Mary Callas's trailer was, at one time, pink. Flamingo pink, Jim would guess. Now it was faded I-don't-give-a-shit salmon-ish. A tiny porch was missing half the handrail and the driveway was more weeds than gravel. The surrounding lot had not been mowed all season. Haphazardly placed along the mobile home skirting were crumbling plastic pots with the skeletal remains of long-dead flowers.

A lone red Ram Raider from the eighties sat covered in dust by the steps.

Agent Webb, looking particularly starched and official in this crumbled surrounding, put her hand on the hood. Jim wouldn't have bothered; thing looked like it hadn't moved in weeks given the weed growth around the tires.

"Haven't seen one of these in a while." She looked back. "Dated a guy who had a black one years ago."

Three steps and she was on the porch. Jim stayed on the ground. No room up there for the both of them. Not without being really close to her.

No bell.

Webb pounded. Jim figured she would shout an announcement, a proclamation the FBI was on the premises. Open up. But she waited. Silent.

"No appointment here, huh?"

She raised an eyebrow. "No. Someone told me it was best to catch them off guard."

His own words. But she'd obviously made this decision long before he'd made that statement at Heffelmire.

She knocked again.

Jim indicated he was going around back with a head tilt. From the side, he saw a second trailer several hundred feet behind the faded flamingo. No driveway led back that far. The thing was old. Rust stains dripped down the corners and window edges. Overgrown shrubs and trees had taken over to the point he was sure no one had lived in the place for the last decade. Windows were busted out. What was left of the porch was detached and leaning off into the bushes.

But after finding the ex-showgirl in the abandoned housing unit in Dallas, who knew? His thoughts were drawn back when a woman started singing. At least, he thought she might be singing. It also might have been a cat gargling razors. He eased to the back corner of the trailer.

Sure enough, it was a woman in her sixties, squeezed into a plastic lawn chair two sizes too small. Her double chin wriggled as she mouthed the words to a tune he didn't know. She tossed something to the ground and a flutter of crows swarmed to her feet. Bread crumbs? She didn't look to have the income to be buying bird seed.

Webb joined him. "I'll go first. Stay behind me." She loosened the strap on her holster. Ready to draw. Started walking confidently toward the mother. "Ms. Callas?" She walked on.

"You worried an old woman might be killing black birds with a machine gun or something?" Jim asked.

"Given what her daughter's done … " Which was laymen's speak for protocol. "Mary Callas?"

The woman lost her balance as she reeled back in the chair. Arms flailing to catch herself on a concrete step. Quick as a whip, she recovered and reached for something next to her. Jim was three steps behind Agent Webb. The mother swung a shotgun in his general direction.

Webb drew lightning quick.

Chalk one up for the Fed's protocol.

Jim held up his hands. "Whoa, Nelly."

"Who in the tarnation are you assholes?"

"I'm Special Agent Ava Webb, FBI." She said it calm. Collected. "Put the weapon down and I'll show you my ID."

"Ha!" she barked out. "Put your weapon down an' I might let you live long enough to get your first hemorrhoid."

Jim chuckled. "I think she's calling you a baby, Agent Webb."

"Shut up, Bean."

He poked his head around his female protector. Didn't like the idea of using the woman as a shield. And Momma didn't look too intent on shooting anything but the shit.

"Jim Bean. I ain't got no government ID. Private investigator from Vegas. You're not in any trouble, Ms. Callas. We just wanted to see if you could help us with something." He shrugged. "At least, you ain't in any trouble as long as you put that gun down."

She pointed the gun off toward the woods where there was no immediate danger of killing anything human. She looked at the old gun. "Just for robbers, snakes, and such." She pointed it at the ground, seemingly unconcerned that Special Agent Webb still had her sights dead set on the woman's center mass. And boy, was it a center mass.

Webb pulled out her billfold and flipped the badge out as she let the gun point straight up. But she didn't put it away. "Wondering if you can tell us anything about your daughter."

"Ain't got no daughter."

"Sophie Ryan Evers?"

"I said, I ain't got no young'uns."

"No kids?" Webb asked.

Momma Callas didn't answer. Sufficiently convinced she wasn't getting robbed, she put the gun on the ground next to her chair.

Webb kept hers out. "I have records that say you have three children."

"I popped out three spawn. Give them up, so's they not mine. Hear one's dead, the other two is off somewhere that's not here. They are not my daughters. Adoptions is supposed to be private. Seems everyone and their dog been out here about those girls."

"The youngest." Webb stepped closer. Jim followed.

"She's a piece of work, that one." The mother turned her head and spat between two crows that had resettled on the food scraps.

"You have seen her?"

"Suppose I has. Stupid girl came around here few years back." She shielded the sun from her eyes to look up at Jim. Sweat trailed down her face and neck. "Crying about being broke and mistreated by the folks that raised her. Looking for a handout, I reckon." She tossed some more of the scraps on the ground. Crows swarmed. "I look like the handout kind to you, Mr. PI?"

"You're feeding birds."

"I'm littering. The fucking birds is scavengers" She pried herself out of the chair with a great deal of effort. The distortion and near destruction of the plastic made Jim feel the need to go and assist, to prevent a fall, but she seemed the type to be offended by chivalry.

"Sophie?" Webb turned the conversation back to the papers. "So she wasn't working then?"

"Pfft. No good little whore. Couldn't hold no kind of job. Pathetic. Weak. Stupid. That's what I told her too." She shook her finger at Webb. "If she was gonna whore with her stepdaddy, or whatever the man was, she might as well go do it on the street. Make some cash. I wasn't gonna let her come here and use up my check." She shook her head, chin swinging. "Kids gotta make their own way. No one ever gave me a thing in life. Told her that much too. Stupid bitch just cried."

Webb flinched at the harshness. "She's your daughter."

"She's a fucking useless waste of air. Girl got no backbone and no sense. Just like the others. All she wanted was a handout. Little snot wouldn't never bring a thing into my place but trouble. And you being here is proof enough of that, now ain't it?"

Webb took in a deep breath. Her face got that determined look again. "You have any idea where she went from here?"

"Do you think I asked the girl her travel arrangements? That was years back, anyhows." Momma Callas was trying to get up the stairs and into the house. The crows were landing close to her feet, looking for their crumbs.

"She did manage to work her way into college, Ms. Callas." Webb wielded the information as if it were a weapon.

"Did she then?" She looked back from her open doorway. Jim was sure she would have to ooze through the door like the blob. "Should I be proud?" She curled up her nose and her top rotted teeth showed though the sneer. "And the FBI and some PI comes looking for college kids just to congratulate them?" She waved them off. "Whatever trouble that child is in is all on her shoulders. I ain't got nothing to do with it."

"I think you had lots to do with it. But nothing I can charge you with."

Mary Callas flipped the bird to the federal officer and slammed the door with a rickety clunk.

Agent Webb stomped through the weeds back to the car, grumbling under her breath the entire way.

Jim followed. "Can't pick your family, huh?"


Carla trotted happily around the splintered wooden picnic table. She'd pooped and peed and was now sniffing the signatures of a thousand other dogs who had ventured through this rest area.

Sophie took a drink of her vitaminwater. She'd go herself before they got back on the road. Carla was fine moving about in the big van, but the stiff upright driver's seat made Sophie's human back ache. She could take something, but she wanted her nerves calm and her head clear.

A phone in her pack rang. She opened the zipper. Three cheap prepaids lined the bottom of the pocket. Untraceable. Disposable. Then noise came from the project phone. The other two were her work phone and what she referred to at the time as the bat phone. Only a select few had the project line number. People who didn't care what her real name was. People rendering services. Something was happening.

"Yes."

"It's um … Cat." The little homeless girl Sophie left watching the house where the police held Danny sounded unsure she'd reached the right number. Killing the neighbor had been a momentary lapse. She should not have given into the ardor so easily. Cat had been her fallout plan. Using her own brilliant strategy, she'd acquired another dog and set Cat up with some new clothes, food, and a hotel a few blocks away. The poor girl hadn't had a good meal in days. So it was charity as well. To earn her gifts, all she had to do was walk by the house several times a day, blend in, look like she belonged, hang out on the corner like a teenager without enough supervision.

"I think something's going on. They like put an old lady in an ambulance thing and moved her. I followed as best I could."

"You lost them?" Sophie's grip on the phone was almost painful. Having to track them again would burn up time. Sophie was out of patience and the dead sister and dead neighbor really sped up the sand dripping through the hourglass.

"Kinda. Made it to another corner, several blocks away. Was weird cuz they was heading like, into the neighborhood, not out of it." She sniffed.

"You're not using with that cash are you, Catty?" If the little shit lost Dan …

"Naw. I never really use. Makes you vulnerable on the streets. It's allergies. My nose runs all the fucking time." She sucked in again. Sneezed. "Anyway, then a truck went by. Three guys were in it, all in the front. I thought it was the one from the house. I managed to follow that for a block or so. Then I just wandered around until I saw the ambulance again."

So they'd moved him, but not far. The old woman must be frail. "Nice work, Cat." Too bad she'd still have to die. Poor kid had saved her some legwork, but she was now a witness. "You think the cops noticed you were hanging around both places?"

"I don't think the same cop saw me at any two places. Stayed back, I tried being sneaky." Sniff. "Put a cap on and shit."

Didn't matter. Sophie was on her way. The anticipation, the excruciating waiting, had been eating away at her. She'd started biting her nails again. She needed to take extra vitamins next week. The stress was murder. That's why she'd only stayed two nights at the house. She was itching to go, get her Danny and get back home. In a matter of hours she'd roll back into Vegas.

"The address?"

"375 Harper."

"Thanks, Cat. You stay at the hotel a few more days. It's all covered. And I hid a bonus under the nightstand."

"Wow. Thanks, lady. Been nice eating regular like. I'm gonna hate hitting the streets again."

Sophie hung up.

