Mia whistled. „Or fifty. Man, I’ve never seen a personal arsenal so well equipped.“

Reagan moved to lean one hip against the hood of Mia’s car. „ ‘Yes, I have a gun, Detective,’“ he mimicked and Kristen snickered as the adrenaline high started to subside. He sounded just like the outraged Stan Dorsey as the man had slapped an enormous revolver on his dining room table, followed by two semi-automatics, a hunting rifle covered in camouflage paint, and an AK-47. Then he’d opened his custom-made oversized gun cabinet, revealing another forty weapons, his eyes angry and wild.

„And yes, they’d all been fired lately,“ Kristen added lightly. She could still taste the fear she’d felt when Dorsey advanced, standing toe-to-toe, icily declaring that he dreamed every night of filling Ramey’s body full of holes. That he hadn’t killed the bastard, but if he had, he could only hope he landed her as his prosecutor. That her ineptitude would ensure he made it home for supper. Then Dorsey had leaned in close and lobbed the final verbal grenade. That he wished Ramey had picked her parking garage that night. Then she’d know what it was like to be a victim.

Then there had been heat at her back as Reagan moved behind her. He hadn’t touched her, hadn’t said a word, but something in his face caught Dorsey’s attention and in a slow, measured movement, the man took a step back, fists at his sides. Reagan handed Dorsey his card over her shoulder, instructing them to call if they had more information.

Mia shook her head. „I wonder if their neighbors know they’re living next door to a fucking armory. He’s a ‘collector.’ How clever.“

Reagan shrugged. „They’re all registered. They aren’t breaking the law.“

„They got a letter, too.“ Kristen tried to put Dorsey’s wild eyes from her mind. He was angry enough to have killed, but probably too passionate to have done it so methodically.

„As did Janet Briggs,“ Mia said.

„Our humble servant either used one hell of a discreet delivery service or he was out last night himself,“ Abe said. „Assuming the other victims received letters, he made eleven deliveries. Somebody must have seen something somewhere. We’ll do a canvass of the neighborhoods to see if anybody remembers a car or a person lurking.“

„Good idea.“ Mia’s cell phone rang, a simple non-musical beep. „Yeah.“ Her eyes narrowed. „When?… Fine, we’ll be there.“ She pocketed her phone and looked up. „Spinnelli says the ME has news. We’re meeting back at the office ASAP. You coming, Kristen?“

Kristen nodded, just as her stomach growled. „I am, but first I’ll stop and grab some dinner to go. You bought the gyros last night, Detective Reagan. I’ll pick up something from Owen’s and bring it to Spinnelli’s. Don’t let the ME start until I get there.“

„What’s Owen’s?“ Mia asked. „Please tell me it has meat.“

Reagan rolled his eyes. „The Indian curry was good.“

„I gotta have meat, Reagan, or I’ll get anemic.“

He snorted. „Yeah, you look real anemic to me, Mitchell.“

Mia turned toward Kristen, ignoring him. „If Owen’s has meat, I’m in.“

Kristen smiled. „Owen’s is the diner where I eat. You want to try his fried chicken?“

Mia sighed. „Best offer I’ve had all day.“

Thursday, February 19,

6:15 p.m.

Zoe snapped her cell phone closed. „Bingo.“

Scott yawned. „I have a date tonight, Richardson.“

„So did I.“ Zoe made a mental note to cancel it. If she hurried, she might have a story ready for the ten o’clock slot. She watched two cars pass, the first with Detective Mitchell at the wheel, accompanied by a man she didn’t recognize but fully intended to get to know much better. The other car was manned by Kristen Mayhew, driving solo. „That’s not her car.“

Scott yawned again. „So maybe she got a new one.“

„Are you kidding? That woman plans to drive her old Toyota into the ground and it still has a few good years on it.“ She shrugged when Scott’s head turned, his brows scrunched in a frown. „I know her mechanic. He tells me stuff.“

„Pillow talk,“ Scott said with a sneer and Zoe bit her tongue. Like it or not, she needed him to make the damn film.

Ignoring him, she pulled her mirror from her purse. Her makeup was still flawless. „Besides, the car had an Avis sticker in the window. Come on, we’re doing an interview.“

„With who? Your hero just drove away.“

Again Zoe bit back the retort. The day Mayhew was her hero… Meal ticket, maybe. Hero, never. „Haven’t you been paying attention? She visits three houses with Detective Mitchell. Aren’t you the least bit curious as to why?“

„I’m sure you’ll tell me,“ Scott drawled, and the tips of her nails bit into her palms.

„Records says that this house belongs to Eileen Dorsey. The last house was Janet Briggs, the one before that Sylvia Whitman. Three victims of Anthony Ramey,“ she said and watched his eyes widen. Scott wasn’t stupid, just a man who foolishly believed a single night of sex months ago should become an ongoing relationship and was mad because it hadn’t. „So you do watch the news,“ she said, swallowing a smirk.

Scott straightened. „Ramey never went to jail. He’s either reoffended or he’s dead.“

Zoe slid out of the van and tugged at her skirt. „Well, let’s go find out which.“

Thursday, February 19,

6:30 P.M.

„Kristen, so good to see you.“ Vincent pulled a brown bag from behind the counter. „You’re order’s ready.“ Vincent had worked for Owen for as long as she’d been coming to the diner. A sweet, unassuming man. Everybody loved Vincent.

A loud crash had them both wincing. „Another new cook?“ Kristen asked.

Vincent sighed. „I give this one two days. Tops.“

Owen had hired so many cooks in the last month, Kristen stopped trying to remember their names. „Any news from Timothy?“

„Nope. Wish his grandma would get better, though. Owen’s been fit to be tied lately, dealing with all those new fry cooks.“

„Maybe we could get Timothy some help for his grandma and he could come back.“

Vincent shrugged. „We asked, but Owen says Timothy doesn’t want the help. You know how Tim is about accepting help anyway.“

Kristen nodded. „I know.“ A highly functional adult with Down’s syndrome, Timothy had a great deal of pride and independence. She could see him refusing Owen’s help.

„You know what?“ Owen came out of the back, drying his hands on the towel he kept tied around his thickening middle. He was solid and dependable and he made a hell of a chicken potpie. A smile creased his face when he saw her. „I missed you at lunch today.“

She made a face. „Peanut butter crackers.“

He scowled. „You’ll get sick if you don’t eat right.“

She crossed her heart. „I promise. I called in a take-out order.“

Owen scanned the order slip. „Three fried chickens and three chicken potpies?“

Kristen licked her lips. „Plus potatoes and gravy.“

„It’s all here. What’s going on tonight?“ Owen gathered the bag in his arms and started for the front door.

„Meeting. I offered to bring dinner.“ She held open the door and shivered while Owen stood in his shirtsleeves with hardly a tremble for the cold, looking around with a frown.

„My car.“ She pointed to the rental and his face changed to a beaming smile.

„You finally listened to me and got rid of that old thing.“

„It was not old. It was just well used.“ She opened the rear passenger door and he put the bag on the seat.

„It was a bucket of bolts that Vincent prayed for daily. We worried about you driving around at night in that rust heap.“

„This is just a rental. Mine’s in the shop.“ Kristen bit her lip over the little white lie.

The scowl returned. „Bucket of bolts, Kristen. It’s going to leave you stranded on the side of the road some night and…“ He shook his head, disgusted. „Stubborn girl.“