. It surprises me you let him do it.”