Sophie drove past the cluster of barns and parked in a little-used driveway to a ranch up the rocky hill from Ruby's Horse Adventures. The overgrown grass might be a result of neglect, but it looked more like abandonment to her.

She lifted the hood on Cynthia's car just in case someone came up the long drive. More than likely it wouldn't be a problem, but she didn't want to explain herself if someone stopped and questioned her.

Through her binoculars, she found Jim's car in the middle of the lot. Just about where the GPS locator she'd attached under his bumper told her it had stopped. After Bean got so upset in Texas, his forthcomingness with information was in doubt. So this was the easiest way to keep in the loop with instant updates. Follow him. So when she'd called last night, she wasn't far behind him.

The idea of tracking the tracker gave her a little thrill. She stretched her neck to the side. The audible pops told her it was time to relax. Bean was checking out a horseback riding business in Utah. It was a perfect place to find her Danny. She'd called around and asked at a bunch of them in Texas years ago when Danny first got lost. She'd had no luck. She would have never guessed Utah. Bean had been a good investment.

Sophie took a drink and patted her side, making sure her blade was in its place. In the event Bean called and confirmed Danny was there … She shivered. Always be prepared.

You learned the hard way, didn't you?

She shook her head. "That was a long time ago." When she was experimenting with the tranquilizer in the auto injectors, she didn't think she might need more than one per outing. After stalking a woman for hours through the garish bars in Dallas, Sophie broke the needle in her skinny neck before the shit could be injected. She'd had to fight the bitch before she could kill her. It'd been much more physical than Sophie would have liked. Number Nine.

Too much contact with her germ-laden skin. Excessive physcial contact could lead to DNA transfer to your victim as she pathetically tries to scratch her way free.

Sophie took pride in her strength. Working out five days a week ensured she could hold her own enough to get the job done, but the fight-or-flight response could make even a drunk socialite stronger than one would imagine.

You've made a few mistakes.

"Back then," she snapped at the voice in her head. Always critical, derogatory. But she was better now. She'd gotten exceedingly good at getting better. Of using her brains and her brawn to move ahead. She rubbed the back of her neck. She was sweating. Heart pounding. "Now I'm smarter."

Stealth, perfect. Danny would be so impressed with what she'd done to create a place where they could live happily.

She swept the binoculars around to the opening of the barn and all the activity of the unloading bus. She saw no sign of Bean or Danny. Something moved to the side of the barn. She'd found her PI. He was watching around the corner. The barn blocked her view of what he was looking at. Jim started back toward his car at a good pace but stopped short when Danny and another man approached him.

She gripped the plastic of the binoculars. Driving hard all night had not done her nerves any favors. "No! Dumbass. What part of don't talk to him didn't you get? Do what you're being paid for!"

Danny approached Bean. Her clenched jaw was so tight her grinding teeth echoed in the still air.

She closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, used her inner strength to calm. Breathe in through the nose, out through the mouth her yogi would chant during class. It kept her calm and she desperately needed that now. Rushing down there to throttle that PI, no matter how much pleasure that would bring, would do no good. She focused on the ultimate goal. Danny in her sights.

In through the nose. Out through the mouth. A moment of joy and excitement was well deserved. A scant celebration even, if only internal. There had been so much preparation, buildup, this was not the climax she'd hoped for. She'd wanted to come into his life by rushing into his arms. Bean had ruined that fantasy moment forever.

Anger is not your friend. Control is your friend. Anticipation had been growing, consuming her for the last year. And there he stood, as beautiful as he'd been ten years ago at twenty-three, still fit and looking good in those jeans and boots. He smiled for just an instant. A giddy rush of excitement washed though her. Soon they would be bound together. As it was meant to be.

Only Bean needed to walk the fuck away. She pressed the glass hard to her face and watched, not caring if there would be a round impression in her skin. The conversation looked light. Maybe it was just small talk. Why hadn't she taken a lip-reading class? She'd taken about everything else under the sun over the last seven years. An extended conversation between these two would ruin everything. It wouldn't take Bean long to figure out her story was a lie. Danny wasn't a junkie.

I told you that backstory would be a risk.

"Shut up. I know. But I needed a good excuse for the cops being left out of the search for a missing person." She shook her head and kicked a little rock at the stupid car.

Should have told him Danny was a thief.

"But then he may have insisted on police involvement. Or decided not to be involved in finding him without having him arrested after."

She marched about three feet and spun around. Hopefully Bean was just chatting, getting her precious information on her "brother." The asshole loser needed her cash. With any luck he wouldn't give two shits about the why of finding anyone. She looked through the binocs again.

Not really his business at all, is it?

"PIs would go broke if they only took cases that found out good things about good people."

They moved, and she found them in time to see them entering a cottage.

No telling what Bean's thoughts were until he let her know.

An hour later, they hadn't come out.

"Fuck." Sophie slammed the hood down.

There's always a plan B.

"Too soon for that."


Detective Miller was on the phone, running down what his guys intended to do, but Jim was distracted as Dan slammed a pair of boots into an old duffle bag. The thing was covered in rodeo patches and torn in two places.

Dan was making a living here, but it was simple. Cheap. Jim couldn't help but think of Dan as a boy who needed help, running from a past that was not in his control. Living on an as-needed basis. Using what was left of his skills as a rodeo star to be a ranch hand at a cheesy tourist trap. Spooky similar to Jim's running to Vegas and using what was left of his life to start his investigative agency.

Dan's face was beet red. The color spread to his neck. "I have to get to Cynthia. If Sophie … " Dan mumbled as his panic peaked.

Jim finished up his conversation with Miller. The guy was a good cop with the Las Vegas Police Department. The police worked with PIs most of the time, provided you weren't moving in on a case they were working. And provided you weren't a pain in the ass. Jim usually managed to break both those caveats.

"I talked to a detective in Vegas. He's putting out a BOLO for Sophie and sending uniforms to check on your sister right away."

Dan had convinced Jim that Sophie was, in fact, playing him. It took all of five minutes. Dan had pictures of both women. His sister looked just like her mother, Lynette, in the nursing home. Plus this client had felt odd to him from the beginning.

Clearly, Sophie had lied to him. Used him. Violated him? What if he hadn't just been drunk in Texas? What if she'd drugged him? Hard to wrap your head around being sexually assaulted by a woman. No way. It couldn't be. He'd wanted her. He remembered that much. Remembered the way she felt.

Then again, if he was not under the influence of alcohol or drugs, he would never sleep with a client. Wouldn't under any circumstance confuse the professional relationship. Fuck. He fought off a wave of bile threatening to bring back his breakfast.

And if she had really killed two people associated with Dan ten years ago, there was a bigger problem to deal with than what had happened in that Texas hotel room.

"Dan. Slow down. We need to think this through. She hired me to find you. If she was anxious enough to follow me to Texas, there's a good chance she's right on my ass now. Here."

Dan made a deep growling sound. "No one's called me Dan since I left Texas and right now all I can hear is Sophie saying my name." He slid a light straw cowboy hat onto his head. The mirror by the door caught his attention. With a quiet hesitation he said, "I'm Daniel Hodge."

He grabbed up his bag and shook it to make more room. "I want my name back. Sophie's a ghost I didn't want to tangle with, but she's back. I need this to stop. I've got to make sure my mom and Cynthia are okay."

"I get that." Jim had changed his name to run away from something he'd wanted to forget as well. One difference: he hated the sound of his birth name now. No going back. Never wanted it back.

Dan paused. "Did you tell her you were coming here?"

"In general. But not specifically." Jim caught the shaving bag Dan tossed toward the bed. "Look. Let me drive you to Vegas. We'll meet with Detective Miller. He's a friend of mine. A good cop too. We'll check it all out. We'll find her and settle this mess for good."

"I can drive to Vegas."

"I know you can. Fact is, if she followed me, she's got a line on you. I want to be able to protect you."

"She won't hurt me." Dan put his hands on his hips and looked up at the ceiling. "She wants me. She's had this fantasy of us being married and shit since she was a kid. I told her not to think that way a thousand times. It just got worse. She got more and more needy."

