She nearly jumped. “What?”

His knuckles were white as he clenched the paper.

“Kyle?”

He shook his head, staring at her. “Someone leaked the information that we were searching the last victim’s house for snapshots of the killer.”

“What?”

“Jimmy and I found the place where Holly Tyler, the last victim, got her tattoo. The woman who ran the place said Holly nearly showed her a picture of the man she was going away with, except that she couldn’t find the picture. The cops are searching her home. And it’s in the damned paper.”

“Kyle, maybe it’s not all that bad. I mean, the cops are already searching the house, right? So the killer can’t come in now and ransack it to get his hands on the pictures himself, right?”

“Right,” he said, staring out the front window, still furious. “And in a perfect world they’ll have found the pictures by the time we reach Miami, he’ll have a record, we’ll find his identity by computer and arrest him by this afternoon.”

“It could happen that way.”

“It’s not going to. What will happen is that we’ll wind up tracking down Holly’s third cousin twice removed who lives in rural Arkansas. And both crackpots and helpful friends will start sending in snapshots, and our needle will wind up in a giant haystack.”

“Maybe not. The first scenario is still possible.”

“Sure,” Kyle said. He pulled his cell phone from his pocket and dialed headquarters, getting Jimmy on the line. Jimmy assured him that they were looking for the leak, and that there was going to be hell to pay for someone.

Kyle clicked off.

“Kyle?” she said quietly.

“Yeah?” he asked, looking at her.

“Remember what I said before? The killer strikes in the middle of the month. He isn’t due for another three weeks.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you can’t be so worried about me. I’m going home now.”

“And?”

“And Carrie Anne is coming home tonight.”

“And?”

“Kyle, I can’t just…I can’t just sleep with you at home. You’ve got to go back to your hotel tonight.” She felt him watching her as she drove. “Kyle, she’s a little girl, and I don’t know how to explain—”

“So you think Darryl never sees anyone when he has his daughter?”

“I’m the custodial parent,” Madison said. “She’s with me most of the time—”

“So you’re going to spend your life having two-day affairs when your daughter is with her father?”

“You’re being completely unreasonable—”

“I’m just curious. What are you going to do if you ever get serious about a man?”

“If I get really serious, I’ll get married again, and that way I can explain to Carrie Anne that I’m married!” she explained, aggravated. “Kyle, she’s a very little girl. And no matter how well Darryl and I get along, I don’t ever want to give him any ammunition against me if he decides he suddenly wants custody.”

“Darryl wouldn’t do that.”

“You never know.”

She felt him watching her. “Well, you can always marry old Darryl again. That would solve that problem. Or sleep with him now and then—I guess that would be all right.”

She stared at him, incredulous and furious. There was a gas station ahead. She pulled into it.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Stopping. Get out of my car.”

“What?”

“Out!”

“I don’t think so.”

“I’m telling you to get out.”

His eyes narrowed. “And I’m refusing. I have to get to work in Miami.”

“Call a cab.”

“Out here? In the middle of the Keys? Call a cab to Miami?”

“Call a cab—call the damned FBI. I don’t care. Get out of my car.”

“Why?”

She stared at him, absolutely incredulous. “Because you’re being hateful and vile and—”

“Scared!” he told her, his voice so deep and husky that she broke off, staring at him. He crushed his empty coffee cup in his hand, his knuckles white around it.

“Kyle…”

His coffee cup fell unnoticed to the floor, and he took her face between his hands, staring into her eyes. “Someone is murdering redheads in the middle of every month, and you’re a psychic—whether you choose to be or not. You see the murder victims. Law enforcement is beginning to get a few leads. Just a few! But maybe enough to spook the killer. I don’t want you to be alone. We don’t have to sleep together, but I won’t leave you alone at night. I can sleep on your couch, and we can explain to Carrie Anne that I’m a cop like Jimmy, and I’m just there to watch out for you both. Any objection?”

Madison tried to shake her head. “No, I guess not. And you can let go of my face now!”

He released her, easing back into his own seat. “May we go?” he asked politely.

They drove again. In dead silence. But fifteen minutes later they passed Theater of the Sea, one of the few facilities where people could swim with dolphins.

“I always wanted to do that,” Madison mused aloud.

“Go to Theatre of the Sea?” he inquired, puzzled.

She laughed. “Swim with dolphins.”

“You dive with sea creatures all the time.”

She shook her head. “I’ve never run into a playful dolphin. Never.”

“If it’s something you want to do, the answer’s easy. Do it.”

“When you want to do something, do you usually just do it?”

“Yup.”

“What was the last thing you wanted to do really badly?” she asked him.

He grinned slowly. “Sleep with you.”

She couldn’t help but smile in return. “Oh,” she said lightly. Then she realized that he was looking at her gravely again.

“Madison.”

“What?”

“What day was your mother murdered?”

She felt a strange, twisting tension inside. “June fifteenth.”

“Right. The middle of the month.”

“It has to be coincidence.”

“Does it?”

Killer should have waited for the night.

But he didn’t dare. And the challenge was actually getting quite intriguing.

The tattoo parlor didn’t open until ten.

It was 9:03. He pulled on his gloves. Thin plastic gloves, taken right out of a dispenser designed for doctors’ offices.

He parked in the grocery store lot down the street and walked the distance to the tattoo parlor. He was wearing a wig and dark glasses.

The front door was locked.

He went around the back and stepped in.

Good old Tammy, with her dyed hair and blowsy face, was at a desk in the back, going over her receipts. She looked up when she saw him.

“We’re not open yet,” she said.

He looked her over with disgust. Ugly old broad. He despised the fact that he had to waste his time and talents on her. But Holly had snapped a picture of him. The cops had searched her house. She probably didn’t know she had it, but the old broad here had his likeness. Holly must have lost it here somewhere.

“Hi, Tammy.”

“Do I know you?”

“I know you. And I know you’re not open, but…well, I’ve seen you before. I had to figure out a way to talk to you…alone.”

“Alone?”

He nodded. “Hey, you know, I just needed to ask a favor,” he said, smiling charmingly as he closed and locked the back door behind himself.

Tammy rose from her chair. “Sure, sugar, talk to me. What can I do for you?”

He manuevered himself behind her, his breath at her ear as he whispered, “Die, lady, just die….”

He was behind her as he slit her throat. The killing was incredibly neat. He didn’t spatter a drop of blood on himself.

She slumped to the floor, and he went to work, literally tearing the place apart.

And finally, wedged into the reclining chair where her customers lay as she worked, he found the Polaroids.

He looked at himself, as taken by Holly Tyler.

He slid the photos into his pocket and glanced at his watch. It had taken him less than fifteen minutes. He needed to get out.

But still…

He hesitated. He looked down at Tammy, and he couldn’t resist. He had a few minutes left….

He looked over her equipment, and then he went to work.