She leaned back in her desk chair. Lynch’s illegal tech skill had finally come to be of some use to her. A hell of a lot more useful than anything she had been permitted to see at the crime scene, that was for sure.

Lynch. As he had done so many times before, he had swept into her life with gale force, whipped everything into a frenzy, then vanished. She had no idea when she would see him again. Days? Weeks? A year?

Why did she care? Yes, she always felt as if life took on more brilliant hues, that his mind was always in sync, that in a world where she’d opted to stand alone, she could lean on his strength … if she chose.

Not that she would choose.

It was just that life was always a little emptier when he left her. It was strange to think that she couldn’t reach out and call him when she had a thought, or needed to tap him for information or influence.

No matter. There was no doubt she could handle everything by herself without help from Lynch. She had enough to occupy her without—

GIVING UP SO SOON?

The words appeared on her laptop screen, one letter at a time, right in the middle of her document.

How the hell…?

The cursor jumped to the next line. Again, words appeared one letter at a time, as if being written by an invisible typist: SURELY YOU’RE NOT GIVING UP, KENDRA …

Of course.

She typed furiously. NOT FUNNY, TOO FAR, LYNCH.

The answer came back immediately, again in her in-progress Word document: I’M NOT WHO YOU THINK I AM.

She froze, then typed: WHO IN THE HELL IS THIS?

SOMEONE WHO’S BEEN WATCHING YOU.

She stared at the words on the screen, then typed: WATCHING ME WHERE?

EVERYWHERE. I’VE BEEN WATCHING YOU FOR A LONG TIME, KENDRA.

She instinctively glanced around, feeling that there were eyes on her at this very moment. She typed: WHO IS THIS?

TIME FOR THAT LATER.

Her mind raced. Sheila Hunter’s story had just gone online that day. Had some sicko read the story and hacked into her computer?

She was just about to type a response when more words appeared on the page: I SAW YOU AT THE MARINA TONIGHT.

Kendra went still. She typed: WHY WERE YOU THERE?

YOU KNOW WHY.

She typed: TELL ME.

FOR SHEILA HUNTER. YOU’LL BE HAPPY TO KNOW SHE WAS SCARED OUT OF HER FREAKING MIND.

Kendra’s hands shook as she moved her fingers over the keyboard. YOU KILLED HER.

MY GIFT TO YOU. DON’T PRETEND. I KNOW YOU WERE HAPPY.

She stared in disbelief at the unfolding dialogue on her computer screen: NO, THAT’S NOT TRUE. WHO IS THIS?

YOU KNOW WHO. YOU’LL NEVER BE DONE WITH ME, KENDRA.

Her breath left her.

“You’ll never be done with me, Kendra.”

Colby’s last words to her, just days before his scheduled execution.

NOW YOU KNOW.

She used her index finger to punch her reply one key at a time: COLBY.

Ten seconds went by. Then fifteen.

YOU NEVER STOPPED BELIEVING, KENDRA. TOUCHED BEYOND WORDS.

It was him.

After all these months of wondering, of watching over her shoulder … He was back.

She flexed her trembling fingers over the keyboard. Stay cool.

Detach. Concentrate.

WHY SHEILA HUNTER?

His reply was immediate: DID SHE NOT DESERVE IT?

She replied: NO. NO ONE DESERVES THAT.

Except Colby, she thought.

EXCEPT ME. THAT’S WHAT YOU WERE THINKING, WASN’T IT? I KNOW YOU, KENDRA. TOO WELL.

He did know her, she realized. All those years in prison, he was studying her, making his sick plans. She felt another surge in the pit of her stomach.

Hold it together.

She typed: THEN YOU KNOW I’VE BEEN EXPECTING YOU.

He fired back: OF COURSE. I’VE BEEN COUNTING ON IT.

She believed him. He did know her too well.

YOU NEVER DISAPPOINT, KENDRA.

She held her shaking hands over the keyboard, weighing her next move. Bold, decisive strokes were the only things that ever worked against Colby, but did she want to go this far? She finally typed: I’M THE ONE YOU WANT, COLBY. BRING IT ON. NO ONE ELSE NEEDS TO SUFFER FOR WHAT I’VE DONE TO YOU.

Long pause. Had she thrown him off balance? He finally responded: I’VE ALREADY BROUGHT THE FIGHT TO YOU, KENDRA. YOU JUST DON’T KNOW IT YET.

REALLY?

He shot back: OH, YES. I LEFT YOU A PRESENT INSIDE SHEILA HUNTER’S HOUSEBOAT.

She went still. She could only imagine what constituted a present from Eric Colby. She made herself respond: IF YOU WERE REALLY THERE, YOU WOULD KNOW I COULDN’T GET NEAR THE PLACE.

I SAW. YOU’LL JUST HAVE TO TRY HARDER, KENDRA. I HAVE FAITH IN YOU.

Before Kendra could reply, he quickly signed off: ENOUGH. YOU HAVE WORK TO DO. PLEASANT DREAMS, KENDRA. I CAN’T TELL YOU HOW MUCH I ENJOY THEM.

The document went blank. A moment later, her laptop screen went blank and the fan shut off.

She stood and backed away from the computer, still trembling.

He was back.

Her first instinct was to turn the computer back on, but she stopped herself. Best to leave the system undisturbed until she could get this thing to an expert who could figure out how in the hell Eric Colby had tapped in.

Which expert?

She wasn’t about to involve Lynch, and if she tapped the FBI forensic computer specialists, it would probably mean boxing up her laptop and shipping it to D.C. There was always a backlog for anything except national-security issues, and Colby’s future victims didn’t have the luxury of time.

Kendra stared at the laptop. She did know someone who could outgeek the FBI experts any day of the week. He was based in San Francisco, but his talents were sought after by clients all over the world. Even the Defense Department had their agents keep an eye on him because he was so valuable in protecting their sites from foreign hackers. But even if he was in the country, there’s no telling if he was available to help her.

One way to find out.

She picked up her phone and punched a number. Within seconds, her ear was blasted by blaring rap music and the sound of a boisterous crowd.

“Kendra!”

She recognized Sam Zackoff’s voice immediately even though he was shouting into the phone. The tension in her body eased slightly. It was good to be reminded that there was a happy and carefree world out there, far from the grim reality that had suddenly pummeled her.

“Sam? Where the hell are you? A dance club?”

“No, better. I’m at a video-game trade show, and one of the companies is throwing a killer party. Free booze and dozens of hot young ladies dressed like the scantily clad characters in their new game. It doesn’t get much better than this.”

“I’ll take your word for it.”

“You don’t have to. You can always join me.”

“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about. Where in the world are you right now?”

“I’m at the E3 computer-game trade show.”

“That’s supposed to mean something to me?”

“Sorry, I forgot you’re not as big of a geek as the rest of the people in my social circle.”

“That’s a relief for me and very depressing for you.”

“The E3 show is always in L.A. I’m at the convention center downtown.”

“That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. I need to come see you.”

“It’s getting loud in here. Did you say you needed me?”

“I said I need to see you.”

“Okay, I heard you that time. You need and crave me with every fiber of your being. Got it.”

“God, you’re a geek.”

“Sorry, the connection dropped out for a second. Did you just say I was a god?”

“You wish.”

“If you really want my help, you’re not being very persuasive. What’s up?”

“My computer just got hacked, and I don’t know how. I was working on a Word file, and someone just started typing into it. They could see everything I was typing.”

“Easy peasy. A kid could do that. There are plenty of free software packages out there that can give anyone remote access to your computer. Tech-support people use them all the time to make adjustments to customers’ settings.”