"Don't be so sure. I once saw a woman shoot her husband in the foot over a few bucks. Women are not afraid to do some damage. She's been looking for you for a while if she went to this kind of extreme."

Jim did the math in his head. She could have left right after their phone call last night. Time was running out if she had followed. "Listen, Dan. I hate that I brought this on you. I do. But it's done. I can help you. I have friends that can help you. The longer we stay here, the more chance she knows I found you. We need the time to get to Vegas before she does. That way, we can catch her before she does any more harm."

Dan jerked the zipper shut on the bag. "Fine. But she knows your car. We should take my truck."

Made sense. "Okay."

"I'm driving." Dan tossed his head to the back of the cabin. "Truck's out back."

They exited the cabin: there were three trucks sitting back there. Two were regular, base model, everyday pickups. They walked past those to a small lean-to shed. Inside was a fire engine red eighties Ram with twin pipes that shot up over the back glass and exhausted above the cab. It was jacked higher than a street truck, but not so much the thing would tip over in a tight curve. Chrome everywhere. Pretty thing. Dan walked up and tossed the bag in the back.

He got in and started up the truck. It roared like a bear on a mission.

"So much for living a quiet life."

"A guy's gotta have a hobby." Dan tilted his hat. "Consider it hiding in plain sight."

"I'll feel like a sitting duck in this thing. Might as well have a target painted on the tailgate."

"If you don't like it, you can ride on your own. I want to be able to do my own thing if I need to."

"Disappear again?"

"No offense, dude, but if I have to, I will. Right now, I just want to check on my sister."

"I need to grab a few things from my car." Jim didn't want the man going to Cynthia's at all. The drive was almost five hours. He suspected they'd get a call from Miller about Cynthia long before they hit the Vegas city limits. And then there was another soul to worry over. Dan had not mentioned her and Jim forgot to have Miller check on Dan's mom in the rest home.

"Wait here." Jim scooted back the way he'd come, ducking behind fence rails and water troughs. He eyed the surroundings. Only one good vantage point to spy on the open area and a car similar to the one Sophie had been driving was sitting right there next to an old mailbox. He didn't have his binocs, so he couldn't verify, but his intuition told him it was her.

He crawled along parked vehicles to his car. She wouldn't be able to see. He slowly opened the driver's door and pulled out his laptop bag and his small duffle. The rest would have to stay put for a few days. With any luck the ranch owner would have it towed. Impound's a safe place for a car to be.

He crawled back to the barn and made his way around the cabin keeping fairly good cover. With any luck, he hadn't been spotted. But everyone knew Jim's luck sucked.

"Go."


Miller's call came before the screaming red truck crossed the Nevada border. The detective's voice was shaky. "It's a fucking mess in there, Bean."

Not what Jim wanted to hear. He'd been holding out hope that this was all a nightmare. He wasn't sure his reputation could survive getting hired by a killer to help her find the object of her obsession. "Yeah?"

"Throat cut. Left to decompose in the tub with some drain cleaner to speed it along. Looks like Sophie has been staying in the vic's house with the body. She's been living in the space with the vic in that tub. Clear evidence she's been eating in the kitchen and she's slept in Cynthia's bed."

"Damn."

"More than damn. ME's doing his thing to collect her now. He'll probably have her out before you two roll into town, but I think it's best your boy doesn't come here until we've cleared out and there's been some clean up. Not how I'd want to remember my sister. Bring him to the station. I'll meet you there."

Now Jim really wished he'd not forgotten to tell Miller to check on Dan's mother. The acid in his stomach churned and his pulse sped up at the thought of something so horrid happening to an elderly woman. She was all alone in that nursing home.

"Check his mother. Silver Hills nursing home on North Buffalo."

"Ahead of you for once. Saw some paperwork on Cynthia's desk. Already tracked her. She's fine. Got a uniform outside her room."

The sense of relief was almost as good as the burning of a good scotch going down this throat. Would not have wanted to deliver that much bad news to Dan. Cynthia's death was going to be hard enough.

"Check in when you get in town."

"Will do. Thanks, Miller." Jim hung up and glanced over at Dan. His face was tight. Grim. He knew what the call was about.

"Why don't you let me drive for a bit? I won't scratch the paint, I promise." Jim looked straight forward, not wanting to see the pain in the kid's eyes. Not wanting to be the guy to deliver the painful blow. Jim glanced his way.

Dan was chewing on his upper lip. "She's dead?"

No real need to answer. Silence was the coward's way out and Jim was going to take it.

Dan screeched to a stop on the shoulder, slammed the truck in to park, and got out. At first he just looked across the cloudless sky with his hands propped on his hips and his shoulders sagged. He closed his eyes tight for a moment, chin trembling, and then he took in a long breath. Tears escaped the outer corners of his eyes. He made no move to rub them away.

Jim felt the anger and grief roll off Dan like steam as he lumbered a hundred yards or so down the shoulder of the highway. He spun and paced back, his boots scuffing the asphalt at a military pace. He turned again and stopped with his back turned. His shoulders shook.

Jim stood numb-footed next to the truck. Staying impartial over this case was no longer possible. Sophie had made sure of that. He internally raged at the thought of his night with her, wishing she was within reach so he could choke the life from her. Sooner or later his night with her would come out. He'd have to talk to Miller or someone about it. Maybe. If she'd drugged him and used him as a distraction from the case, or as a ploy to keep him off her track. Using his self-doubt and self-blame to keep him from seeing behind her deadly mask. He didn't know Cynthia or Dan, but their lives were forever changed by Jim's fuck up. Vetting customers who paid cash wasn't something he always did. He'd only run checks on the guys who wanted him to work on credit. That would change.

Jim made his way to the front of the truck.

Dan paced down the road and back once more. He used his sleeve to clean his face and sniffed as he met up with Jim and leaned against the hood as well, both facing south, toward Vegas.

"I'm sorry, Dan."

"How?"

"You'll get the details …"

"How?"

He deserved to know. "Throat cut."

Dan's eyelids clinched shut again. Jim chose to leave the rest of the details for Miller to pass on. "Your mother's fine. They have a uniform outside her room to make sure she stays that way."

Dan nodded again. "Now what?"

"We go see Miller. They'll probably want to put you and your mom in some sort of protective custody while they trace Sophie."

Dan kept looking straight ahead, as if looking at Jim—at anyone—would cause him to break.

"Miller says the FBI is looking for Sophie as well. Got a flag when he ran her name. Not really a surprise, given the lengths she went to. She may have killed more than just those two girls you suspected."

One small nod. "Cynthia's dead. I can't believe it. I should have figured Sophie would use my family to get to me."

"No way you could know she'd go this far. Blaming yourself is counterproductive at this point. She's out there. We need to help the cops help you."

Dan stared down the perpetual white line toward Vegas.

"Let me drive you in. You relax. Think of anything you might be able to give the police that will help catch her."

Jim thought the man would argue. His body was stiff and his face tight, defensive.

"What's she like now?" His voice cracked slightly.

"Sophie?"

"Yeah." He looked at Jim, his eyes etched with grief.

"When she hired me, she was in a suit. Direct. Gave me cash. Not a lot of emotion. Just how I like my clients." He neglected to mention how much that changed the next time he'd seen her.

"I could rip that crazy daughter-of-a-boondock-whore to shreds with my bare hands. No remorse. No guilt."

"I'm no doctor, but I'm certain that's a damn normal reaction to the situation. We could make it a party."

"Are they going to find her?"

"Yeah. If LVPD doesn't, I will. That's what I do."


Several cop cars and a big van sat outside Cynthia Hodge's shitty little house as Sophie cruised by acting like a lookie-loo neighbor. Her scalp itched in the short blond wig, and the stupid dog in the back of the van wouldn't quit whining, but she would have to make do until she figured the lay of the land. Two men in street clothes with badges at their waists stood out front talking with a uniformed cop. Slacks and dress shirts meant those were the guys in charge.

A block away, she parked and got the dog out.