The hotel would be a great place to stage the van until she could scope out the new house. Carla jumped up on the bench and curled up next to Sophie's leg. Her fur felt like satin under Sophie's fingers.

"You look tired. Ready to go nap in the car?"

Carla raised her head and gave Sophie that ridiculously cute head tilt, eyebrow lift thing.

"Okay. Let's go."

At the word go, Carla was up and pointed at the van. She stayed right by Sophie's side until Sophie herself got up and started moving.

"Good girl."

The phone rang again. Irritated, Sophie punched the green button. Nothing. Another ring. It was another phone. She pulled one of the other two out.

"The bat phone." Her heart fluttered. This phone was connected to her real self—or as close to a real self as Sophie could get. She'd set it up under the name she'd decided would be her hidden identity years ago. She wasn't sure what to expect. It had caller ID, but she didn't recognize the number. Texas.

"Hello."

"Hello your dammed self."

Sophie looked down at the electronic device with a dizzying mix of hate and curiosity.

"Well, you gonna say anything, stupid?"

"What do you want me to say?"

"'Hello, Mother' would be nice." Her voice dripped with the same malice that barraged Sophie with insults and disdain in her head. The voice was Sophie's own, but the content was all the venom that this woman could spit. Sad, seeing as they'd only spoken a few times in her life.

"Hello, Mother."

"I'm not your mother, you cunt."

Sophie spun around, as if she would find her birth mother sitting on the bench. If she had been, the bitch wouldn't have an ounce of blood left. Teeth clenched so tight her jaw popped at the hinges. Her temples throbbed as a blood-red haze clouded her vision.

Carla nosed Sophie's free hand. Her mother was bitching about something related to damaging her reputation. As if she had one worthy of protection.

"I really wish I had just gone to the clinic and been done with the three of you. Only the first of you has had the decency to die."

What the fuck was she so worried about this woman for? Nothing but a birth canal. She held no power over Sophie. No power.

"Maybe you should have. What do you want?"

"No trouble on account of you're in trouble."

"That makes no sense, birth canal."

"What?" She coughed again. "Whatever. Cops came looking for you."

Holy crap. They'd traced her that far. Good thing the plan was getting close to culmination. Outsmarting the cops was not a problem. She'd done it a hundred times before.

"And you told them what?"

"None of your damned business, you ungrateful shit." The birth canal started coughing again, but this was not from allergies like little Cat. That disgusting hack rang of heinous lung damage, sprawling cancer from years of chain smoking. The red eased away some more. Sophie may not have had the nerve to kill her, but fate would intervene on her part.

"Fuck off," she said.

"Oh, so you do have some backbone. Imagine that. Fancy education and little baby balls."

"What did you tell them? When were they there?"

Get the facts and get off the phone. Should have never left her a number in the first place. Ignorant, youthful hope. Had she really wanted to make a connection when the birth canal had been a bitch to her?

"A while ago. Took me forever to find that thing you wrote your number on."

Sophie remembered. She had to turn and pace back toward the table. "You mean the copy of my birth certificate?"

"Oh. Whatever. Can't read the small print no more. Been in the junk drawer. So how come the cops are looking for you?"

"But you kept it? How sweet."

"Don't go looking for a Hallmark from me, honey. Knew trouble would come from you someday. Only kept it so's I can tell you I don't want your shit to bring no trouble on me."

"Lose this number then."

"Lost." The line went numbly empty.


Jim's stomach felt like an abandoned well. Empty and dusty. He glanced around the area surrounding his hotel as they approached. Slim pickings. "Anything better around here than the Arby's?"

Agent Webb pulled to the curb. Didn't put the car in gear. "I'm heading to the Grove. It's a cop hangout. But it has a good beer menu and the burgers are as big as your ego."

"Good for you. Arby's for me unless you have a better idea. Is there somewhere around here?"

She gave him a weak smile. "I'm asking if you want to come."

"Oh." That was a genuine surprise. "With you? Sure you want to be seen with the likes of me, Agent Webb?"

"My reputation might survive this one time. And call me Ava."

She put the car back in gear. They drove in silence. She was playing with her bottom lip. The mindless action was hot. And now she was Ava. Like a real girl.

He looked out the side window. Ava Webb was the kind of woman he always figured he'd end up with. Strong. Independent. Only one thing … He'd lost his opportunity to be in the bureau back in college, so now the whole FBI thing was a deal breaker. He'd spent a good deal of time being angry at life and at women since then. And he drank too often because of it.

The betrayal, the bitch slap to his life's plans. It was the first thing he thought about in the morning and the last thing before slipping off to sleep. He'd gotten better, but he was still bitter. So it didn't matter what he wanted. Or what the guys thought he needed. Ava Webb would remain Agent Webb to him. No way he was going there. Not now. Probably not ever.

They slid into a booth. Several other men in uptight Fed suits were scattered around the bar. A couple off-duty cops as well. Irish joint, not a surprise.

"What is it about the Irish? Even down here in Texas, the cops hang with the Irish."

She smiled. "I've wondered about that too. All over the world, it seems the same everywhere. I have no idea why. Maybe the casual feel of Irish pubs?"

They ordered off a flip menu standing on the middle of the table. Burgers and beer.

"Maybe because the Irish are either cops or criminals themselves."

She chuckled. An uncomfortable silence took over. If it wasn't case related, what else could they talk about? Maybe dinner together had been a bad idea.

After a moment of silence, she said, "Tell me what happened in Ohio, exactly."

And there it was. Dinner had been a colossally bad idea. He had been looking at the cardboard coaster advertising a local brew. His gaze slowly went to hers. She didn't blink.

That information was his. His history. "Rather not. You read the file. Sure it's all in there."

"Couple lines. Basic facts. Reality is usually longer, and way more interesting than a blurb in a file."

"More interesting?" Oh god, was she right. But he was in no mood to go over the nightmare simply for her curiosity's sake. He was still reeling from his encounter with Sophie in Fort Worth. No way he wanted to churn through pain and anger from his past to add to the growing acid reflux of his present.

"Why do you have those facts anyway, Agent Webb? No reason for my history to be in the Evers file."

"We get as much information as possible before an interview. Can't imagine your technique is much different." Her brows rose, but she only hesitated for a moment. "You were almost in the academy when things went south, weren't you?" She twisted a napkin without looking away from him. Might as well be a knife in his gut. She looked into his eyes as if she knew his secret without his telling her or without that file to give her hints. No judgment there either.

He suddenly wished he'd picked Arby's. Sliced beef and curly fries didn't sucker punch you with questions about your past.

Thank whatever beer gods hover around Irish bars, her phone rang. She dropped her catlike stare to grab the call. His shoulders relaxed a bit. He didn't lean forward, but could hear a muffled male voice on the other end. Obviously Fee Bee business. Probably the partner in Vegas. All she said was yes or okay for five minutes. No hints for him. Thankfully, the beers came. Distraction number two.

Now that the irritating subject had changed, he was hoping to get something, anything that would help them get closer to Sophie. Time was passing by like a stock car. The maniac would be back to get Dan, and it would be ugly when she showed her face.

All day, Jim had been torn in different directions. On one hand, he wanted to leave the legwork to the Feds and get back to personally protect Dan and his mother. On the other, he didn't trust that Agent Webb would keep him in the loop if he wasn't by her side. Then there was the third hand: he wanted to be there. To be the one to strap Sophie's hands behind her back. Cuffs or tie-wraps, he didn't care which. She might not be left unmarked before her trip to the station either.

O was back in Vegas by now. He'd be watching Dan. No one better. And Miller and his team were on the job. Plus the Feds. No worries in Vegas, he told himself. Again.

She disconnected the call with only a stern, "Okay." She took a long drink.

"And?"

"The neighbor was drugged. Ketamine. ME says there was a mark on his shoulder that was made by one of those auto-injectors. You know, like an EpiPen?" She didn't wait for his answer. "Found the same mark on Cynthia Hodge when he went back and checked." She spun her glass between her fingers. "Makes sense. Sophie's a smallish woman, right?"

Jim nodded, remembering her straddling him, whispering in his ear. He bit his tongue. He hadn't been injected, that he remembered, but she'd had control of his drink when she was at the bar.

Webb kept talking, unaware of what was racing through his head. She never would be either. Now that two vics had come up drugged, there really was no benefit to Dan or the case to share his experience.

"Some ketamine would make the bigger guys much easier to manage, her kills cleaner. And the sexual assault of Max … I can only guess that was a power trip."

Jim's heart was pumping again. The feeling of loss and violation churning with anger forced the acid in his gut to climb toward his throat. "Why do you say that?"

She shrugged. "Fits the profile of a serial. Sex and killing get all tangled up in their minds. Rape is just as much of a power trip as slicing that throat, maybe more. For male perpetrators, rape is more about power. Maybe it's the same for her. Unlike the drug dealer killings, there's no financial gain. No theft, no drugs to take. No higher moral ground for her to cling to." She tucked an errant hair behind her ear. "I bet she's done it more than we know. Maybe that's what she used to placate the killing urge when she was holding down that job. If she did, it wouldn't have satisfied her lust for killing for long. Not enough violence. She was far too into the act of killing by then. But the fact she used ketamine for both the killings and the rape is telling."

Every time she said that word, his stomach pitched like he just ate a dozen raw chicken livers.

Webb hadn't noticed. She kept on with her theory. "If she's injecting strangers, she can't know their weight up-front. Right?"

Jim nodded. He should contribute to the conversation, but his mouth was dry, numb. His throat thick.

"Dosing is usually figured by weight, so the doses are not quite accurate. Bigger guys probably don't get as fucked up. Maybe remember a little more. Max was a big guy—240, would you say?"

Jim was very aware his own weight hovered around 230. Maybe more, not like he had scales in his place. He breathed in through his nose. Agent Webb was looking at him as if she expected him to speak. Had she asked a question?

"You okay, Bean?"

