„Calm down, for God’s sake. Do you want a drink?“

„No, I don’t want a drink.“ He grabbed her arms hard and she cried out. He hauled her up on her toes. „What I want is for you to back off. No more stories about Mayhew or vigilante killers.“ He pulled harder and she bit back a whimper. „Understand?“

She struggled, but he held firm. „It’s my job. I’m doing my job.“

„Then go find another story, because you doing your job will make me lose mine.“

„You’re overreacting. Nobody’s going to lose their job.“

He shook her, hard. „That’s because you’re going to stop.“

She threw her head back, stared him in the eye. „Or what? What could you possibly do to back up your spineless little threat? Tell the world I’m sleeping with you? I’m not married. I don’t care.“ She narrowed her eyes. „Or maybe I’ll turn up as one of Kristen’s gifts.“

He paled as she’d known he would. „What are you talking about?“

She lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. „The power of the press, the spoken word. A whispered allegation. Association with a vigilante. It could ruin a man’s career.“

He stared at her for a moment, then threw her away as if she burned him. She hoped she had. Nobody threatened Zoe Richardson. Nobody.

„You’re insane,“ he whispered.

„Unfortunately for you I am quite sane.“ She settled her hands on her hips, well aware of the picture she made. „You want to stay or what?“

Horror flickered across his face. „You think I’d sleep with you now? My God.“

„Pity. Press conferences and interviews with the Contis really get my blood stoked. Sleeping hadn’t crossed my mind.“

His eyes narrowed. „Conti? What does that sonofabitch have to do with anything?“

Zoe laughed. „So sanctimonious suddenly. Go on home, sugar. You can probably just catch the interview if you leave right now.“

He shook his head. „You’re poison.“

„Probably. Oh, and I’d be careful about that sleep-talking thing if I were you, sugar.“

He paled and went still. „What are you talking about?“

It was too rich for words. „You talk in your sleep, honey. I’m sure your wife knows all about us. Or will soon.“ She tilted her head, her smile patronizing. „Sleep well.“

Friday, February 20,

10:00 P.M.

He’d chosen the next name from the fishbowl. It was a good choice. He stared at the name, thinking of the vileness of the man’s crimes. It would be too much of a pleasure to see this man dead.

He sighed. He really should admit it, if to no one but himself. He’d started this mission to avenge Leah and the countless other victims denied justice. After the second one, Ramey, he’d felt satisfaction, and that was okay. With King it had been more than satisfaction, it had been almost… exhilarating, beating that man’s face to a bloody pulp. But with Skinner… it had been pleasure.

Watching Skinner’s eyes, so horrified. The way Skinner tried to struggle, gasping and gurgling at the very end. And he’d felt pleasure.

Was it wrong? Would God be displeased?

No, he told himself. God’s people often were commanded to kill and afterward, celebrated. There was precedent. Even Skinner would have appreciated precedent.

He stood up to go to the computer when the flickering television caught his eye. He’d been watching it all day, off and on. Watching for mention of himself, gauging public response. He was ahead in the polls if the public demonstration at the courthouse had been any indication, he thought, then stilled when Zoe Richardson filled the screen.

He hated that woman. She was vile also, prancing around, portraying Kristen as an incompetent. He was glad Reagan had taken her videotape earlier this evening. If Reagan hadn’t, he would have done it himself. He sat down, grabbing for the remote and turned up the sound. Richardson was interviewing that murderer, Angelo Conti. „So what was your reaction when you learned of the ‘Humble Servant’?“ Richardson asked and Conti swaggered in place.

„I wasn’t too surprised,“ Conti replied.

Richardson tilted her platinum blonde head. „Why were you not surprised, Angelo?“

„The way she went after me, like she was crazy or something. I was innocent.“

„Actually, the jury was undecided, Angelo. ASA Mayhew could try you again.“

Angelo’s face flushed dark red. „Yeah, and she’ll lose again. She’s incompetent, you know? That’s why she hired this guy. She can’t win, so she takes the fight outside.“

Richardson looked taken aback. „Are you suggesting that ASA Mayhew somehow hired this vigilante to kill the people she was unable to convict? Like a hit man?“

His stomach roiled as Richardson’s accusation rolled from the television. „Wo,“ he whispered, his hand clenching the medallion around his neck. „It wasn’t like that.“

Angelo Conti shrugged. „Call it what you like. I’d just like to see somebody checking her financial records the way she’s checked mine.“

„An interesting perspective.“ Richardson turned back to the camera. „This is Zoe Richardson in Chicago.“

He switched off the television, trembling. He looked at the name on the paper he’d drawn from the fishbowl. It would have to wait. He had another target to eliminate first.

Friday, February 20,

10:30 p.m.

„Where’s Spinnelli?“ Jack grumbled. „I wanna open the box.“

Abe’s smile was wry. Jack sounded like a little kid on Christmas morning. „He’ll be here soon. You’ll have all day tomorrow to analyze what he’s left this time.“

Jack grunted. „Where’s Mia? I would have thought she’d want front-row tickets to this.“

„She had a date. I called her to tell her Kristen was all right, but when I called her a half hour later, her phone was turned off.“

Jack huffed. „Well, at least one of us will be smiling tomorrow.“

Kristen looked up from her seat at the end of the kitchen table. She’d changed into a sweat suit, but her hair was still fiercely pinned to her head and Abe fought the urge to release her curls, knowing it was likely the last semblance of control she possessed.

„Why should Mia be any happier than the rest of us?“ she asked. Then her eyes widened as she caught Jack’s meaning, and her face blushed a pretty pink. „Never mind.“

Jack grinned. „Sorry, Kristen.“ Then sobered. „You know there won’t be a hell of a lot to analyze tomorrow. He wasn’t even here, we know that.“

They did. The bastard must have seen the cameras because the surveillance tape showed only a young boy delivering the box. They had a good picture of the kid’s face and of the name of his high school on his letter jacket, so they could find him pretty easily.

Nevertheless, Jack’s team was currently dusting Kristen’s front porch for prints and combing every square inch of her front yard for anything that might have been left behind. A call to her neighbors revealed the box had been there when they got home from work at five o’clock, and beyond that, nobody had seen anybody.

Jack pointed at the box. „Let’s just open it, okay?“

Abe sighed. „Okay. Go for it.“

Jack had already covered Kristen’s kitchen table with white paper. „I don’t expect to find any prints on this box either, but you never know. Here goes.“ He sliced open the box and pulled out an envelope. And sat down hard in his chair. „Dear God.“

Kristen jumped to her feet, wincing. „What?“

Jack looked up, every ounce of color drained from his face. „It’s Trevor Skinner.“

„Oh, no.“ Kristen sank back down, her face white as the paper on the table. „I was afraid of this,“ she whispered. „He’s added defense attorneys to his target list“

Abe reached for the envelope in Jack’s trembling hand. He’d heard of the man by reputation only. A real piece of work. „Did you know him well?“