The scruffy-looking mutt had been tied up outside a roadside restaurant where she had stopped to pee on the road back from Utah. Seeing the squeaky little thing had given her an idea. On the way out, he was still there, and still eager for attention. Sophie baby talked as she slipped his leash off the post and absconded with the dog. Now he was happy as pie to be walking along beside her. A grand adventure, it seemed. They rounded the corner and walked causally down the street, directly across from the house with the dead body inside. Cynthia's house. Sophie paused as the pup peed on a street sign and the big van pulled away. Likely the ME picking up her mess.

So it wasn't there any longer. Sophie cursed herself for not taking a photo or even a peek at the deterioration the drain cleaner caused before leaving the house. The decay would have been far from finished, but the melted patterns of her flesh would have been cool as hell. No matter.

She got a good look at the guy in the front yard. Men in charge were always easy to pick out. With cops it was even easier. They all felt they were better, special. This one oozed that hubris as others approached for instructions, information. Within a few seconds, he glanced at her. She gave him an uneasy smile and worried eye contact for long enough to get his attention, no more. The actions said she was just a curious neighbor. He gave her a curt nod.

Perfect.

No further interaction was needed and she urged the dog to abandon whatever smell had him so intrigued and move on. It had not been soon enough. Next thing she knew a uniform was hurrying up the street after her.

"Ma'am … Ma'am."

She stopped as he closed in. Without fear, the mutt jumped on his pants legs, wiggling his tail, begging for attention. She gave the officer a big smile. No need to make an attempt to remove the distraction.

"I'm …"

"Going to ask me if I know what happened at that house, right?"

He returned her pleasantry with his own smile. Guy needed dental work. Shouldn't the state have a plan for that or something? She almost asked but he spoke first.

"Do you know Cynthia Hodge?"

Hearing her name almost made Sophie cringe. That person was gone. But she kept the fake smile over her face. She'd used the same plastic mask to cover her emotions for years and it hadn't failed to fool yet.

"No. Sorry. I'm house sitting a block away." She pointed over her shoulder to indicate a vague direction. "I've only been in the neighborhood since yesterday."

The mutt was still jumping, whining for attention. The officer relented and bent down to give him a friendly little head rub. Frumpy brown hair flopped with the motion. "Cute dog. What's his name?"

Her mind was suddenly blank. Sophie had never had a pet. She'd never been allowed one when she was younger and never wanted the stinking things around since she could make that kind of decision on her own. An arbitrary pet name shouldn't be so hard to conjure. "Carl."

"Carl?"

That was dumb. But it was the best thing she had. She shrugged. "Like I said, house sitting. He's not mine."

"So, I guess that means you didn't notice anything unusual in the last couple days?"

"I wouldn't know unusual for this place. I live near the Strip. Not much around here would make it high on the unusual scale for me."

"Okay. Thanks." He handed her a card.

She tilted her head to indicate the crime-scene-tape-encased yard. "What's the detective's name? The one in the blue shirt."

"Miller, ma'am."

Miller was now getting in a navy blue Charger, unmarked. She memorized the plate.

"Would you prefer to talk to him?"

"Oh no. I really can't help you." She smiled at him and pulled the dog away. "He just looked familiar." She walked off, wondering at what pace one walks a creature that wants to stop and smell everything.

They're going to figure it out this time. You've left a mess, girl. All kinds of trace evidence in there.

"Shut up. I cleaned up good before leaving. Always do. Oxy bleach and a good wet nap makes short work of a room. No prints will be in there."

She turned the corner and circled around back to the main drag. Now she had two separate people to follow. If Bean brought Danny back to Vegas so that cop could put him in a safe house, Sophie would find him. Not exactly plan A.

I told you that lie was too weak for a paid investigator.

"The man was cheap and easy. His dead eyes said so. I always knew the motive was the weak part of the PI plan. No matter what I said, there was a chance he'd figure it out before delivering my Danny. But it worked out, didn't it?"

Not a sound from inside her head.

"Don't like it when I'm right, do you? Bitch."

She pushed on her temple. At all the nagging and hate.

I am what you are. Who you are. You can pretend all you want. But …

Loser.

Fat.

Ugly.

Stupid …

Hate. Hate. Hate.

She rounded the corner with the pup in tow and found the car down the street. No one behind her, no one around the car. She looked down at the dog. "Plan B is really not that bad." He wagged his curled tail at her. His little eyes were so cheerful and he seemed excited to be on the adventure.

She lifted him back into the car.

You're not going to bring that mangy animal with us, are you?

"No mange on this guy. Smells like flowers, means he's been groomed. So shut the fuck up."

Sophie drove off without a look back. All she had to do was figure out what they'd done with Danny. After driving a few blocks north, she pulled into a random parking lot behind a closed tire center. She searched her pack for Cynthia's cell phone. The dog jumped to the passenger seat and licked her hand as she fumbled. She'd have to stop and get him something to eat on the way home.

Tomorrow she'd find the dang safe house. Wouldn't be a problem at all, but there were so many players to follow. Following was her strong suit, not finding. That's why she'd needed Bean. Now she would follow him or that detective or …

"Silver Hills. How can I help you?"

"Yes. I'm looking for my aunt Lynette. Lynette Hodge. Is she available to chat?"

"I'll connect the room." It was likely both Cynthia's phone and the nursing home's phones were being monitored. But that was okay. For now.

The line clicked and then rang in the old lady's room. And rang. Seven. Eight. She hung up the cell phone and then turned off the power in case the police could trace the location. The TV shows said they could. Her research was a little wishy-washy. No matter. Better safe than sorry. Time to get rid of the thing. She tossed it as hard as she could toward a dumpster. It bounced off the side and broke.

Fingerprints!

Sophie squeezed the steering wheel. "I know. Damn it," she growled at herself in the rearview mirror, then got out and stomped over to the bin.

The stink reminded her of a hot South Dallas Friday night. Walking the streets, picking pockets and hooking. She felt no shame in the memory, just a satisfaction. That shit had been the foundation of everything she'd built for herself, and for Danny, the beginning of the journey, the first brick in her financial house.

She found the three biggest pieces of the shattered glass and plastic. She dumped a glob of hand sanitizer on the tail of her shirt and used that to rub the phone parts down as best she could, taking extra time around the mouth and ear sections to kill off or remove any DNA. The she tossed them off into different directions.

"All clean."

What would you do without me?

"Celebrate." She got back behind the wheel of the rental and drove southeast. The pup eased into her lap. Thing couldn't weigh six pounds and she found herself giving in to the urge to rub his head.

"We'd have a big old party to dance the night away in honor of her demise. Wouldn't we?" she said in baby talk to the pup.

Don't let it touch you like that. It's probably got fleas.

Sophie sighed. Carl turned his little head as if to empathize.

The sun was setting in the rearview. She lit her first cig of the day. The surge of nicotine would clear her mind. Yes. The PI had complicated things. But he was still useful.

Until he is … expendable.

She blew out a puff of smoke, followed its path to the cracked passenger side window. The reflection of her face was clouded in the smoke, making her look young.

"Everyone's expendable."


Detective Miller led Jim and Dan past the front desk at the Boulder Area Command Center where a young officer awkwardly avoided eye contact with Dan.

Hard to deal with people in pain when you first start this type of work. Kid must be straight out of the academy. Didn't take long to realize that most civilians who come through the door of a stationhouse were suffering or in big trouble. The vics may have suffered everything from loss of a loved one to loss of property. Hurt and violation existed somewhere along a sliding scale that ranged from irritation to devastation. It all showed in the eyes.

The conference room came to an immediate hush as the door swept open and Miller led the young man in. A blown up copy of Cynthia's driver's license was pinned on the wall. A fact sheet with her vital info was tacked below it. Fortunately, no crime scene photos were pasted up. Yet.

"I'm sorry for your loss." Miller pulled out a chair facing the mirrored wall and set down a bottle of water. Dan took it. As usual, Jim opted to stand with his back against the wall, but this time he chose a spot close to Dan.

