Kevin nodded. “Right.”

“Any common classes or professors?” Mark asked.

“No, none,” Kevin said, setting his cup on the table.

“What time of day were the bodies found?” Lindsey asked.

“All late night, early morning,” Kevin said.

“Alcohol in their blood?” Mark asked.

“Yes.” Kevin frowned. “Explain that question.”

“Just wondering if a bar could be the connection,” Lindsey explained. “We think it might be in New York.”

Kevin’s brows sunk as if he was afraid they had missed something. “We never found that kind of connection.”

“What about boyfriends?” Mark asked.

“Nope,” Kevin responded. “No steady ones, at least.”

Lindsey had pulled out a notepad and was going down a list. “Evidence on the bodies?”

John spoke up. “Yes, same pattern on all. Rope burns on the arms, a few other similarities between victims.”

Lindsey stared at the tablecloth in deep thought. All eyes were on her strained face. Mark sensed some transition in her mood. She was bothered by something. He decided to save her a response. He cleared his throat, and responded for her. “That sounds like our guy’s pattern.”

“Got pictures?” Kevin asked.

“Yes, we do,” Mark commented, but didn’t reach for them. “What I don’t understand is why the Williams cases weren’t linked through the national system.”

Kevin and John eyed each other. Mark noted the exchange with interest. They knew something. After a pause Kevin said, “We think the same thing. Look, why don’t we finish up our coffee and go back to the station? We can compare notes.”

Mark and Lindsey looked at one another and then nodded their agreement.

They rode to the station with the detectives, which left Mark with no feasible opportunity to pry into Lindsey’s head and figure out what she was fretting about. Once there, they were taken to a room holding a couple of folding tables and a wall of whiteboards.

As soon as they were alone, Mark exhaled, relieved to finally get a minute with Lindsey. He walked to her, his hands going to her arms. “What’s up, sweetheart?”

She glanced at him, eyes guarded. “What do you mean?”

Mark winced inwardly. She had already shut him out again. What in the hell was it going to take to get by her walls? “You know what I mean,” he said deliberately. “You clammed up at the restaurant and have stayed that way ever since. What’s bothering you?”

She shrugged her shoulders, diverting her eyes to the floor. “Nothing.”

“That’s crap and we both know it, Lindsey,” he said in a low voice. “Don’t shut me out.”

The door opened, effectively silencing their conversation. “Here we go.” Kevin held up a stack of pictures and then walked to the whiteboard and began taping them up. Lindsey opened her files and pulled out two stacks of pictures, and without a word stood and started to tape them up as well. She put the Hudson pictures on one row—even though only one of his victims was dead—and the Williams pictures on another.

When everything was in place, they all stood, in utter silence, staring at the horrific sight. It was as if evil had visited the room and was now alive and well. Lindsey wrapped her arms around her body, hugging herself as if she was cold. And as he let his gaze move back to the pictures, he couldn’t blame her. The sight before them was gruesome, the images showing obvious torture and violence. This guy had made these women suffer.

Kevin cleared his throat. “Damn,” he said. “I’m afraid this is bigger than we thought. What a sick bastard.” Then he exchanged a look with his partner. “Better get Bill.”

Mark tore his eyes away from the pictures and looked at Kevin. “I take it Bill’s your boss?”

He nodded. “He’ll want to see this,” Kevin said, looking back at the pictures as if still astounded by the magnitude of the scene.

Mark gave Kevin a steady look. “Tell me again how these attacks were dismissed as unrelated.”

Kevin leaned against the wall and crossed his arms in front of his body. “Well, now, that does seem to be the million-dollar question, doesn’t it?”

Lindsey made a frustrated sound that drew their attention. “Yes, it is. Who’s going to answer it?”

Mark glanced at Lindsey with concern. Anger had returned some of the color to her cheeks, but it was clear she was a ball of nerves. He wanted to grab her, and comfort her. But he knew he couldn’t. Not here, not now.

Best to focus on catching a killer.

* * * * *

Stepping into the hotel, Mark by her side, Lindsey couldn’t sake her thoughts of Greg. No, that wasn’t completely true. Something else was bothering her. It seemed when it came to Hudson, she was damned if she did, and damned if she didn’t.

Had she just believed in herself, and him, in the past . . . well, a lot more than one woman was now dead because of her mistakes. She had been so freaked over the woman she thought Hudson had killed that she allowed herself to get off track. Now many more women were dead.

Her biggest failure had been to doubt her instincts.

But she couldn’t go back, and that was hard to swallow. All she could hope for was to save the victims of the future.

Mark unlocked the hotel door. “What an afternoon,” he said.

“It didn’t surprise me the local guys blame the missed connections on the New York officials and vice-versa,” Lindsey said.

Mark shoved open the door, and motioned Lindsey forward. “I doubt we’ll ever know the truth.” Entering the room, a burst of cool air washed over her skin, making her sigh with the sweet relief of being out of the heat. Lindsey couldn’t shake the feeling that Greg had somehow been behind it all.

She made a direct path to the bed, falling onto the mattress with a bounce. “I am so exhausted, it’s painful.”

Mark toed off his shoes, and walked over to Lindsey and took hers off. “Yes, but we accomplished a lot.”

Lindsey leaned up on her elbows. “Do you think we made the right decision, agreeing to keep this quiet?” She studied him, her voice full of concern. “Shouldn’t the public know there might be a serial killer on the loose?”

He spread out on the bed, and turned to face her, resting on one elbow. “I do,” he said, meaning it. “He’s in hiding right now, and we can’t risk letting him know we’re onto him.”

Lindsey’s put her hands under her head, staring up at the ceiling. “I suppose that’s true.”

Mark’s eyes narrowed. “What happened today? Why did you get upset?”

She rolled to her side, facing him, fingers fiddling with the buttons on his shirt. “Nothing, I’m just tired.”

He shut his eyes and took a deep breath before refocusing on her face. “As I said,” he paused a beat, “we both know better.”

Mark slid closer so that his thighs brushed her leg. Watching her distress, he traced her bottom lip with his index finger. “What’s wrong?”

Her lashes fluttered to her cheeks. “I don’t think I can talk about it right now.”

He was silent a long moment, his hand slowly moving to rest on her hip. “I won’t press you,” he said, and then he did just what he said he wouldn’t do. He pressed. “I’d like to think you’d trust me enough to share what’s bothering you.”

Lindsey wet her dry lips, and cleared her throat. It was hard talking about her feelings. She wasn’t used to it. But she found herself wanting to find the courage to tell him. Her voice cracked, but the words made it past her lips. “So many women are dead.”

Mark pulled her closer. “Please, don’t do this to yourself,” he said. “You’ve beat yourself up enough.”

Even though she knew he was right, she couldn’t quit blaming herself. The pictures of the victims wouldn’t leave her mind. “Why didn’t I think of the DNA being planted back then?”

His voice was a soft echo of reason. “It was a tough call. You were ready to be out. Besides, you handed over the case.”

She squeezed her eyes together. The images just wouldn’t go away. “I might have stopped so many women from dying.”