The burger was set in front of him. No. He wasn't okay. The burnt meat smell convinced him he wanted nothing to do with a medium-rare hamburger. He wanted to crawl under the table, straight into a deep hole. He wanted a shower. A long, hot shower. Did not like feeling so weak. Out of control.

"I think I might be a little jet lagged." It wasn't a good lie. He didn't care. "I think I need to head back to the hotel, get some sleep."

She didn't need keen special agent senses to see he was lying, and she was not going to let this go. "Jet lag?"

He nodded.

An overt sigh. Her expression was not anger, no. Disappointment maybe? Too bad. He had that effect on women more times than not.

She looked over toward the huge bar. "Hey, Jake." The bartender looked around. "Couple to-go boxes and the bill."

"No problem."

Jim guzzled down the beer much faster than he had intended. One beer wouldn't cure what ailed him. But scotch might.


Jim paced the length of his hotel room. Eight strides in depth, thirteen in length. He'd made that journey fifty-seven times. Not that he was counting.

His computer sat open on one of the two double beds, notes and pictures scattered around it. He'd hit a dead end. Everything stopped with Elizabeth Stanton. Nothing beyond that. She'd gotten another name, started over. He glanced at the copied images of the IDs Agent Webb had been able to get. He had to hand it to her, Sophie had found a fantastic source for IDs. They were perfect. To start over completely, new name, new social security number, new you—that shit wasn't cheap.

Jim Bean knew that, and not just from tracking lost kids and cheating husbands. More than once he'd considered starting clean himself. But he'd stopped short of doing it illegally. When he was accused of rape in college, he'd lost everything. His life, his friends, his shot at the FBI or the force. Not to mention the money of defending himself against that kind of lie. But he couldn't clean up a past that lived in his head. He'd moved, changed his name. It had been enough. No one was looking for him. No one cared where he'd gone to hide. He wasn't hiding like Sophie anyway.

He picked up a sheet that included the timeline of Sophie's name changes and location changes. That made trip fifty-eight across the room. Grabbed another slip of paper. Fifty-nine. He compared it to the timeline of known vics. Again.

Usually he or Ely could find the trail, the electronic signature of name changes, money moving, auto registrations, utility bills, something. But right here in Dallas four yeas ago, she left. Elizabeth Stanton fell off the face of the virtual world after she … attacked Max. And she'd set him up first. Why?

Jim had to be missing something. Maybe it was just a power trip for Sophie, but why a coworker? He'd consider that very close to shitting in her own kitchen. That one act had her scrambling out of town. Had to be something else there. He made a mental note to call Max tomorrow. Maybe the man had stumbled onto something that would incriminate Sophie. Maybe he didn't even know it. Or maybe she just lost control one night. Like in a bar in Texas. There was no reason to … assault Jim either. Except ego.

Jim sat on the paper-covered bed. There was nothing worse than failing. The idea of this trip was to find her before she had a chance to attack Dan. Not finding her meant sitting and waiting for her to come to Dan. Bug in a web, waiting on the spider to get hungry. That could take a while. She'd been planning and waiting seven years as it was. Waiting weeks, even months, would wear down his protection detail. Dan's mom couldn't take moving around to keep Sophie off their trail. And for that reason, fully going under witness protection wasn't a good option. Not without a hit to her health.

Jim paced back to the bathroom counter.

Thirteen steps back to the door. Sixtieth time.

His gut tightened. This time it was a bad feeling, not anger or misery over the crummy life that twisted his insides. This was about the case. About Dan. The clock on the wall ticked off a countdown.

Sophie had waited this long. Hiring him had to be to speed up the process. She was so close to her goal. Staying away must be torturing her. Nope. She wouldn't wait much longer. That meant Jim couldn't wait either. He needed to do two things right away.


"First flight to Vegas in the morning?"

There was some key chatter as the reservations agent put in his request. "Five a.m., Mr. Bean. Would you like me to assign you to that flight? There's two seats left."

"Yes." No sleep for him tonight.

She rattled of a confirmation number. He'd get the email with the details, he wasn't worried.

"You're set. Thank you for choosing—"

He disconnected before she finished. The cab hadn't showed yet. He'd called them first. Thirteen minutes. The clock ticked in his mind. He shouldn't have let O insist on returning the rental. Tricky way to stick Jim with Ava … Agent Webb. Should have known he'd go out on his own at some point even if Agent Webb wouldn't be happy.

He waited. It was after eleven. A few shots of scotch had cleared his brain and dampened his tormented emotions.

Lights swung across the drive, the cab rolled to a stop.

"Haskel and 2nd," Jim said.

"This time a night, gringo?" A Mexican driver looked concerned through the mirror and the glass divider. "Not a good place for a man like you."

A man like him? What kind of man was he? "There was a restaurant around there. Good food."

"Ah. Tres Hermanas?"

"Yeah."

"Still. Bad neighborhood. I can take you to good restaurant closer. Less chance you get shot."

"Have a crush on one of the waitresses." Jim shrugged. "Take me there."

"As you wish, señor." He shook his head with an it's your neck look and put the cab in drive and pulled off.

Jim stared out the window and watched the streetlights go by. In the beginning it was all about the money. What would a prostitute do to save money? All the way to south Dallas Jim struggled with his bad feeling. He texted Miller. Everything OK?

Other than Mrs. Hodge is kicking my ass in spades, yes. Anything new there?

Jim said "no" aloud. The cabbie looked back at him.

No.

Traffic was much better late at night than it had been in the afternoon. Cabbie said they were lucky not much was going on at the fairgrounds.

"I not stay here, señor."

Unlike the traffic, the area looked much worse at night. People hanging around. Drug deals going on. Girls in salty clothing on the corner.

"You be on duty for a while?"

The cabbie handed back a generic card with his number handwritten on it. "Be driving till the bar crowd goes home." He looked at the closed restaurant. "She might be gone. You sure you want to stay?"

"I'm okay." Jim checked for his slap-jack in his pocket. The weight of the small metal weapon was reassuring as he got out. The thing would break a jaw bone in an instant, but there were guys with guns out here. No doubt about it, he'd have to take care not to offend the natives. Just a guy looking for a girl.

Jim banged on the front door of Tres Hermanas. Nothing. He waited. Two young black guys walked by. They stared him down. He made eye contact but tried not to threaten their alpha standing in this neighborhood. He jerked his head back slightly. It's cool. Keep going, dude. The guys returned the gesture and walked on.

He banged again. This time Alejandra peeked around the closed sign. Once she recognized him, she opened the door. "What are you doing here this time of night?"

"Wanted another taco?"

"Liar. You still looking for Elizabeth."

"I am."

She put her hands on her hips. "I have been thinking about her since you left. But I can't imagine anything that might help you find her."

"I appreciate that, Alejandra. Do you know many of the girls working tonight?"

She looked down, then behind her. They were still alone. "After Elizabeth left, I did start to give them food sometimes. Like she did. Leftover things that are not going to last, you know. Here and there, I patch a few of them up after their man get too rough."

Jim smiled. Maybe Elizabeth Stanton did have one positive legacy. "You think there might be one of those girls who would be old enough to have been around seven years ago, when Elizabeth worked?"

"You know they don't last long on the streets."

"Think for me. That would be someone twenty-five to thirty. Maybe the one the rest of the girls are afraid of."

"There is one. Um … Jelissa. I bet she was around." Alejandra worried at the polish on her finger. "But you can't tell her I sent you. She's mean. Last I saw her was a couple months ago. Works a couple blocks west, I think. She has mean-ass boys too. You better be careful."

"Anyone who would put girls through this shit is mean. I'll watch myself though." Jim pulled a twenty out of his wallet and tucked it in her apron. "Thanks."

"You'd be surprised 'bout who is working for who with her. Good luck, mister."

She locked the door behind him.


Three blocks west looked more like a blown-out Middle Eastern war zone than a good place to pick up johns, but there was a four-lane street and an abandoned ball court. The hoops were rusted rings standing guard over a lost court. Three benches lined the far part of the tarmac with three girls lounging on one. They noticed him coming.

"We don't usually get white boys walking up around here."

The one who spoke was not a pretty girl. Skinny. The way her shirt hung off her shoulder showed deep hollows around her collarbone. Her teeth needed work. But her clothes were clean and her makeup was freshly painted on light black skin. She didn't smile or make any offers.

He must look too coppish tonight, even in jeans and a black T-shirt. The other two didn't bother to get up, just shot him skeptical looks and went back to an animated conversation.

"I'm looking for a girl."

"Aren't you all?"

He smiled. "I mean I'm a private investigator from Las Vegas. I'm looking for Jelissa."

She shrugged and looked back at the other girls, who'd stopped their conversation and were now paying attention. "Don't know no Jelissa."

Jim pulled a twenty out of his pocket. "She's not in trouble. I think she might be able to help me find a missing girl. That's all." He waggled the bill in front of his principal interviewee.

She glanced back. One of the girls shook her head and turned to face the four-lane. A couple cars went by. They didn't slow.

Jim pulled out one more twenty. "More than you get a trick, I would guess. All I need is a place."

She snatched the money. "You shouldn't flash bills around like that." She tucked them in her shorts. "Do you know where you are? Gonna get yourself knocked over."

Unfortunately, he did know where he was. "Surprised you care." He held out his hands. "Where can I find her?"

"You better not be making trouble."

"Scout's honor."

"No scouts round here. But I'll tell you. Other side of that warehouse." She tipped her hip to the right. No pointing. "There's a little yellow door. She stay in there. You don't tell her I said so, okay?"

Jim peeled off one more twenty. "Eat a sandwich."

She huffed and pushed up her tiny tits. "Some like it thin. You want a fat chick, Candy over there is your girl. But I can take care of whatever you need, white boy."

"I bet you can." He knew there was no need to give these girls any advice. No need to try and talk them off the street. If their man was watching, just talking too long could get them beat. He'd seen enough of that in Vegas.