"I have coffee if you want it. The Command Center has the best in Vegas." Miller slid his fingers around his waistband to straighten his tucked shirt. Jim had seen him do it a thousand times. As if he needed to pull his pants up, but he didn't. The man was feeling for his gun belt, the one he no longer wore since being promoted to detective. Jim figured no matter how long the detective had been out of a patrolman's uniform, he wasn't used to missing the weight of a gear belt.

"Not now." Dan managed a sip from the bottle.

"The medical examiner is with your sister. We should have a better idea of time of death when he's finished. But the crime scene tells a pretty clear story." Miller looked back to Jim.

Jim would give his left nut to shield Dan from this conversation.

Miller put his hand on the back of Dan's chair. "Looks like she was planning to go to a convention. It came up pretty last minute, according to her boss. He saw her Wednesday."

"She travels to train people at other companies all the time. Accounting software stuff." Dan picked at a bit of the water bottle label, peeling it away from the glue line that held the cellophane wrapper around the plastic. He didn't make eye contact with anyone in the room.

"That's what he said. From her phone records, we can see she called a cab company. Then an hour or so later, Mr. Bean was called. Last we have on her is that. No credit card usage. Nothing."

Miller paused. "Cab company sent out a driver named Lulu Strong. Said she was closest to the address. Lulu only worked for them for about four weeks." Miller pulled a page from a dark green folder. The contents were already a good inch think. The paper was a fuzzy copy of a Nevada driver's license. "You recognize her?"

Jim sure did. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, she was wearing a headband, and she had a bad makeup job going, but that was Sophie.

"Sophie Ryan Evers." Dan's hands trembled as he pulled more of the label away.

Miller twisted back to address Jim. "This the girl who told you she was Cynthia Hodge?"

"It is." Jim's skin itched with the need for another shower. Images of the night in his Texas hotel room played in his head like a bad music video. One of those catchy songs he didn't like and couldn't shake from his mind. Thankfully, the memories were vague. He wished them gone. But, wishes got only empty pockets and headaches. Nothing more.

"How do you know her?"

Dan huffed out a tired laugh. "She moved in next door when I was about fourteen. Lived with a foster family. Not a good one. Her real dad had killed himself. Her mother left her in a department store when she was a toddler." He pushed away from the table and leaned back in his chair. Crossed his arms. "I felt bad for her. So I hung out with her some."

"How old was she?" Miller took notes on a fancy electronic tablet. No more paper for the Vegas police.

"About nine or ten. I don't remember exactly. Her foster mom was a bitch. The dad was a drunk. I think he was abusing her, but she never would talk about it. Got real mad if I even tried to ask about home, you know? It didn't take long for her to get real attached to me. I knew it. But like I said, I thought the kid needed a friend. My mom would let her come to dinner and stuff, you know?"

"Sounds like a nice thing to do."

"It was. Until I hit high school and wanted to date and shit." Dan got up from the table and paced to the far corner. "Sophie didn't like that at all. She got mad if she found out I was talking to a girl. I tried to explain that she was too young. That she and I were just friends."

"Did she get violent?"

"With me?" Dan shook his head.

"With the girls you were talking to?"

"She threatened me and them, but I never believed she'd act on it. I mean, she was like twelve years old. Even with all that, I would still hang out with her some. But she'd gotten mean by the time she was sixteen or seventeen."

"Mean?"

"You know, liked to hassle cashiers in the super-mart or rush the old lady in front of her at Mickey D's. Sophie was always bitching about the kids at her middle school, and she cursed way too much. Once, she told me she wanted to chop the popular girls' hair off or cut up their faces so they wouldn't be so pretty and powerful anymore." He shook his head and then pointed a finger at Miller. "And she really hated the boys in her class. I think she got suspended once for beating up one kid. Hit him in the head with a rock in the parking lot."

Dan picked up the bottle as if to drink, then set it back down. "She'd gotten to be a real manipulator too. The chick could talk my mom out of cash. She easily got out of trouble with the teachers. I think she even talked her way out of getting arrested for borrowing a car once. And her grades were excellent."

Dan moved again. Just a few paces, as if to get away from the things he was saying. Not enough space in the conference room to walk away from those memories.

"She liked classical music when the rest of us were into country. Could have been opera too. It sounded so dark and depressing to me. She dressed like the girls down at the private school. In dark blue uniform-looking stuff. None of it looked good on her. It was as if she was trying to hide herself."

"You two ever in the same school at the same time?"

"No. I was off in college by the time she hit high school. Thank god." He took his hat off and laid it carefully crown-side down on the table. Rubbed his head. "Next time she found me was a couple years later at a rodeo. I had dropped out of college cuz I was making serious cash on the rodeo circuit. Saddle bronc. That's when I was seeing Beth."

"You made enough to quit school?" Miller offered him a cigarette.

Dan declined the smoke. "That's what I thought at the time." Went back to his stream of consciousness as if he'd forget if he stopped. "Sophie came out of nowhere. Damn, she looked great. Dressed to kill in tight jeans and boots, all grown up. Cowboy's dream. Even sounded normal for a short time. Talking about how well she was doing, and all. I was happy for her. Till she asked about my girlfriends."

He rubbed his eyes. "I said I was seeing someone. Sophie went from zero to bitch in two point five seconds. Screaming and crying, accused me of cheating on her. Said she had been saving herself for me. I yelled back. Said some mean things I shouldn't have but I was drinking a lot back then. She put a chokehold on me that night. It was crazy."

"You're a lot bigger than she is."

"I know. Bitch wrestled me to the ground with some kind of twisting move that damned near broke my wrist." A bead of sweat rolled down Dan's cheek. His hands were shaking again. Miller didn't interrupt him.

"Then she just froze in place for a minute. Staring into my eyes. I swear I could feel her anger. After a few seconds, she let me go. Started to cry. I was put on my ass in a parking lot by a little woman. I should have been embarrassed. All I could think of was that I'd never seen her cry. Even when stuff was bad when she was a kid—and I mean really bad—at the old house, she just got quiet. Mad. Never sad. She got up, started talking to herself. But it was one-sided like she was talking to someone else. Freaky. And then she walked away."

Miller stopped writing and looked up at him. "What happened to Beth?"

"The next day she didn't show up to see my rides. She didn't return my calls. I had to go to Austin for a few rodeos, was gone a couple weeks. When I came back, no one knew where she was. She'd disappeared."

"Did you suspect Sophie?"

"I thought Sophie had gone and found Beth and scared her off me. I didn't think anything too bad right off the bat. But after Amanda Pen, well, I tried to tell the cops then that Sophie had to have been involved."

"Amanda Pen?"

"Yeah. Months after the Beth thing. I was, well … I was with Amanda in the bed of my truck."

Miller nodded his understanding.

"I look up and there Sophie was, standing beside the truck. Watching me and Amanda with that same freaked out look in her eyes. Scared the shit out of Amanda, and me. I jumped up and tried to talk but she only said one thing and then walked away."

"She threaten you two?"

"No. She asked why. I didn't answer. Had no clue how to. Wasn't sure what the why was for, exactly. Why was I living my life? Why was I getting some tail from a chick in the parking lot? I figured silence was the better part of valor at the moment. I didn't want to say anything to piss her off again. She walked away muttering about loyalty."

Dan slammed himself back into his chair and took a long drink. "Amanda scurried out of there. She was just a buckle bunny. No one I was dating or anything."

Miller half smiled. "I assume that's a cowboy groupie. Around here"—he nodded toward the door—"we call them badge bunnies."

"Yes, sir." A smirk crossed his lips. "Cowboys and cops." He shrugged. "Anyway, three days later, Amanda was found outside a different bar with her throat slit. The cops came to me. I told them about Sophie and about Beth. She was still missing, as far as I knew. They questioned me. Not as nice as all this either." He motioned to the room. "But I had a group of guys I'd spent that night with on the road to Austin. No way I could have done it."

"It was about two weeks later that Beth's body turned up in the woods. Throat cut, just like Amanda. And the cops came back. But again, they couldn't pin it on her. They said they found Sophie in Dallas and she was at work during the time of both murders. Not that I think they tried that hard to prove that fact. They didn't believe she could do that."

