Find your happy place and all your worries will just slip away…

So she leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. Then in her imagination opened them and rolled her head to one side to the lounge chair beside her.

Where Reagan lay, his body tanned, muscled… and perfect. As if sensing her stare, he turned those intense blue eyes her way and flashed a white smile. And covered her hand with his.

Kristen sat back up with a hard jerk that sent new waves of pain coursing from her head down her neck. Dammit. The man wouldn’t leave her alone, checking her closets, buying her dinner, ruining a perfectly good autopsy viewing. Now he was invading her mind. She rubbed her hand hard, trying to still the tingles caused even by an imagined touch. She cursed the hard beating of her heart and pushed away the feelings she’d be foolish to label anything but futile longing.

It wouldn’t do to long for things she’d never have. If she ever let Reagan close enough, he’d run so fast… He would.

But damn, he looked good lying there on the beach.

She frowned at her own idiocy. Face it, Kristen, you’ll never have anyone. You’ll never even get to a vacation on the beach.

Resolutely she picked up the phone. „Lois, send in the Myers girl now.“

Friday, February 20,

4:30 p.m.

The hat with the earflaps hid his face, and given the wind chill, nobody would think twice about it. Now, if he was able to evade the police and keep his work going until spring, he’d have to get a little more creative if he wanted to walk around undetected.

The thought made him smile, as did the brown box left neatly on Kristen’s front porch. The boy had done well. He imagined the surveillance cameras around Kristen’s house would capture the boy’s face clearly. Tracking him would give Reagan and Mitchell something to do for a day or two, but when they found him, the boy wouldn’t be able to give anything more than the most basic of descriptions. Any police artist sketch they got would be able to pass for 10 percent of the men in Chicago, at least.

The news would pick it up and the boy would be linked to, in the hire of, a serial killer. He’d chosen the boy carefully. If there were any negative repercussions to being involved with the „Vigilante Killer“ as the news was calling him, this kid deserved them. If nothing came of it, no harm, no foul. But if the kid got into some trouble, it would be a good thing.

Without slowing, he continued down Kristen’s street and obediently stopped at a stop sign, left blinker flashing. No bad behavior to make him memorable to anyone that happened to notice his white van, which today sported a sign for an electrical contractor. He thought the happy face on the cartoon electrical plug was a cute touch.

Leah would have been amused.

Friday, February 20,

6:50 p.m.

Spinnelli leaned his head back, weariness etched in his face. None of them had had a great day, but Spinnelli’s had been the most publicly bad. „So you’ve got lists of sharpshooters, hunters – duck and deer, florists and tombstone makers.“ He dragged his hands down his face. „Sounds like some kind of rabid children’s rhyme.“

Totally frustrated, Abe stared at the lists covering the conference room table. There were a hell of a lot of hunters in the Chicago area, and they’d only tapped a handful of the ammunition stores. „It will take days to get through all this, even if we had more people. Can the guys in IT help us out? Maybe scan the names in, look for connections?“

Mia stared at Spinnelli. „I heard somebody say today that we have the resources of CPD at our disposal.“

Spinnelli shrugged. „I’ll ask them. They should be able to do something with all those fancy computers up there.“

Abe pushed away from the table and walked to the whiteboard where they continued to note evidence that continued to be unconnected. „We’ve accounted for the whereabouts of all the original victims on the nights our new victims disappeared. The only ones with shakable alibis are Sylvia Whitman and Paulo Siempres, the stepfather of one of the murdered children.“

„Do you think either of them was involved?“

Abe shook her head. „Not Siempres. He wouldn’t have had the strength to strangle Ramey. His right arm is withered. Polio as a kid.“

„And Mrs. Whitman?“

„Nope.“ Mia crossed her ankles on the table’s edge. „She talks a big talk, but I don’t think she’s capable either. She might have paid somebody to off Ramey, but if she did, it was from a source nobody knows about. I’ve checked all their finances. Nobody’s made any large contract-killing-sized payments lately.“

„Besides,“ Abe said, „somebody had to know the names of King’s six victims to sandblast them into the marker, and there’s no reason to suspect Whitman or Siempres had access to that information.“

Spinnelli sighed. „I’ve got Kristen’s list of lawyers and cops associated with all three cases. Here’s the list of marksmen.“

„Poor Marc,“ Mia said sympathetically. „The press and IA.“

„I prefer the damn press,“ Spinnelli muttered. „Anyway, take a look at this list and see if you can find any ties to your florists, hunters, and tombstone makers.“

Abe scanned the list and let out a low whistle. „Check this out, Mia.“

Mia’s eyes widened. „John Alden.“

„Kristen’s boss was in the military, qualifying as a marksman.“ Abe looked up at Spinnelli. „You want us to check this out, or do you want to?“

Spinnelli shrugged. „Get whereabouts for everyone just as a matter of course. I’ll talk to Alden myself.“

„We’ll start first thing Monday,“ Mia said.

Spinnelli frowned. „What’s wrong with now?“

Mia threw a pointed gaze at the clock. „It’s Friday. I have a date.“

„So?“ Spinnelli retorted. „I haven’t even seen my wife and kids for a week.“

„Then you should go home, too,“ Mia snapped. „Just because – “

Abe’s cell phone vibrated in his pocket and one look at the caller ID had him waving his hand for silence. „What’s wrong?“ He listened as Spinnelli and Mia abruptly quieted. „Just stay there with the windows rolled up and the doors locked. I’ll be there in ten minutes.“ He snapped his cell phone closed. „Kristen just got attacked. Somebody ran her car off the road into a pole. Two guys with knives wanted to know the identity of her humble servant.“

Mia paled. „Shit. Sounds like Blades. Damn that Richardson.“

Spinnelli jumped to his feet. „Is she hurt?“

„Where are they now?“ Mia demanded.

„I don’t think she’s hurt,“ Abe said grimly, „but she’s scared.“ And for that some punk would pay. „She pepper-sprayed their faces and locked herself in her car, then leaned on the horn until other drivers started slowing down and the assholes ran away.“ He grabbed his coat. „I’ll take care of it and call you.“

Friday, February 20,

7:10 p.m.

Now that it was over Kristen wanted to scream.

Her shoulder burned from where they’d grabbed her out of the car. Her whole face throbbed from the impact of the deployed airbag and she knew she was lucky not to have a broken nose. The rest of her body ached from holding herself rigid since she’d gotten away and locked herself in the car, but she knew if she let go, she’d start to cry, and that wasn’t an option. Not with Richardson perched outside with her toady cameraman. Rage simmered. If she ever found out Richardson had seen the whole thing and just let the camera roll as she screamed for help… There wouldn’t be a pit deep enough for that bitch to climb out of.

Someone tapped at the window and she muffled a yelp. A uniformed officer stood by her locked door. „Are you all right, Miss Mayhew?“ he said loud enough to be heard through the glass. He was the response to her 9-1-1. The call she’d made after the one to Reagan. She refused to consider the significance of the order of her phone calls for help, instead jerking a nod that made her want to whimper in pain. She kept it in, still in control. „Yes.“