"Thanks," he said loud enough for them all to hear. "You girls be safe." He walked back across the empty courts to the dark warehouse. "Why does it always have to be a dark warehouse?" he asked no one.

But it was true. If he were to buy and renovate all the empty warehouses he'd been through in the last two years, he'd be a freaking billionaire. He slowed as he made his way alongside the building. Two stories at least, gray metal siding. No windows facing the side street.

He looked around the corner. Several men were hanging out in front of a faded yellow door. All looked to be bangers.

He was alone, without transportation. He texted the cross streets to the number on the cab driver's card. Ready to go. And then he walked around the corner as if he belonged. He kept his head up, his stride loose and easy. One of the guys had gotten up and was already heading his way. The thug actually laughed when he realized what was walking his way. White man with no business on this block. He shook his head as Jim approached. Still smiling.

"Good evenin'," Jim said as the kid came alongside. Didn't keep eye contact, didn't avoid it.

"Might be." The kid kept walking. The kid's gait slowed, probably turned to check out the interloper. Jim didn't look back.

The other two thugs had already stopped whatever they had been up to by the time Jim reached them. One was sitting on a tattered folding chair. The other was on an overturned bucket. That one stood and faced Jim. He was very thick. And tall. So was Jim. His slap-jack was in his back pocket. Easy out if he needed it, but he prided himself on talking to people to get what he needed.

"Jelissa in there?"

Big boy took a step forward. "What the fuck you want with her?"

"Well, a visit, I suppose." What else would a guy be looking for her for? Not really good business for a pro to have bodyguards outside turning away potential buyers. Unless she was on a known-customers-only basis these days. Happened.

"She ain't seeing visitors. Go on outta here before I make you a stat, bitch." A threat. A stupid one, but the big guy stepped closer to show he was serious.

Jim supposed he should be afraid. The moose had his hand behind his back. But then again, so did Jim. If he carried a gun, Jim would have only a second to act. Reacting would be too late.

If this guy wanted trouble, he was sure hesitating. His body language was all wrong. He was still standing head on. Open to all attacks. The man glanced back at the guy in the chair.

Jim addressed him. "I want to talk to her. That's all. I'm a PI from Vegas. Just looking for a lost girl she might have known. Not a cop or anything."

He eyed Jim. Assessing. "No lost girls around here."

Jim huffed. "Nothing but lost girls around here." He stepped to his right, around the big boy to address the man with the power. Guys with power never got up until their muscle had failed. "This is ancient history in your world. Seven years ago."

"I said—"

"Who you want from that long ago, darling?"

They all jerked around. A beautiful woman stood in the yellow door. She was in a bright green wrap with African designs. Her makeup and nails were immaculate. She glowed compared to the dank and dirty of everything surrounding her.

Jim gave her a little bow of the head. "She went by Elizabeth." He pulled out the picture of Sophie and Dan. The big guy took it and handed it to Jelissa.

She held tight to the door frame. Her wrists looked thin. All of her looked thin, weak, though well-disguised in cosmetics. Not skinny like the girl on the bench. This was gray and hollow thin. Jim recognized cancer when he saw it. Yet she held a lit cigarette. Time must be running out for Jelissa.

"She got out."

Jelissa nodded. "She did."

She shooed the man from the folding chair. "You two go down the corner."

They balked, but she insisted. Her word obviously carried some weight. "Why you looking for her?"

"Her family's looking for her."

"That a lie, baby."

"So you knew her pretty well?"

She took a long toke. "You got one more chance and I call the boys back."

Hard ball. Sometimes the truth can be an ally. It was hard to tell when. But this time the choice was easy.

"You're right. It was a lie." He folded his hands in front of his jeans button. He would deliver the information as if it could be bad news for Jelissa. "She's wanted for killing about fourteen people. Some from this neighborhood back then. Now she's stalking a boy from her youth. We're trying to stop her from killing him."

"So you are a cop?"

"Nope. Just a guy who fucked up and needs to set something straight."

She eyed him carefully. "That is the truth. Probably in more ways than one."

He wasn't sure if he reeked of a fuck-up or if she had immaculate people skills. Perhaps both.

"He's not a pusher?" she asked.

"The guy she's after? No. Simple cowboy. She killed his sister too."

Jelissa looked down. Flicked her ashes to the dirty concrete at her feet. "I learned a great lesson from Eliza." She took out another cigarette and lit it, offered Jim one. He took it. She lit his too.

"Thanks."

She nodded. Cool. Collected, she was. "She told me how to take back what belonged to me."

Jim almost laughed. "Didn't go telling you to kill your pimps, did she?"

She gave a quick raise of the eyebrows but didn't answer. "Things have changed in this neighborhood over the years. I can now keep the really bad element out. The girls get a bigger take. It's safer. As safe as this life can be on a girl." She looked back at Jim. "Eliza told us how to do that."

Dang, crazy bitch did have a soft spot for the downtrodden. "And it looks like you've done a hell of a good job. Whatever she said to you was good advice. But she's off the chart now. Killing anyone in her way. Cut the throat of a guy in his backyard." He let that sink in. "Another couple young girls who were just out for a party. Now she wants this guy because he was nice to her when she was a kid."

"That don't sound like her."

"She's changed. Very delusional. She's switched identities several times." He turned to face her. "Jelissa, I'm not a cop. I'm just trying to get her trail. None of the work you've done here"—he made a circle with this finger to indicate the neighborhood—"is in jeopardy."

"You gonna kill her?"

"No." If I get the chance, hell yes.

"Killing people for no good reason ain't right. I done a lot of talking to kids and parents in this area to make that point. We are getting better." She stood and gingerly paced a few steps back toward the door. "But I don't know where she at. Haven't seen her in years."

"You made this place safer." Even if it was by killing off the worst of the bad element. But that wasn't his business. "Tell me this. Takes money to make these kinds of changes."

She looked away. Had she gone to the extremes Sophie had? She was trying to clean up her neighborhood, save some young girls, and he respected that. Small-time vigilante like Jelissa was okay with his moral code. Too bad Sophie had not taken the same road.

"She teach you to protect your cash?"

She shrugged.

"How did she teach you to hide the money? Can't leave it around here in boxes."

"In the bank, of course." She smiled. "In my momma's name. High-interest CDs."

And the woman still lived in this bleak neighborhood? Maybe she just worked down here now. "In your mother's name?"

"Yep." She took another hit and blew slow, dancing smoke rings. "Sure you ain't a cop?"

"Nope. No interest in what you've accomplished here, Jelissa. I just want to stop a guy from getting dead."

"Okay. It was mamma's name, only I switched that up too. Flipped the names around. Easy enough nowadays to use it without ever going to the bank. Use my iPad to do all the banking. Cash goes in the ATMs."

"Brilliant." He dropped his cigarette butt on the ground, stood, and stomped it out. "Thanks, ma'am."

"You want an escort out?"

Car lights turned off a side street. The cab. "No thanks, my ride is here."

He gave her a pantomimed tip of the hat and got in the cab.


Sophie sat in the van watching the new age diner. The lot was empty, and the only lights on were the safety lights above the back door.

She'd decided to snatch the waitress on the morning drive in. After talking to momma, Sophie realized that she'd left a very troublesome loose end dangling in the wind. She needed insurance. Bean had seemed rather taken with the little blonde during their initial meeting. It made her valuable.

Sophie waited in the beginnings of the new day, parked behind the diner, assuming the staff parked here as well. Between the drive and the waiting the hard van seat was killing her ass. Carla was restless.

"You need to pee?"

The pup whined. No way to tell her she had to hold it, was there?

"Oh all right, but you have to make it quick." A stretch of the legs wouldn't hurt. She got out and made sure Carla's leash was attached. She tucked an injector pen in her waistband. Always prepared, right?

Carla sniffed around the gravel lot as if there were gold to be found. Or bones. They must be the doggie equivalent of a rare metal. Given the mush and vegetarian fare that Bean had been eating in that diner … "Probably not a bone in sight, sweetie."

A tiny red Honda popped into the lot. Old enough Sophie figured it for an eighties model. Behind the wheel was the little blonde. "How fortunate." She'd supposed the cook would show up first, requiring a plan for getting the girl out back alone, but fate had helped her once again.

Carla barked.

"Why yes, little one, you may help me take our prisoner," she cooed to the dog.

Sophie nodded to the waitress as she got out of the car, and then let the leash drop. Carla, as if following mental instructions, ran to the girl.

"Carla!"

She meant it to sound panicked. Urgent. The girl spun back to them, saw the situation, and placed herself in the line of fire. Not that she needed to do much. Carla was heading right toward the girl. She abandoned her things, swept down, and caught the pup as Carla bounded up.

"I got her."

Sophie limped a little as she took a step toward the waitress. In response, the girl hurried to bring the dog over. People were cattle.

"I got her. I'll bring her to you."

She made her way right to Sophie and stopped within two feet of the van. Cow to the slaughter. Except this particular cow would have to wait for her appointment with the blade. Dead hostages aren't worth much.

"Thank you so much." She reached out to get Carla, but stumbled and quickly reached for the girl to steady herself. In the process, she smashed the injector into the girl's shoulder. The girl caught Sophie and prevented her from hitting the ground. Even though she didn't let Sophie falter, she did let out a little yelp at the pinch of her flesh.

"I'm so sorry." Sophie tucked the spent syringe away while acting as if she were trying to regain her balance. "My ring does that occasionally." She held out her hand to show the girl that there was a silver ring on her middle finger. It was designed as a butterfly with two stone encrusted wings with pointy ends.

"I'm constantly pinching myself … and everybody else. But my daughter gave it to me for Mother's Day and I can't bear to not wear it at least occasionally. Didn't break the skin or anything, did it?"

The girl rubbed the spot. "I don't think so. I'm fine. Don't worry about it."