Miller closed his book. "Hard to picture an attractive female cutting someone's throat. Investigators are no exception. Today, I believe she's our guy."

Jim decided it was time his opinion was heard. Asked for or not. "I think this bitch is a lunatic. I have no doubt she'd take a knife to every one of us in this room." Why she hadn't knifed him in his hotel room was another question. Likely, because he hadn't found Dan yet.

All he could think at the moment was that he was responsible for leading that wolf right to the sheep. The sheep who'd done a fine job of blending in and hiding away until Jim Bean came to town. Jim had no option but to help this kid.

"We have your mother in a safe house with medical care and two uniforms on guard. I'll take you there."

Dan stood. "Can I see Cynthia?"

"Not yet." Miller looked him in the eye. "And when the medical examiner releases her, you shouldn't. Have her sent to the funeral home. See her after that."

Dan's eyes closed. His frame seemed to shrink a full two inches.

Miller put his hand on the man's shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Not much to say that would mean a hill of cat's asses to the guy at this point.

"Shit like this shouldn't happen."

Dan gave the slightest nod to Miller's statement.

"I'd like to go with him." Jim spoke up knowing eventually Dan would hear or read about the drain cleaner and the shape of his sister's remains. But he'd keep Dan from driving straight to the ME's office to see Cynthia.

"Not necessary. We've got it covered. It is a police matter now, Bean."

"I brought this on him."

"And we'll take it from here."

Jim didn't want to make a scene when the kid was suffering, but he could help stop Sophie. "I need this, Miller."

"I can't let a civi in on a homicide investigation. You know better than that."

Dan chimed in. "I'd just as soon have him around."

"It's against policy." Miller gathered his folder and headed for the door.

"Do I have a right to hire my own security?"

Miller's sigh was probably picked up on the recording. He put his back to the door and gave Bean a fuck you look. "Yes."

Dan looked back to Jim. Why he wanted a washed-up PI's protection over the police's, Jim would have to puzzle out later. "How much did she pay you?"

Not a conversation Jim wanted to have at the moment. Stupid facts like that eat away at a man. Like when his client wanted to know how many times their spouse cheated or what the girl's name was. The guy cheated. Move on.

"I mean, you're still under some type of financial agreement with her, right?"

"She gave me a substantial retainer."

"Any of that left?"

"A good deal."

Dan nodded. "Then I would like to hire you, Mr. Bean. Using the balance of that retainer."

That was a great way to spend the money. Better than Jim blowing it at the blackjack table.

Dan looked at Miller. "As my protection and an extra investigator."

"Dandy," Miller growled and glared at Jim. "When you stick your nose in my cases, Bean, people tend to get hurt and/or killed. You live in a bubble of bad luck and misery. Don't bring that into this situation."

Jim wasn't sure how to break it to him, but there was no way to turn that shit off.


"You find the whack-jobs like no one else, Bean." Ely tapped away on one of his many keyboards.

Jim rubbed his eyes so hard he saw spots. It was late. He was beat, the long drive with the distraught young man then the interrogations, and he was done for.

From Jim's angle the monitor Ely was reading looked like a wave of green static. The events of the past few days replayed, highlighting his inadequacies and his fears on one short mental film. Trusting the wrong person. No. The wrong woman. He'd been living loose and reckless for years. Since college when he lost everything. Lost it all because a woman lied.

His life altered, distorted by a false accusation. He'd quit really caring about people. Working on autopilot. Job to job. Bottle to bottle. Culminating in dead bodies because he was more interested in cash than seeing Sophie's intentions as she sat across that table from him and lied. Lied her ass off. There was a time he'd have read that like yesterday's comics. Known her story before finishing the headline.

"I do." He lifted his gaze to Ely. "A damned curse."

"Suppose you were marked by banshees at birth?" He said it in a hushed tone.

"Banshees?"

"I don't know. Whatever creature crawls into children's beds and marks them so the dark and devious are called to them." He looked up from the screen. "I'll look it up later. Know I read it somewhere."

"Don't bother. I don't want to know that shit. I want to know where to find Sophie Evers."

Annie wrapped around his legs and gave him a little half mew. He reached down and pulled her up so she could prop on his shoulder. Her approving purr vibrated against Jim's collarbone.

"Not sure why she still likes you. Was here more than she was at home this week."

At least the cat loved him no matter what. Well, as long as there was plenty of food around. "Absence makes the cat grow fonder?"

"I guess, man," Ely said. The screen changed from the green mess of characters to a browser Jim was more familiar with. "Here we go."

Jim wiggled his rolling chair a little closer. "Sophie Ryan Evers. Born in Grapevine, Texas. Father died of drug overdose. Location of mother, a Belinda Evers, is unknown. Sophie entered the foster system at fourteen months old."

Jim leaned over the records. "Aren't most babies readily adoptable?"

"She had some signs of fetal drug syndrome. Probably got her looked over."

"Doesn't have any retardation or signs of birth defects now." Drug dependency might explain some of her neuroses. Dan hadn't mentioned her ever doing any drugs. If she was getting away with murder, Jim suspected she was clean.

Ely clicked away. "Her foster records are going to be harder to get."

"Social services?"

"Yep."

Jim scratched under Annie's chin. "Arrest records?"

"Nope."

"Try Lulu Strong. She used that alias here."

He clacked away. A different page opened on the monitor. A Nevada license came up. Same as the one Miller had. Cab company registration. Address listed as the Crabtree Hotel, south Vegas. Not a nice place.

Jim paced to the kitchen counter. Annie leapt off his shoulder.

"Wait a second." Ely typed a little more. "Found something on Lulu."

An arrest record came up. The picture was a dirty young black woman. A mug shot after a bad night. Her right eye was swollen and red.

"Prostitution?" Jim asked.

Ely nodded. "And drug charges."

"My guess is Miss Lulu came to a bad end."

"If so, that makes four."

As Ely stood and stretched, about fifty bones cracked. The skeletal sound made Jim shiver. Ely had lived through a nightmare as a POW in Nam. The man had seen everything and done even more. It showed in his leathered face and his lanky frame. A very slight limp on his left leg was the only hint of any disability. Didn't slow him down or make him any less lethal. Jim would take him as a second in any situation.

"Correction: four that we know of. She's got a taste, Bean. Sounds like Sophie's drug of choice is violence."

"Not good." Jim's phone chirped in his pocket. He answered. "Miller, was about to call you."

"Yeah?"

"Dan settled?"

"Yes. His mom is a hoot. But that's not why I called." There was a moment of background noise.

Jim chose to take the opportunity to give his info first. "The identity Sophie used was a pro with an arrest record."

"We got that too. Sent someone to see if any of the other girls knew this Lulu or has seen her. I'm hoping she was paid to leave and not killed."

"Not likely."

"Yeah. I got a call from a Dallas FBI field office. An Agent Webb saw our BOLO. They will be here by eleven tonight. Wants a one-on-one with you and Dan while it's fresh."

"What's the FBI want with this?"

"Says there's more to the case. I'll bring them to the house."

"Great."

"I'll probably lose control of the situation at some point if this girl's got an open federal jacket."

"Got it." Jim did. And that made the prospect of his staying involved rather slim. The FBI didn't take to PIs all that well. Or maybe it was just him.


Jim approached the address of the safe house. It sat one lot off to the right of a tight cul-de-sac. New neighborhood. The kind with the low price points for first-time buyers. Cheaply made and so much alike it was hard to distinguish one from another. The development was far enough north to keep the price at casino worker level and still close enough to work on the Strip.

One unmarked car sat on the left side of the double drive, a black Crown Vic. Not too obvious, but enough that this smart-assed chick would see it as a cop car right off the bat.

Jim would have been happier if the place was a ranch. Two floors divided the area and made covering it harder. But it had a nice front porch and fake grass. Almost-middle-class quaint. A plainclothes sat on the porch swing smoking. He sized up Jim's car as he approached.

