“But you did manage to find time to join the Eve Duncan case. I read the file. Amazing investigative work, by the way.”

“I only did that because Eve is a good friend. She needed my help.”

“You helped save her life. And probably a lot of other lives.”

She gestured impatiently. “Why are you here, Lynch?”

“You were right. That accident scene on the bridge last night was staged.”

“Tell me something I don’t already know.”

“The case has been kicked over to the FBI. It has the mark of a serial killer. But you already knew that, didn’t you? That was remarkably similar to another case of yours, an old one.”

“I don’t know if I’d say remarkably similar.”

“I would. Multiple murders made to look like an accident. That was Stanley Veers’s M.O., was it not? He killed at least fourteen people over a three-year period in Houston and Austin.”

“Veers is now on death row in Huntsville Penitentiary.”

“Thanks to you. He killed people for years before anyone realized they were murders, not accidents. Serial killers usually like the attention, but not him. He created his own private thrill show. He liked the idea of committing murder right under everyone’s noses. I’m sure you thought of him when you were at that crime scene last night.”

“Of course I did, though it was more ambitious than anything Veers did. The investigators think the killer may have coned off one end for a few minutes and used a truck to block the other. They’re still trying to identify possible staging areas. It’s a staggering feat to pull off. But unlike Veers, this one wasn’t all that concerned with covering his tracks. He wanted the world to know what he had done.”

“But not immediately.”

“Probably not. He knew the media would report the accident but that it would soon be revealed as something else. He’d get to have his cake and eat it, too.”

Lynch nodded. “That’s the way the FBI profilers see it.”

“And since when did you become the Bureau’s errand boy.”

“Errand boy?”

“They sent you to talk me into working with them on this case. Am I right?”

“In a roundabout way. Senior Special Agent Griffin knew better than to contact you directly. You’ve made your attitude known in no uncertain terms regarding working with them again. He asked some higher-ups in D.C. to have me approach you.”

“Roundabout is right. Why did he think you would be any more effective than asking me himself?”

“Because I’m so damn charming and likeable?”

“Next?”

Lynch smiled. “You’re not going to make this easy, are you?”

“Of course not.”

“I was tasked to talk to you because they thought we worked well together last year.”

“Oh. Well, we did.”

“You admit it?”

“Of course. Sometimes a sledgehammer is the best tool for the job.”

He laughed. “So I’m a sledgehammer. And I guess that makes you a precision-tooled scalpel.”

“Well, if you want to push the metaphor … yes.”

“So be it. The Bureau wants a scalpel to help work this case. And not just any scalpel. They want you.”

“You said that you were tasked to talk to me. But I thought you only took jobs you wanted to take. You’re a freelancer.”

“That’s correct. I do only take jobs that interest me.”

This time there was no high-wattage smile. Just sincerity and maybe a hint of warmth.

Maybe.

Lynch’s nickname in the Bureau has been the Puppetmaster, given for his ability to manipulate people and circumstances to his own ends. He had been able to pull off incredible feats by that skill. Was he manipulating her now? Probably.

He stepped toward her. “Listen, to tell you the truth, I don’t give a damn about working on this case. I was only intrigued with the idea of working with you again. You know I always work alone, but that time with you was different, special. I wanted to do it again. If you tell me to go to hell, I won’t spend another minute on this investigation. I’m actually in the middle of something else right now.”

“Cloak-and-dagger stuff?”

“In a way. But the powers that be thought this was important enough for me to try to bring you in. Aside from your, shall we say, unique skill set, you’re one of the few people who’ve had any success dealing with a killer like this.”

“Only because killers like this are so rare.”

“You know that’s not the only reason. Modesty doesn’t become you, Kendra.” Lynch paused as a pair of Goth-looking street performers walked past, playing their violins. “By the way, who was the guy?”

“What guy?”

“The guy who was tagging along with you last night. I heard something about a blind date, but I figured the cops on the scene got that part wrong. Even you aren’t so socially inept as to bring a date to a murder scene.”

“I needed a ride.”

He clicked his tongue. “Oh, Kendra…”

“I think he liked it.”

“Even worse. What kind of ghoul likes going to a murder scene?”

“You said you wish you could have seen me there last night.”

“Because this is my job. Professional interest. What does this guy do?”

“He’s a history professor.”

“Definitely a whack job.”

His attitude was very peculiar for Lynch, Kendra thought. “Hmm. Jealous much?”

“Jealous? That’s ridiculous.”

“I thought so, too, considering our relationship. I’m just going with what I see and hear. My ‘unique skill set’ you know.”

“Then you’re slipping.” He laughed. “Have you seen that swimsuit ad that’s been showing up on the sides of buses around town? The one with the Asian woman in the striped bikini?”

“Sure.”

“I’ve actually been dating her.”

“Bullshit.”

“It’s true. Her name is Ashley.”

Kendra raised her brows. “Wow. She’s beautiful.”

“Yes.”

“And are you taking her to her high-school prom?”

“She’s twenty-five.”

“Then she should be old enough to know better.”

He tilted his head. “Jealous much?”

“Not in the slightest.” This conversation had taken a very personal turn, and she had always tried to avoid that with Lynch. He was a dangerous man both professionally and personally, and she admitted that she was drawn to him. It would be terribly easy to become involved sexually with him. It was what would come after that she worried about. Better to stay clear. “But I’m afraid you’re wasting your time, Lynch. I really don’t have the time or the inclination to play detective.”

“So you’re telling me to go to hell.”

She smiled. “Yes. Go to hell.”

“Okay. Good enough. I can now tell them that I asked.”

“Yes, you can. And … believe it or not, it was good to see you.”

“The feeling’s mutual, Kendra. There’s one more thing. It may or may not make a difference to you, but there’s something about this case you don’t know.”

“It won’t make a difference to me.”

“Maybe not.” He reached into the side pocket of his sports jacket and pulled out the small manila envelope protruding from it. “It’s all in here. Look at it, don’t look at it, whatever.”

Kendra took the envelope with a noncommittal shrug. “Okay.”

As he started to leave, he pointed to the white-faced street performers who had found other people to annoy. “And if you need me to knock off those mimes, the offer’s still open.”

She smiled. “Got it.”

*   *   *

KENDRA STROLLED THROUGH THE BUSY Gaslamp District and toward her condo building on E Street. She was trying not to let Lynch and that blasted murder investigation take over her thoughts. She had already decided not to open the envelope, but she still resisted the urge to toss it in one of the many trash cans on her way home. The FBI was smart to send Lynch as their ambassador. They had formed a strong partnership in their one case together, and he was enough of an outsider from all that bureaucracy that she trusted him.

And, she had to admit, she did find him extremely attractive. His movie-star looks hadn’t captured her, but his supreme confidence—backed by smarts, aggressiveness, and steely determination—had sparked the heat that had grown between them during the course of their investigation.