Carla jumped up on the girl's leg. She reached down and rubbed the dog. Carla wallowed in the attention, rolling over, kicking happily as the girl scratched the pup's belly.

"She's such a cutie. What is she? A Yorkie?"

Shit. Sophie had no clue. That sounded as good as anything.

"Yes. A mix." That should cover it. "I recently adopted her and we've bonded so well. The rescue people said she was with a dreadful family before. I haven't had a friend like her in ages."

Carla came back to Sophie's voice. The friend part was true anyway. Sophie had no clue how the people before had treated the dog. They had left her tied up outside a coffee shop, so how good of doggie parents could they have been?

"I love her so much. But with my injured hip, I'm having a heck of a time traveling with her today."

The girl swayed, trying to hold her balance. Lost to the effect of the drug, she stumbled backward. She caught herself on the van.

Sophie had filled all the syringes on hand for a man-sized dose. This little blonde was short and thin. Shit must be hitting her pretty hard.

"Could you help me get her into her crate?"

"Sure." The girl touched her front teeth. Pulled her hand away and then looked at her fingers, wiggling them out in front of her face. Poor thing must be feeling a little numb. Sophie needed to hurry before she began to hallucinate.

"Great." Ignoring the girl's obvious altered state, Sophie limped the few feet to the back of the van. The waitress picked up her bag and her apron where it had landed in the short altercation when she got her injection. That would save Sophie a trip back to retrieve it. Someone else should be showing up soon. Prep had to be done in a kitchen before the day started, and light was now visible on the horizon.

Sophie waited by the back of the van. The girl wobbled as she took a few steps, shaking her head as if she could shake off the growing effects of the ketamine. Not a chance, girl. You're toast.

"Right in here." She thought of the witch in the fables who tempted children to her house with candy and then cooked them. Sophie didn't even need to include Carla in the charade anymore. The girl wouldn't know a dog from a dishwasher in less than a minute.

"I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Oh dear. Here … " Sophie opened the van door. She'd had the interior of the van custom built. For business travel, of course. One side of the cargo area was a deep plush bench covered in outdoor, cleanable carpet. It was wide enough for a nap and narrow enough for a seat. The wall behind it was cushioned with lots of matching pillows. "Have a seat. I'll get you some water."

The other side had a small mounted table for working and several built-in cubbyholes for storage of … things. Like knives and injectors, bandages and food—stuff she might need on the journey to bring Danny home. She was very happy with how it had turned out. Comfortable and practical.

She helped the girl in.

"Thanks," she said, not at all concerned that the van was decked out like a killer's lair.

Sophie reached to the cubby that held her knife. She unlatched the drawer and pulled it open. The metal shone up at her, begging. "What's your name, dead … I mean, dear?"

The girl's head smacked the back wall of the van a little harder than Sophie had intended when she tried to turn her attention to Sophie's voice. Her eyes were glassed over. She was almost gone. "What?" Her head drooped to the side.

"Your name?"

"Name. Name. Sa … Sandy." She tried to touch her face again. Her hand never made it past her chin. She missed completely. Her eyes rolled back.

Sophie closed the back door and locked it. Carefully, she latched Sandy's legs in the cuffs built into the base of the bench. They were in plain view. If not for the drugs, the girl would have surely seen them and questioned their reason for being.

Sophie smiled as she tucked the seat belt across the girl's torso and snapped her in. No argument. Sandy was smiling as Sophie tied her hands in place.

Her arms were hanging awkwardly, so Sophie fixed that. No need to make her uncomfortable. She would be a guest until Sophie got Danny safely to the house.

If Bean showed up in the meantime looking to thwart the master plan—and he might—Sophie had a card left to play. She couldn't resist tracing her fingers down the girl's young face. Her complexion was perfect, her skin tight, her lips full. Her life had been spent around people who loved her.

How do you know that? Stupid girl. Just kill her now.

"Hush. I need her."

You need to see her blood flow across the floor of this van. You need to christen the mobile retreat. You need to feel her pulse stop as the life leaves her perfect little body!

Sophie closed her eyes. She could very well visualize all that, looking at her pretty face, holding her graceful neck. So much lovely skin to slice. She fought back the images, tried not to let the urge take over.

Her heart pounded in her chest with anticipation. She did want to kill her now. She did want to feel the life flow out of that girl as Sophie held her, feeling her pulse, counting in time as the beats dwindled into nothing.

She shook her head. It was harder all the time. Not killing. But this girl was important to the plan. She bit into the inside of her cheek hard enough to tear flesh, her eyes watering from the stab of pain. She fell back.

"I'll need her later," she said to convince herself she was right. It was time to go.

She got up and made her way to the driver's seat, buckled herself in. She gripped the steering wheel with all her might. Carla followed and took her place in the passenger seat, all perky ears and bright eyes. No judgment from her.

Fighting the urge to kill was always a battle.


Style wise, the new safe house looked incredibly like the last one. From the first scan of the windows, it simply had one more room downstairs. Miller's car wasn't there yet.

Jim showed his ID and passed by the undercover at the door. Dan was standing in the kitchen in only pajama pants, which showed off a tattoo of a rearing stallion on his left side as he leaned on the counter. He held a small white mug close to his lips. One leg was crossed over the other, the top one wagging back and forth like an excited hound's tail. But he wasn't happy to see Jim like a loyal hound might be. His annoyance was clear to see.

"Please tell me you found something."

There was a bay window and a sliding glass door across the back wall of this living room/kitchen combo. Not safe. Who picked these places?

"Ready to spring this joint, huh?"

"You have no idea. This place has some extra room and all, but I want to get out. I'm used to big open spaces. I feel like I'm in a fish tank. Diner, gambling, titty bar. I don't care at this point."

Lynette rolled her chair into the room. "You mind that mouth, Danny." She looked up at Jim. "Well?"

She wanted info. He didn't have what she wanted.

"You catch my girl's killer?"

She was lucid today.

"Sorry, Mrs. Hodge. I didn't. Not yet."

Her articles were hung on the half wall between the eat-in kitchen and the living room.

"What good are you then? All you po-po hanging around here. What good are ya? Go out there and find her."

"Mom." Dan pushed her toward the kitchen table. "Sorry. Stephen's nephew was here for a couple of days. Having a kid around did her some good, but now she wants to talk like she's from the hood." He looked down at her. "It's irritating. But I'm glad to have her this engaged."

Jim handed her a book. He'd seen it as he paced the terminal last night waiting for his early flight.

"This Side of Paradise. More crappy F. Scott?"

"You might like this one better."

"Doubt it." Her lip curled up like a teenager facing cooked spinach. "His books are all about the same things. Men whose failures are the result of their own shortcomings and the influence of women with low moral standards." She scrutinized him. "Or is that why you like them, Mr. Bean? Hmmm?"

Dang, that was an arrow right on target. "Maybe I should give up the classics and stick to a good mystery?"

"Ah. No good," Miller interrupted as he joined them in the bright kitchen. "As a master investigator, wouldn't you always figure out who-done-it well before the end?"

Jim wouldn't count on that. "You're the detective."

They exchanged a vigorous hand shake, but his face was a bit pinched. "Oh. And, thanks for not pissing off Lady Fed."

Heavy sarcasm. Had he pissed Agent Webb off? "You're welcome?"

"She was in my ear first thing this morning. Cursing up a storm because you'd left without permission."

"Permission?" Jim shrugged. None of her business, really. "Not on her payroll. No reason for her to be upset. Told her I had jet lag."

"Then you went out to the fairgrounds."

Damn. "How did she know that? Did I have a tail? If her uptight agents go out to visit my informant … " He didn't want them bugging Jelissa or making any trouble after he'd promised.

"She's on her way here. Says she knows you know something. Threatening to charge you for interfering in a federal investigation."

Lynette cackled. "I knew you were trouble, Jimmy." She chewed on the edge of a placemat. Dan took it from her.

Jim checked his phone. "She didn't call me. Went over my head to you … oh wait. I don't work for you either." He glanced past the FBI agent quietly lurking in the hallway to Dan. "Except you. I work for you. But that's just a formality. This is my case too. And, yes. I got a lead on the money trail. But it's just a lead."

"She was sharing, Bean. You have to return the favor. You can't sneak out in the middle of the night."

"I did not sneak out. I took a morning flight. It's only ten a.m. now, for Christ's sake. I did share with her what we found on Sophie's birth mother. I shared that." He had planned to share this too, but it had been the middle of the night. He didn't think it was urgent enough to wake up Agent Webb. "I'm going to go home and then over to Ely's to follow this lead." Jim squatted next to Lynette's chair. "Look at me, beautiful."

She did, in her addle-minded honest way.

"I expect things to get a little crazy around here soon. I want you to listen to Dan and the po-po and do exactly as they say."

Miller's phone rang. "Gotta take this."

"Do you all have to treat me like a child?" She crossed her arms. "I'm no child."

"You are in danger, Lynette. Think of it as being treated like a VIP. If you were the first lady, you'd get the same handling. Hidden away at the first sign of trouble."

She seemed to consider. But her eyes were getting glazed. He touched her arm. It was frail and cool. "I mean it, woman. Follow orders."

"Fine. Get on outta here and scrounge me up some pomegranate marmalade."

He stood. "Yes, ma'am."

Miller's face said bad news. A detective really should have better poker face skills. He was still on the phone, but he covered the receiver and said, "I'll run you to Ely's. But we need to go now."

"Okay." Jim's curiosity bone was tickled. "Lynette, follow instructions. Okay?"

"Yes, my love." There was a warmth in her eyes for just an instant that made Jim feel like she meant it.

He smacked Dan on the shoulder. "If this lead pans out, we're golden. Once we have a money trail, it usually takes us right where we need to go. Just like the yellow brick road."

"Good. I want out of here. And I want to take care of Cynthia."

"I know you do."

Miller coughed and picked up what passed as Jim's overnight bag. "Really, Bean. We need to go." He gave a head fling as if no one would notice.