Jim swung through the cul de sac and parked past the house in front of the neighbor's. Ely's car was a gold, dull, no badges, late model whatever sedan. Easy to miss. Hard to remember.

The officer stood as Jim got out. He relaxed when Jim waved. Most officers had seen him on stakeouts or around the courthouse. PIs were not always the cop's favorite—Jim included—because most of their work came from defense attorneys.

Prosecutors had the entire police force to gather evidence for a case. The defense needed its own investigative team. Often Jim was it … if the case was being handled by a low-rent attorney with a tight budget.

Inside the house was as ordinary as the out. He scanned the layout as he followed the officer. A short hall led back to a larger-than- expected living area, open concept. He could see all the way from the front door to the kitchen and the back door. Sliding glass. Didn't care for that.

"Well. If it ain't the reporter again. You need a close up of me for your story?"

Lynette was in the same rolling chair from the nursing home. Here she looked younger. The non-florescent light gave her back twenty years. Jim now figured her for early sixties. Too young for this kind of memory loss. Not remembering this day will be good for her. Small favors.

Her fist balled up and under her chin, smiling big and pretty, ready for a portrait.

"How are you, Mrs. Hodge?"

"Fine as pie. My baby boy's here. He got us this swanky room for my birthday. Whatcha think about it?"

"It's a great spot for a birthday. It today?"

"Nope, tomorrow. He's bringing cake, you know?"

"And a clown face."

Dan came in. He shook Jim's hand and leaned close. "She knows nothing."

No mention of Cynthia. Got it.

Her medical assistant was the big guy from the home. The one she was yelling at the end of Jim's visit. He brought her a mug. "Lynnette, don't spill this one."

She giggled. "I will if I want, Steven, and you'll bring me another then too."

"I should go right on home and leave you to all this." He turned to Jim. "Not sure what I signed up for here. She's even more of a smart ass than usual. All excited to be out." He stuck a meaty palm out. "Steven."

Lynette barked at him. "And hang up my papers." Her chair rolled like she was on the ice rink as she crossed the tile floor. She skidded her feet to stop just short of the wall by the back sliding glass window. She snatched a couple of the articles out of an open box on the floor.

The leather furniture sat empty and uninviting around the fireplace. The tiles inside it were pristine ivory, the logs old and dry. That fireplace had never seen a spark. Like a show house full of rented furniture, cold and stiff. It reeked of Rental World.

Steven didn't seem worried. "When I can quit making you tea over and over again, I can do that. Sit still and drink that, old woman."

Dan chuckled. "They really do love one another." He patted Steven on the back as Lynette Hodge let out an indignant grunt. "Always felt good knowing you were there." He looked down and then back up to Jim. "But to know Sophie was in her room makes me sick."

"I've been with Lynette for a while now. Nothing's happening to her with me around."

This was Jim's chance to ask some questions before the Feds showed. He pulled Steven toward the kitchen. Dan followed. Lynnette was busy sipping her tea and looking about the window. Jim glanced over to see that it was locked and barred along the bottom. "Did you see Sophie when she was in Lynette's room?"

"I see everyone that comes into any of my patients' rooms, if I'm on my shift. Can't vouch for the others. Some don't care so much. Usually we see family, a few old friends, sometimes a pastor. I recognize most of Ms. Lynette's visitors. I knew there was a stranger there so, like I'm supposed to, I checked with the front desk. They said she was okay. Nothing looked threatening. A pretty woman making one of my patients laugh and smile generally is no concern. I kept to my rounds."

No help. "So you didn't talk to Sophie Evers?"

"No, sir."

"Steven." The distress in Lynette's voice made all three men turn to her. She was red-faced as she looked down into her tea-soaked lap.

"Good, glorious Lord Jesus. This is why I give you lukewarm tea."

Steven fussed with her skirt. Dan looked on, dark circles becoming evident under weighted lids.

Jim made a quick assessment of the rest of the first-level floor plan. Front and back door only. A stairway was evident from the back of the kitchen area. He followed the hall back to the front door. Master bedroom on the left. Master bath, one small window. Bedroom was smallish, two windows overlooked the side yard.

The hair on his arms twitched with minor air movement and he smelled the hint of dime store cologne as someone came into the room. He felt no threat. No reason to look away from his inspection of the latches.

"Upstairs are locked too. I checked. There's an officer up there sleeping."

"The night guy?"

"Girl." Dan had his hands buried in his pockets. "I want a gun."

"What for?"

"So I can protect my mom."

Jim hated guns. Never carried one. "Guns get people dead."

"Exactly."

He huffed. "Usually it's not the right people who get dead, Dan." He knew that for a fact. "You have two uniforms and me. Lynette will be safe until we find Sophie."

"What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Relax. Spend some time with your mom. Read."

"Read?"

"Yeah. There were some classics on that bookcase. Try The Great Gatsby."

"You're serious?" Dan held his gaze. He was trying to read Jim's face. "Hated that book."

Jim smiled. "Me too."


Miller showed first. It was almost nine o'clock. Steven had taken Lynette to get her settled in bed for the night.

Miller tossed a folder onto the kitchen table. A Lady Fed in a black suit marched in, another agent behind her. The folder she carried was several inches thicker than Miller's.

The second suit stood by the glass door. The agent in charge. Feds seemed to move around the world according to their pecking order. Often it looked like a pack of dogs following an alpha.

They all looked very unhappy to be there, no matter where they fell on the FBI food chain. Sometimes Jim was glad his path into the FBI Academy had been blown to pieces back in college. Sometimes.

The lady agent's suit was impeccable but not highly expensive. Her shoes more serviceable than dressy. Her weapons were hard to spot at first but he noted at least two. She didn't smile as she made her way to the head of the table. She obviously assumed she would be taking the lead.

Miller stood. "I'm Detective Miller. We met …"

"On the Porter case two years ago." She gave him a curt nod.

"Right." Miller hadn't extended his hand to shake but Jim got the feeling that if Miller had put his hand out there, she'd have left him hanging.

Her gaze snapped to Jim. "You the PI Sophie Evers hired?" She opened the folder, flipped a couple of pages over, and scanned.

"Jim Bean." He said it sharply. Didn't want her to think he was intimated by the suits or the badges. He'd been in court on many occasions and had to face off with some pretty hefty characters. An FBI agent didn't faze him.

Her brow pinched as she looked back down and read a few more lines. "Okay." She glanced at him and back to the page. Obliviously it was his paper. His jacket. "Jim Bean it is then."

Jim's grip tightened, he eased his balled fists behind his back. Why would she, the FBI, have information about his history, the changing of his name? It'd been a straight legal change. His records were supposedly expunged when all the charges were dropped. But it appeared she knew something anyway. And why would they need that kind of info on this case? He was not the target of this investigation. The room got a little warmer. What the hell else did she have in that fat folder?

She slid into the chair at the head of the table. "Special Agent Ava Webb." With no foreplay she started sliding pictures of dead men toward Dan. He cringed.

Miller pulled the pics away from Dan. "Who are these men?"

The gnarled look on Miller's face said he was biting his damned lip to keep from telling this woman where to shove those photos. She should have brought this to his attention first. Discussed it before shocking a witness.

"When you put the BOLO out on Sophie Evers it triggered a case I've been working in Texas for years. These three men were drug dealers and/or pimps in South Dallas. All were killed within a three-month period. All had their throats cut. The scenes were messy. No drugs, money, or weapons left behind so we suspect the murders were a means to robbery."

She looked down. "All had had intercourse just before dying. But there were no viable DNA traces left behind. They'd been crudely cleaned with bleach spray. Likely she slept with them to get their confidence and killed them just before—"

"I'm sorry, ma'am." Danny took his dirty cowboy hat off and set it upside down on the table beside the pictures. It did a nice job of blocking the view of the mutilated bodies. "But what's this got to do with my sister?"

"Twisted trail but hang with me." She looked at Miller. "I do have a point."

"Make it." Miller's face was easing up.

She turned her attention back to Dan Hodge. Looked him straight in the eye with the authoritative gaze of a woman in charge. She held his gaze, not saying a word, until his head tilted just enough to give the impression he was asking for more info. She knew the moment he was ready to listen. Agent Webb was good.

She tapped the third photo in the row. "A video surveillance camera near the back on this one's apartment caught a woman leaving the building with a large duffle bag and a bad disguise. Not enough for an identification in the tape." She thumbed through the file and supplied the picture. Dan eyed it carefully.

"Two more dealers turned up about a month later. These guys weren't pimping. All they did was sell cocaine. The area was a little higher rent. And the victim's both had slit throats. This time, the wounds were much cleaner. The crime scenes were cleaner. Showed fewer signs of struggle. Each was robbed blind. One of them was reported by one of his drug runners. Dumb girl called it in because she said the guy was holding a thousand dollars of hers and she wanted it back."

Dan's face was white as the Formica tabletop. "Are you suggesting Sophie did all this?"

"This time we caught a break and a witness saw the woman in that picture"—she tossed out the BOLO—"with one of the dealers the night before making a buy."

Dan shook his head. "That's her, but, Sophie buying drugs?"

"I don't think she was using the drugs, Mr. Hodge. The most successful and hard-to-catch dealers never do. We think Sophie was treating the pimps and dealers as a means to make a living. Kill off the scum and take their cash and valuables."

She pulled out a mug shot of Sophie. "She was arrested in Arlington, Texas, with a couple ecstasy tablets. She gave a fake name. Had a fake ID. It was a misdemeanor because she only had the pills and a syringe on her and it was her first offense. She walked after giving up the name of her supplier."

Agent Webb pulled the pictures back into the folder and tucked them away. "My guess was she took the cash off these guys, sold the drugs and guns. My math says she was making a dang good living. Next I could find, she was spotted in the swanky North Dallas area. High-end dance bars selling shit to the rich and spoiled."

Webb ran her right hand over her hair to make sure it was in place. "Looked like she was reinvesting, moving up to bigger targets with bigger wallets and bigger stashes. We think Sophie has been saving all her money. I have witnesses who put this woman in those bars. Most didn't recall what name she was using. All this time we didn't know her name." She looked at Miller. "Your BOLO told us who she was."

She started to pull out two more photos, but shoved them back in the folder after glancing at Dan's white face. "There were two more bodies. Women. Young, pretty girls out behind the bars. No signs of a struggle at all. Not dealers, just girls out for a night at the clubs. Lack of a struggle indicates both were willing to let her get close. The killings were very personal."

She straightened the folder and glanced coolly around the room, making eye contact with each person … except her silently looming partner. "Nine murders we think she's responsible for. Probably more."

"A serial killer." Miller whistled.

"Not really a classic serial because her MO has changed. She has the timing of a serial, lots of time in between, but she's all over the place. No standard method other than the slashed throats. All these men and women were killed like it was Sophie's nine-to-five job. Nothing special. She started with street scum, but then the vics got more respectable, the take larger, and the kills cleaner."

Dan's hands were shaking like he was a druggie in rehab.

Jim pushed back the bile threatening to make him puke. Sophie had used him. Not only to find Dan either. If she'd drugged him, why hadn't she killed him like the others? What was she playing at?

Jim eased into the seat on the far side of Dan. He tried to block the memories of her and that night from his head, pretend nothing had happened. If he ignored it long enough, he would no longer feel so violated.

Dan shook his head. "Twelve," he whispered. "Cuz I'm sure she killed two girls I was with, Beth and Amanda. And Cynthia." He looked up at the woman. A single tear rolled from his eye. "I tried to say so back then. No one would listen."

Agent Webb put her hand over his where he was picking at his thumbnail. "I'm listening."


Jim sat silent in the living room in the thick aftermath of the FBI bombshell. Miller, another detective, and poor Daniel Hodge had sat at the table for an hour, going over everything he could remember from Sophie in her youth. It'd not been a particularly pretty story. Dan was a decent guy and recapped it all, even admitted he'd come close to taking advantage of her once when the pair had gotten a hold of some cheap wine. He'd stopped himself despite her Herculean efforts to encourage him. Said that's when she first started acting strange.

Jim picked up a random book off the shelf. Took a hit from his flask and leaned back on the stiff leather couch to read for a minute. To think on something else.

"Ought to share with a lady." Lynette was edging down the hall. Her twig-thin legs stuck out from under her gown. Her hair was wrapped in a flowered cloth on her head like a small turban.

Jim jumped up. Her scooting around in the rolling chair was frightening enough without adding alcohol. "You should be sleeping."

"I should be dancing the night way. It's Saturday night. I'm sure there's a good band around here somewhere. It's still Vegas, isn't it?"

He eased her into the big leather recliner across from where he'd been on the couch. "Sadly, it is."

The chair seemed to swallow her whole.

"I love Vegas. Always did. Did pretty good at the poker tables. I was a psychiatric nurse. Could read people."

Jim tried to picture her young and running a table. When she blasted him with that big smile, he could see her charm.

"So, you sharing the hooch, boy?"

"Don't you think Steven will have a coronary, not to mention my ass, if I let you mix scotch with your meds?"

She huffed, leaned back, and waved him off before she crossed her hands in her lap. "Probably send me on if I had any anyway." She winked at him. "I'm not quite ready for that yet."

"Me either."

She sat with her eyes closed and face relaxed for a few minutes. Jim opened the book back up. It was a romance novel. With vampires. Not his choice, but he didn't want to move. He read the first chapter and decided it wasn't too bad.

"They think I'm too far gone to see what's what here." She leaned closer. "I'm not completely out of it, you know? I got my moments."

She twisted her head to the side, toward the stairs. "I haven't seen Danny this wound up since his daddy died. So I know something horrible has happened. And I know this isn't a motel either." She gestured to the back yard. "No hotel has a fenced yard."

"What do you think is going on, Lynette?"

"You're no reporter. My guess, you're a cop of some kind. Maybe a Fed."

She had been in the bedroom with Stephen when the Feds were there. Never got to see Agent Webb or her sidekicks. Maybe she'd heard. Either way wasn't good. Jim did not want to be the one who broke the bad news about her daughter.

"I'm not a federal agent."

"You're not Santa either, are you?" Her movements were much surer than they had been earlier. Could be her meds kicked in or she was having a good moment. Bad luck for him either way.

"No."

She scrunched up her nose at him. "Then let's not play the guessing game any longer and you tell me what in tarnation is going on around here."

Jim shook his head at her liveliness. He liked her. She kept darting her gaze to the articles on the wall.

"Is there one you want?" He stood.

"Yes. There is. It's close to the door, bottom row."

Jim made his way over. "This one?" He pointed to one that looked particularly tattered. He was careful pulling it free from its location, worried the tape would tear it.

"Read it."

He turned so the porch light shone at the paper.

"Aloud. Read it aloud, boy."

Jim sighed, not liking where this was going. Lynette Hodge was very lucid right this minute and Jim was far too tired to manage what he was sure was a sharp wit.

A 22-year-old woman who was found shot in the head in the trunk of her burning Thunderbird was remembered in an obituary Sunday as a caring, fun-loving woman who loved country western music, movies and "wearing her trademark high heels."

Nichole J. "Nicki" Thomas enjoyed spending time with her boyfriend, Kito Lisser, and their 1-year-old son, Jack.

Her greatest joy was caring for her boy, the obituary said. Thomas "lived life to the fullest," and enjoyed, "above all else, spending time with her family and friends."

"Nicki left this earth too early for us to understand, but God always has a purpose and therefore we all must believe that Nicki is still among us fulfilling hers," the obituary reads.

Thomas's memorial is next Saturday at Christ Church.

"Thank you for being part of our lives, Nicki—you will continue to live in our hearts and never be forgotten. We love you," the family wrote.

The accused is twenty-year-old Patrick Wolf, who allegedly has ties to the Hell's Angels and has been arrested for petty theft and assault in the past. He is being held in Clark County lock up.

Deputy Prosecutor Jack Driscoll said today that he expects to file charges in Superior Court this week and they will determine if death penalty charges will apply.