"Okay, Captain Subtle. Giddy up."

As soon as they pulled the door shut, Miller continued his phone conversation.

"Diner. Keys. Unlocked car in the lot. No one's seen Sandy." Miller kept talking but Jim couldn't wrap his head around the fact Miller was talking about Sandy.

"When?" They got in the car. Jim shoved his belt into the catch with difficulty. "Who the hell did this?"

Miller hung up. "Don't know for sure. They think she went missing this morning." He started the car and turned on lights and sirens when they were a couple blocks away from the safe house.

Jim's blood pressure was rising. "What do we know?"

"Her car's there. Manager is sure he saw her leave last night. Silver van was exiting the parking lot when the manager got there this a.m."

"Silver van? What kind of van?"

The cruiser blasted through red lights, the suspension tossing them like a small boat on high seas. Cars pulled to the side, some faster than others.

Miller laid on the horn to insist traffic yield to the mass and momentum of the Charger as it careened through Vegas back streets. Jim closed his eyes. Not in fear of Miller's driving ability. That he trusted. No. His mind was centered on one thing. Sophie Ryan Evers. If that woman hurt one little blond hair on Sandy's head …

"There is a good chance this isn't related." Miller said the words, but Jim knew better.

"Sophie knows we're getting closer. We visited her mother in Texas. Maybe her mother contacted her afterward." Maybe she was just a sadistic bitch and wanted to hurt Jim for not following her instructions and making her job harder. Maybe she wanted to use Sandy to keep him quiet about the rape or off her tail. He clenched his fists. Who knew with her?

"How much time did you spend with Evers?"

Jim didn't want to say exactly. "Just a couple client meetings, phone conversations."

They spun to a stop in front of the diner. Jim only took a momentary glance toward his place in the townhouse community across the way. Two uniforms were at the front of the diner and pointed them around. The back parking area was cordoned off with crime scene tape. Another uniform there. Miller logged them onto the crime scene. Two techs in white lab suits were dusting Sandy's car.

"You have anything?" Miller asked the tech who stood. He motioned them back a few steps.

"Several prints, no sign of forced entry. There's some disturbance in the gravel that appears to be a rushed departure. But gravel won't give us tread imprints. Her keys were on the far side of the car." He nodded in the direction as his hands were full of the powder and the brush. "And one small dog poo that looks fresh."

Jim carefully made his way over to the tire impressions. "You guys already shoot these?"

"Yep. Measured and photographed."

"Bigger than a minivan, wider. More like a panel van or a delivery truck."

The tech came and glanced over Jim's shoulder. He was a tall dude. "I thought the same thing. I'll be able to narrow it some, so maybe the manager can point it out from some pictures. Get us a little closer."

"Good."

The dog shit was marked with a plastic yellow evidence tent. Number 7. Poo number seven. "Is the shit part of the equation or just in the scene?"

Miller leaned in over it. "Hard to say. No sign of a dog at the last scene. I'll have someone reread the canvass statements. You never know."

"Can't imagine Sophie is the dog type."

"What the fuck type is she?"

Jim said the only thing that came to mind. "Snakes?"

Miller headed inside. Jim followed. They'd closed for the moment. The owner, Todd Haig, stood at the far end of the room, looking at his phone display. When he saw Jim, Todd brushed by Miller and grabbed Jim in a bear hug, the force almost taking them both back into the bar.

"I saw that van and didn't think anything of it. She's been coming in early last couple of weeks while Bobby's out with a bad back. Helping me get the prep work done." He let Jim go. "What do I do?"

"Do?" Jim ushered the tree-hugging vegan onto one of the counter stools. "You're going to relax. Take a deep breath." Jim went behind the counter and poured the man a glass of water.

Miller sat beside Todd. "What was the first thing you saw when you pulled in?"

"Her car. The van was pulling out before I got in the lot. I didn't have to wait for it to leave the driveway, but it was close. The burger joint around the corner gets deliveries back there all the time. I saw there was no logo on the van or anything but figured it was one of their vendors. Then I saw Sandy's car and I didn't think any more about it." He scratched his ear, then started thumping the inside of his palm. A tiny punishment. "The first sign anything was wrong was when I realized the kitchen door was still locked. She usually leaves it unlocked when she gets here. So I had to dig out a key. I looked back at her car. But it all seemed okay."

He stood and paced to the front door. "But it wasn't okay cuz she wasn't in here. I went back out and saw her keys out there. I knew. Called you guys." He looked at Miller.

Nothing really helpful. "You did everything right, Todd. Can you remember anything else about the van? Was it a man driving?"

"I think. Maybe. You think it was those human traffickers, Jim?"

"Doubtful, but anything's possible. The van, was it more like a delivery truck than a minivan?"

"Yes." He wagged a finger. "A good-sized one cuz it took up almost the whole driveway. Or the way she was driving made it seem that way."

He'd said she. Not he. But Jim wouldn't push it right this second, given he'd just answered that question. Give it time for the memory to start putting things together. He was calming a bit.

Miller had his pad out. "And you didn't see a plate?"

Todd shook his head. "I was coming in, he was going out."

Now he again. That was no help.

Miller handed Todd a card. "Call us if you think of anything. We'll have your business back to you in a little while."

It occurred to Jim that if Sophie had snatched Sandy from the lot without leaving a body to be found, that was a good thing. It gave them some time. But the bitch had some kind of nasty agenda. Whatever it was, Jim had no intention of letting her play it out.


Jim walked home from the diner after the last of the crime scene people had left. He was exhausted. A couple hours' restless sleep on the flight was all he'd had in two days. The heat and humidity of Texas had drained all his energy.

If Sophie took Sandy, the possibility of an imminent attack on Dan was high. And it was clearly a message to Jim. No other reason for Sophie to target a twenty-something waitress who had nothing to do with Dan or the case. Sophie had seen him and Sandy interact at the Coffee Girl the day of the initial case meeting.

No question about it. Miller could investigate however the book told him to; Jim only had one suspect. He fumbled in his bag for the key fob to his apartment door. The beep sounded as he deactivated the automatic door lock, but he heard no latch click open. Jim edged closer and noted the door was slightly ajar.

He pushed it open, using just his fingertips while he protected himself behind the wall, out of the line of fire. Nothing seemed out of order from that angle. He stuck his head in.

Annie rushed out. The little black ball of fur wound between his legs. Her attention nearly tripped him as he stepped inside. Ely had dropped off the cat. Jesus. Glad that was nothing, he went in without further concern. He glanced on the office desk. There was a note from Ely.

Thought you might like some company. Be back over as soon as I track down anything related to the mother's name.

Take a nap.

~Ely

There was nothing he could do to find Sophie without Ely's information. Maybe he should search himself? His legal databases paled to what Ely managed to find in most cases.

He sat in the recliner. Without invitation, Annie hopped up on his lap. His girl wanted some loving.

He leaned back, slouching in the deep chair so she could stretch out on his chest. Her purring and soft fur lulled him. The familiar leather seat, cool.

Jim woke to searing pain in his chest. He leapt to his feet and took a defensive stance, ready to swing or kick. The house was silent. He'd dozed off rubbing Annie.

He found two small punctures where she'd dug in her back nails as she'd jumped off. His phone was on the counter. From the angle of the sun casting weak shadows through closed blinds he guessed late evening. He needed a shower.

He checked for messages. None. Not from Miller or Ely. Jim made his way back to the office instead. He needed to get a pad of paper out and think through this situation. Write out what he knew. There was something lingering that he hadn't put in the right place. Something that would make Sophie's latest move make some sense.

Turned out there was not. There was no rhyme or reason to a psychopath like Sophie Evers.

He slid into the worn office chair and found his reading glasses under a pile of unfiled paperwork. He did need some help around the place. O had been on him about expanding, hiring some people, making his jack-leg operation into something respectable.

Sometimes he wanted that, other times he was happy being able to take on the cases he wanted and walk away from the ones that seemed like too much trouble or not enough money. He'd missed the mark on this one, hadn't he?

His phone rang. Unknown number.

"Jim Bean."

"PI Jim Bean?"

"Yes."

There was a nervous pause. "This is Max."

Interesting. "Hello, Max. What can I do for you?"

"I was thinking. You know, about what she's been up to."

"Yes." Jim waited, but Max didn't say anything. He needed prompting. "About the night she attacked you?"

"Yes and no." A light cough. Clearing of the throat, a classic sign of trying to summon courage. Saw it in kids all the time. Jim bet the man was looking at his feet too. Maybe he'd had a drink or two before dialing the number. Maybe dialed and not connected more than once. This should be good.

"I wasn't exactly truthful with you and Agent Webb."

"No?"

"Not sure it's relevant but, I umm … I had … spent time with Elizabeth prior to that night." He waited for Jim to say something.

Jim decided to withhold comment, hoping for more information. This time it came without the prompting.

"We had seen each other several times over several months, I reckon. The thing is, I had broken it off three days before. You see, my wife found out. She gave me an ultimatum. You know, her way or the highway kind of thing. She was right, you know. It was wrong. Well, Elizabeth took it bad."

"So the harassment accusation against you at work …"

"Revenge for me dumping her." He paused again. "I think the … attack was to prove a point. One of the last things I remember was her saying that I shouldn't have ignored her. I shouldn't have treated her just like the rest."

Still didn't explain why she'd done the same to Jim, but it explained why she would give up her steady job and safe home. She got mad and snapped and made a mess in her own bed. But it left Jim no closer to figuring out where she was now or what her immediate plans were.

"Anything else?"

"It's all still really fuzzy. More now than then. But I remember something weird."

Weirder than getting raped? Jim didn't say it aloud.

"She said I was just practice anyway. For real life."

"Real life?"

"Yeah. It didn't make a lick of sense then, not sure it does now."

"Everything adds together to make a puzzle complete, Max. Let me ask you this. She ever talk about a favorite vacation spot, or someplace she wanted to retire?"

"Not that I can think of. It wasn't a talking, sharing kind of relationship."

A real personal relationship was probably way far outside of Sophie's skill set. "You think she was practicing while having sex with you?"

"She was real awkward at it at first. Kind of mechanical. Not to brag or anything, but she'd gotten much better. She'd learned to relax, explore some as we went."

"Thanks for the call, Max."

"Yeah."

That did help make sense of things. She left Texas because she'd fucked up with Max. She had to start all over. Create another life somewhere else. She was practicing on how to be a girlfriend or a wife, planning to build a life for her and Dan all this time. Too bad he wasn't in on her delusion.

Jim was sure Dan would decline that particular invitation. And surely Sophie knew that too. Maybe she'd been practicing with the drugs as well. How to kill versus how much to keep a man just messed up enough so he was willing and happy. Great way to build a relationship.

He pulled out his laptop. There had to be at least one more alias she was using. Jim had to find it. He logged into his database.

Mary Callas. Texas

Two came up. One, the mother. The other too old and in jail.

He tried a national search. Thirteen.

He searched through those not in Texas. No one close enough to Sophie's age or ethnicity.

Callas Mary, backwards as Jelissa suggested. None. He searched nationally. Zero.

He grabbed his phone. Had a hunch. It was a long shot, and she was probably still mad.

"Special Agent Webb."

"Agent Webb. Heard you were looking for me."

"Hold on." Her muffled voice came through the speaker like she was finishing another conversation. Maybe she hadn't headed this way. Sounded like she was in an office.

"Mr. Bean. You left town without so much as a goodbye. And after I bought you dinner."

"One that gave me food poisoning."

"You didn't take one bite."

"I needed a night in my own bed."

"Uh huh."

No more excuses. "I have a lead. I talked to an old pro out there in Dallas. Evidently our Sophie was quite the philanthropist to the streetwalkers. Taught them how she moved up in the world. How to make their lives better."

He heard her let out a long breath. "So there's more than one pimp killer?"

"Can't say for sure. By the way, I hope the very nice woman I met while in Texas continues to live a happy, federal agent–free life."

"I didn't send in the dogs, Bean. How does this help us?"

"Miss Jelissa also said Sophie gave her advice on how to hide her money in the bank. She told her to use her mother's name. I've searched but don't see anyone using an alias that fits our profile."

"Callas. Callas. Mom was Mary Callas, right? Damn. Elizabeth Stanton was a famous activist."

Jim leaned back, hoping the wheels in her pretty little brain were churning. He wished he could see her face. "Yeah."

"You have your computer in front of you?"

"I do."

"Look up Maria Callas instead of Mary. I can't remember, but that seems familiar. I bet it's someone famous too."

"You're really on it when it comes to women's history." Jim typed in the name.

"Yeah. Just don't ask me for anything about European history. Took the women's study class to get out of that."

Jim scanned the screen quickly. "Maria Callas was a famous opera singer. Looks like this chick had a rough time of growing up. Managed to come out a star on the other side." He typed in the name in his database. Twenty-two. Skimmed the basic info on the list. "Two of these have no previous address or known associates."

"Where are they?"

"One is in Washington, D.C. The other is California." He hit the expand search key on that entry. "Not much on this one. Address is a PO box in Bakersfield."

"I used to go skiing not far from Bakersfield with my grandfather. It's pretty secluded, not far out of town. Not surprised to see the PO box. If she's set up with an address, it might be more than a disposable identity."

"Great skiing." Jim had no clue about skiing or the area, but said it anyway.

"Oh, you've been?"

"I have not."

He enjoyed the silence created as she decided how to interpret the obscure statement. "Okay."

"I bet all those secluded cabins make it a great place to play a creepy game of house."

"Hang on. I'll be there in two minutes, we'll finish this in person."

Jim stood. Glanced around his house. He hadn't been there in days and the mess reflected that. He was still covered in the filth of Texas and traveling. "Where are you?" Why did he care?

"At the diner. I had my guys go back through the crime scene, just in case."

"You're checking up on Miller's investigation?"

He could tell she was moving around.

"Most locals like having Federal resources these days, Bean. It's no longer the Wild West out here. Any turf wars we get are due to ego, not politics. We have big labs and big budgets."

"I guess." He didn't care one way or another if it helped find Sandy. "That girl is my first priority now, Agent Webb." Dan was protected—two officers and Stephen were with him. "Sandy is out there. Alone with a lunatic."

"Understood. But let's do this within the boundaries of the law, Bean, so when we get Evers, we've got her."

Jim didn't immediately answer. Maybe that's why he never moved his business into the next level. The bigger the organization, the harder it was to play by his own rules. He liked his rules.

"I'm leaving the diner."

"Give me ten minutes." He wanted to clean up.

"Be there in five."


An hour past sunset and it was still hotter than snot, but at least there was a decent little breeze. Perfect for her intentions this evening.

Sophie pulled the pack of matches from her homemade attack suit. It looked like a SWAT team Halloween costume with its black cargo pants and a long-sleeved black shirt with vented underarms to keep her cool. Or at least as cool as one could be in Nevada in August.

She'd bought a tactical vest on eBay and altered it so it fit like a second skin. The pockets and straps held all the tools she would need for this mission. As if there would be another one like this. This was the night.

Butterflies danced in her stomach as she struck a match. The thing cost her less than a penny and it would kick off the rest of her life. She fanned the little flames of her diversion, a paper grocery bag packed with dried twigs, leaves, and some thicker sticks she'd brought from the mountains. In seconds she had a nice little flame burning under a propane tank. These silly people had left that tank a little too close to the house. Accidents happen.

She backed off, heart pounding as she made her way through two backyards and settled behind a covered boat to wait for the fireworks. Her watch read 9:01.

She cleaned under her nails. Missed a bit of blood from the business with the homeless girl, Cat. She bit her lip and counted back. Number fifteen.

Her whole body shuddered with a tingle of pleasure as she remembered the rush of that struggle. That little thing fought harder than most of the men Sophie had X'ed out.

Seemed the drifter was far cleverer than Sophie had given her credit for. It was an actual fight. There'd been no drugs for her. She had to subdue the girl with a chokehold and split open her midsection instead of her throat. Messy. Very messy. The hotel room would never be the same. Oh well. She only needed it for a few more hours.

Sophie wiggled her toes inside the combat boots. They were a half size too big. Stupid tank should have blown by now. She stood and peeked over the back of the boat. The distant streetlight helped her make out a thin trail of smoke as it danced up the side of the house. No one would be alarmed by it. That house was empty. Neighbors on the far side were out as well. Everything was going her way. It wouldn't be long.

She sucked in a deep breath as she sat cross-legged and closed her eyes, visualizing a perfect future with Danny. The mountain house was amazing. They would enjoy peaceful, sunset dinners on the deck overlooking the valley, chilled wine, and the scent of the little blue flowers out by the lake. The positive visualization made her smile.

The PI will be coming for you, stupid. You had to go and hire him.

"Shut up. That's under control," she whispered through clenched teeth.

What if he doesn't care about that waitress?

"He'll still try and save her. Him and the police."

Your plan has holes in it.

"All plans have holes in them. Ever watched a movie? Of course you have. I suppose you've seen every movie I've ever seen."

You will fail. Just like you have always failed.

Sophie opened her eyes. She had to eliminate that chattering. She wanted to be free of that voice forever. She should stop engaging, ignore it.

How stupid can you be? I am part of you. I know you, your thoughts, and I know your failures … all of them. So many of them.

Sophie closed her eyes again and imagined making a toast with Danny while laughing over some overly decadent dessert. He loved plums, so it would be something plum.

The voice started laughing.

Louder.

And louder.


Jim made it through the shower in record time. He was pulling on his pants when the bell rang. His front door. No one used the front door. This time he would have a shirt on. He had a couple clean black T-shirts left in his drawer. That was about all. Not that he cared.

She knocked again as he got to the bottom of the stairs.

"You impatient"—he opened the door—"Agent Webb?"

"As a matter of fact, I am." She pushed by him, scanning the surroundings. Her training was probably better than his. She'd have found the back hall, assumed it lead to another entrance.

"I've been out of town a lot." He was not sure why he felt the need to justify a bachelor's state of living.

She turned by the kitchen counter. "I'm aware."

Annie rushed onto the counter to investigate the new arrival. Webb bent down and let her smell her face. Annie approved and gave a fine flick of her tail.

"That's Annie."

"After Annie Hall or little orphan?"

Jim huffed. "Oakley. Annie Oakley. She was a tough little kitten. You think I'd name a cat after a character in a play?"

She shrugged. "You knew it was a play. And you have a pretty, long-haired, female cat. Not exactly fitting the macho image of a rugged PI."

"Of course I knew it was a play. I went to school." He decided to ignore the blow to his image. "Everyone had to sit through at least one mind-numbing middle school performance of that god-awful thing."

She laughed. Her face lit up. It made him glad she was here. Hated that. He needed to get back to business. With a hand motion he offered her a seat at his kitchen table. She took it.

"Beer?"

"Haven't eaten, better not." She pulled out her note pad.

"Water?"

"So I called into the office and asked for everything they could find on Maria Callas. We should get a call soon."

After putting a warm bottle of water in front of her, he sat across from her and showed her what he'd found. Not much. But he had been able to generate the fake social security number she'd been using as Maria.

"They probably already have it, but … " She texted the number to someone.

"So what all can you search that I can't?" He wasn't sure what data they could really get these days, post 9/11.

"Stuff. Taxes, banking."

"Can you find her phone number? Maybe trace it from her mother's phone? Assuming her mother called her after we visited."

She shook her head. "TV FBI can do that. I need a warrant or at least a subpoena."

Ely could track the phone number if they had it. Of course, that was supposed to be by consent too. But Jim was fortunate to have the freedom of not worrying about playing by the rules and not having to deal with the government restraints.

"We need this all above board, Bean. We have to be able to produce evidence that stands up in court."

He knew that. "It amazes me that she's killed at least ten people and we still need to build a strong case."

"She's been clean, given how messy the crime scenes are. It's like she's great with the crime itself, but then turns around and makes horrible decisions about how to go about daily life. She doesn't really fit a serial killer profile. She just kills when and where she wants. I think it's usually associated with the end goal of becoming a better woman for Dan, but not always. Either way, she's gonna implode when Dan doesn't live up to her expectations. Hell, I don't think she can live up to her own expectations, not sure how she expects a kidnapped man to do so."

Jim's phone chirped. It was Miller's ringtone. He grabbed it off the counter. "Talk to me."

"Fire across the street from the safe house." Miller sounded out of breath.

Webb's phone rang.

"Fire at the safe house," Jim said to her. Back in to the phone. "We'll be right there."


The little fire finally generated enough heat for the tank to exceed its tolerance levels. The liquid of the propane turned to vapor faster than the release valve could handle it. The explosion was louder than she'd expected. The wave from the blast reached her even behind the boat. It blew the hair from her shoulders and made her scream just a little. The sensation thrilled her to her toes.

As people started moving toward the house and the fire, she crept around to the other side of the cul-de-sac. The officer from the front porch of the safe house was in the driveway of the burning garage. Something else exploded. She almost squealed in delight to have the help. Joy. It was elusive in her world, but she felt it as the house burned.

She reached the next-door neighbor's yard. They were outside too, in their driveway, keeping their child close. No one was looking her way as she skirted through the backyard. Someone else came out of the house as well. A big black man she'd not seen before. He ran toward the burning house. Must have medical or fire experience. No one else ran towards danger. They were banging on the doors, yelling, looking for signs of any possible occupants. By her best judgment, that would leave Dan and possibly one other cop in the house. It was time.

She jumped the short fence, her mind racing and her heart pounding. How would he take seeing her? It would be a shock. She had to remind herself that he would need time. She'd read plenty on Stockholm syndrome. She had all the time in the world to stick to the plan.

She emptied a potted plant from the back porch as she passed and made her way to the small bathroom window on the far side of the house. It was cracked open a bit. In her narrow experience, men like some air while they make a major bathroom transaction. They certainly don't want to leave the noxious aftermath of a big dump for others in an impersonal environment.

She jimmied the screen off and pushed the sash open as far as she could with her feet on the ground. The sill was too high for her reach to get it all the way open. But she would manage. She set the planter upside down under the window and was then able to work it up a few more inches. It was just enough.

She knocked a candle off the back of the toilet as she climbed over. She stood stock still and waited, listening. Only distant clamor from the fire. No noise from inside the house but the yelling from the excitement across the street grew by decibels as she opened the bathroom door.

She peeked into the hall. The kitchen and part of the living room looked abandoned.

Even though she preferred a knife fight, she gripped her blade in her left hand and pulled out the gun she'd bought last year. She took lessons for that as well. A little time and a good instructor and a girl could become proficient in about anything these days. Instructor said she was a natural.

She eased around the corner. As expected, all the occupants were looking out the front window, including the old woman in that same rolling office chair she'd used to wheel herself around the rest home. It was odd, but this was Danny's mother. She'd always been independent, strong-willed. Sophie had liked her for that even though it sometimes felt intimidating to a girl with few opportunities to express such qualities in her own world.

No way was she good enough to outshoot a cop, but she was smart enough to take one by surprise. She had a plan for that too.

She pulled one of the smoke bombs she'd bought off the paintball supply website. The things produced a huge amount of smoke in about twenty seconds. She pulled the pin and left it just inside the living room entry, backing away.

First to the hall was the female cop. Sophie tripped her as she ran past the hallway opening. The cop fell to her knees, losing her advantage. Sophie knocked her in the head with the gun handle and then used her blade to slice her tight throat. Sophie caught her slumping, jerky body.

Using the wall for support, Sophie eased the convulsing officer to the ground. Blood bloomed from the neck wound. She sucked in, inhaling the steely fragrance as the stain swelled and made its way down the woman's chest. The pathetic woman struggled to reacquire her dropped weapon, but her heart had slowed so much she had no ability to complete the intended movement. Blood was exiting her brain too fast.

Number sixteen.

She stood when she heard the heft of the front door slam into the wall. Danny came through, shouting about the fire department. He stopped suddenly. Looked at the body through the smoke and then up to Sophie as she loomed over her kill.

"Holy mother fuck, Sophie." He didn't look particularly happy.

That was expected and, frankly, part of the plan. Surprise always worked in her favor. She drew and pointed the gun at him. "Come with me."

"You really are insane."

"From you, that hurts, Danny. You'll understand. It's time to go home."

He turned and tried to back away, but the move did little more than back him against the kitchen counter. He was trapped.

She needed to be quick. The old woman rolled her chair into the area. Sophie pointed the gun at his mother.

"What do you expect to happen here?"

Sophie held up her free hand to calm him. "You'll understand everything soon." She pulled the auto injector from its pocket on her nifty vest and stepped toward him. "Turn around."

He didn't.

"I will shoot her."

As he turned, believing her words, he kept his head facing his mother as long as his strained muscles would allow. Sophie hit him with the big dose as soon as he was facing away. She got him right at the base of the neck under his ear. Her aim was good and she was sure she hit the carotid.

"I'm not going to do whatever it is you want me to do, Soph."

He said it the way he'd used to, back in Texas when she was a kid. Hearing him say it took her off guard. Made her weak in the knees. Her stomach fluttered. There had to be a chance for them.

"Let's go, Danny. It's time."

"I'm not going."

"What is this mess all about?" His mother was looking at the dead cop.

Danny eased in front of her. "Nothing, Mom. Go read your articles."

"Is there a fire here too, Danny?" She pushed herself off to the side, her chair rolling where she directed it with her dangling feet. "Something's wrong with Miss Edwards, Danny." She rolled right up to the cop, her wheels making tracks in the fresh blood. "We should do something."

"You do as Danny says." Sophie motioned with the gun toward the back of the house. "We're all going that way anyway. Move, Danny."

"Don't hurt her. She's so out of it today, she won't even know you were ever here."

Having his mom there to manipulate him with made things a little easier. It was all working out much better than she'd expected.

"I have no intention of doing that. If you come with me, you and I will be on our way and she'll be fine."

"Promise?" He pushed his mother toward the living room, the chair leaving an interesting pattern of blood behind. The cops would love that.

"Do you? Promise? You'll come with me?"

He nodded. His eyes were starting to glaze a bit. She needed to get him moving before he was too out of it to handle.

"I'd like some tea. Where's Stephen?" She looked toward the stairs "Stephen, we have company. Come make us some green tea!"

"Hush." Sophie still had the gun pointed at Danny, who shook his head. "Back up to me. Hands behind your back, but close together."

He stood there.

"Don't make me do something you won't be able to recover from." She let the gun's business end sway slightly toward his mother.

Man, that made him mad. He glared daggers her way. While he was making his mind up, her internal clock was thumping hard. She pushed the pistol close to the momma's head.

His face softened in resignation, marking the moment he understood it was best to follow her instructions. They needed to move fast. Back in the hotel room, she'd started a big loop in a tie wrap and attached it to her vest with a little duct tape. Now it easily yanked off when she needed it. She slipped it over his clasped hands and drew it in. When it was close to snug, she tucked the gun under her arm and used both hands to quickly yank it tight.

"Let's go." She pointed to the sliding glass door.

He lifted the safety bar with his foot and opened the glass. She followed. He stumbled a bit taking his step over the threshold.

Before she made her first step into the night, something slammed into the back of her legs. The impact was a hard blow to the back of the knees, like she was taken down in judo class. Her toes went tingly and she felt herself fall backward and over his mother's lap. Sophie landed uncomfortably and twisted onto the floor.

Dan turned. He tried to do something, but his bound hands and altered state made it impossible to do much more than fall on his knees.

Blows rained down on her head. Sharp, spiky pain lambasted her as she tried to stop the old woman. Four more good blows with the wood spoon landed on her head. Her temple smarted, but adrenaline was pumping. She didn't want to kill the woman after she'd promised Danny. He was doing what he said, even if it was because he was tied and drugged.

"Stop." Sophie tried to get up, but the crazy woman swatted her straight across the cheek. It stung like hell.

"Enough." Sophie grabbed another of the injector pens from a vest pocket and pressed it into the bony leg by her head. The old woman howled.

"Mom!" Danny got up.

Sophie met him and shoved him toward the backyard. The fire truck was getting close. The last of the sand had slipped through the hour glass.

"Go. Go." She pushed him.

"My mom …"

"It's just tranquilizer, she'll be fine. I didn't shoot her."

"Bitch!"

It was slurred. She forgave him for saying it at the moment. All he needed was time. Right now, this was traumatic, painful. For them both, really. Like a new life coming into the world. It was the birth of their new life. Nonetheless, they needed to hurry. Everything would be fine in time.

She looked back as the other cop rounded the corner of the kitchen. He was wide-eyed and sweating. Young.

She pushed Danny down and raised her gun. He had drawn his, but it was by his side. He seemed somewhat confused, looking over the scene, which made him a little slow to find his target. Stupid cop. Sophie was not slow. She inhaled and took an instant to aim and squeezed that trigger as she exhaled.

Bang.

She'd aimed for the chest, but managed to hit him square in the face.

Number seventeen.

The old woman lay in the doorway behind the faceless man. With any luck she would die. A dizzying wave of nostalgia threatened to ruin her plan.

Dan grunted. He was losing it. She pulled him from the ground and ushered him on. He was almost too groggy to make it on his own. His anxiety had expedited the onset of the drugs. She pulled him past one more house and then she caught sight of the van down the block. Her heart was thundering and her body pumping with adrenaline. She gave a look back to see if anyone was following.

She'd done it.