"We'll formally file charges in the next day or so," he said. "You'll know after that."

Court documents say Thomas was assaulted for hours and stabbed several times before she was fatally shot in the head. Her body was found in the burning Thunderbird near Forker and Bigelow Gulch roads on April 13.

A motive is so far unclear.

She nodded slowly. "Two hundred and seventy-five words."

Jim headed back to the couch, watching her face.

She gave him a weak smile as he set the article on the table.

"The number isn't the point here, is it?" Jim eased back into the stiff cushions.

At this point Jim was sure she knew about her daughter. At least she'd figured out Cynthia was the only one not at the house so she must be in trouble or dead.

"Numbers are always the point, but often not the only point."

"What is the point, Mrs. Hodge?"

Her eyes were slack and blank but still open enough to see what was going on. Lynette sat so still and so quiet that Jim decided she'd fallen asleep. He'd had a golden retriever in his youth who slept with her eyes half open like that. It was unnerving then and unnerving now. As Jim used to do with the freakish habit of the family dog, he considered waking the old woman just to get her to either open or close her eyes.

He refrained. Waiting.

She finally blinked and answered his question. "What it means is, who died?"

Well, shit. Usually Bean didn't mind being the guy who dealt the bad news card. But right now he didn't want the job. He kind of liked the loony lady and her articles. Providing the proof of a spouse's affair, no biggie. It was intimate, heart-breaking crap, but Jim was honest enough with himself to know their misery made his misery seem a little less … miserable.

"I might be confused more often than not, buddy, but I'm not stupid. At least I don't figure I am." She leaned forward. "Who died?"

Maybe he could placate her for a while, just till she wasn't as lucid. Again asshole-ish, but it was that or run like a scared cat. Cause he didn't want to hurt this woman. His eyes fell on the bookcase again. Subject changer.

"Have you read The Great Gatsby, Lynette?"

"I have. Fitzgerald is a long-winded piece of crap if you ask me. Most popular novelists from that time were."

"He did go on a bit." Jim chuckled and leaned back.

"And that Gatsby was a schmuck. Worked his whole life, thieving to make a fortune and then carried on, putting on all those airs and all the parties for a woman who dumped him years ago. Man wasted a fortune on the sham. And for what? A gold-digging girl." She shook her head as if she was worried over his lack of money-management skills. "If a girl won't have you then there's no sense going off all half-cocked chasing her around." She scratched her nose with her frail hand. "I mean, I was no great looker or anything, but when my husband came around, I knew he was the one and I didn't play any games. If I'd have wanted something else, I'd have told him that as well."

She shook a twisted, wrinkled finger at his nose. "Young folks these days make it harder on themselves than it needs to be. Computer dates, text messaging, whatever other crap they have going on."

"I think it was his need to be more, to be rich, that mattered to Gatsby. He felt unworthy of her."

"Schmuck." She flipped her wrist in dismissal. "Men and their pride. Buy a girl flowers, tell her you love her, and be faithful. Why is that so hard?"

"I don't know, Lynette. You make it sound easy. Never been that easy for me."

Her frown was suspicious. "Nah. You look like trouble. Freaky gray eyes on the outside and deep waters on the inside. Be hard to trust those eyes. But that's just going off appearances."

"Heard that before."

"Reckon you have." She waggled that finger in his direction again and her face turned as serious as a schoolteacher. "Now, before I forget it again, answer my question."

Jim looked at the floor. He needed to go wake Dan.

"Who died?" It came out as a fear-laden shriek. Lynette had thrown her body into it, causing her slight figure to lose balance and skew forward.

Jim leaned in quick and caught her shoulder in time to keep her from breaking her nose on the table.

Dan rushed down the stairs. His feet tangled but he remained upright. "Momma." He eased beside her and took her weight.

"Why is Sissy not here, young man?"

Dan hung his head and rubbed her shoulder. "You pick now to join us? Huh?"

"I didn't pick any of this, Danny."

Jim's gut felt like he'd eaten a bag of quickset concrete. He was the only one who'd made any of the choices that brought about the current circumstances.

Dan looked at him. The guy's eyes were tired, and as red as a Vegas sunset. Jim had no answers to the questions that wounded stare conveyed.

Jim would not leave Dan on the hook. He needed to be the one to tell her. To say the words out loud so Dan didn't have to. "Lynette," he said, "I'm afraid you're right."

"So something happened to Cindy?"

Dan hugged her fragile body. "She's had an accident. I'm afraid we're going to have to write her story, Momma."

Tears poured from Lynette's eyes, so fat it looked like someone had poked a hole in a bucket. They trickled off her cheeks and soaked into the fabric of her faded pink gown. Each one seemed to drain a bit of her life away. A deep burning rage Jim hadn't felt in years ignited in the back of his throat. He tried to suck in a few deep breaths to tamp it. But nothing doing. He could count to a thousand and he'd still be angry. This was why it was better to stay uninvolved. Connections were dangerous. Made you care. Dulled you. Made you weak.

"It's gonna be alright, Momma."

"How are we going to manage without our Cindy?" Her voice was almost gone.

Jim had to get up, to walk, or he was going to implode. It would be bad enough just knowing he brought this to these people and caused the unacceptable sorrow. But seeing it …

He went out the back glass doors and circled around the front of the house. Knowing the female officer was on the porch, he came around heavy and loud. It didn't work. The jumpy cop drew on him before he had a chance to identify himself.

Jim stood still with his hands out to his sides until she recognized him and relaxed with a soft curse. "Sorry. Got an extra one of those?"

"Gun or cigarette?"

At the moment he wished he could handle a gun. But he needed to find his target before he could worry over eliminating it. "Cig."

She flipped the rumpled pack to him. A lighter was inside the half-empty box. He lit one up, coughed as he sucked in, and kept moving down the street. Instinctively, he scanned dark corners and noted lights on. Analyzing the area for possible threats. There were none apparent. The house and its location was well chosen. Probably didn't need to worry tonight. Sophie would be off licking her wounds. Regrouping. He had this night, maybe one more, before she returned for her prey.


It was a short walk to the end of the block. After that, Jim had nowhere to go. Any farther and he wouldn't be able to put eyes on the house. He sat on the curb under the glare of a streetlight. He got out his flask. Took a long drink. Enough to drown the guilt for a moment, anyway. The anger would hang around for a good long while. Before he could take another swig, a dark Charger pulled up. The window eased down with little noise.

Jim set the flask by his side. "Miller."

"Bean." The detective looked toward the house. Lights burned in almost every room. "Everything okay up there?"

"Lynette decided to rejoin the world of the mentally competent after you all left. Cornered me about what's going on. I think she realized Cynthia was not at the party. Maybe put it together from pieces of things she'd heard today."

"Ouch." He motioned with his head for Jim to get in. "Let's go for a ride."

Jim put the cig out and followed orders. The passenger seat was tight, with the computer mounted on the console taking up a good part of the seat space allotted. His size didn't help, but he was used to the equipment in his own car and dealt by pressing his body against the door. They weren't taking a road trip.

Miller turned the radio down. "We're not having any luck tracing Sophie Evers. She's got no past or present. Feds are having the same trouble. Last we have of her was in Dallas, and the cops down there are as overworked as we are. They said they'll see if they can get someone to look into it." He shrugged. "But, when we say that on this end, the other department's shit is last priority." He stopped at a light.

"What's your point?"

"If you're really interested in helping this guy, you need to go to Dallas and pick up her trail."

Last thing he wanted to do was turn down Miller. The man had come to his rescue before and Jim considered him one of his few friends. "Surprised you're asking a civilian to help with the investigation."

Miller never took his eyes off the road as he drove, but Jim could see the determination on his face reflected in the windshield. "The sick bitch needs stopping. Finding people is what you do. Do it."

"I need to protect that kid and his mother."

"He's not a kid. You're better at finding people and I'm better at protection. I carry guns." The light ahead changed, the car eased to a stop.

A convertible mustang with three teenage boys pulled alongside them. The kids were sitting a little too still, all facing very forward, careful not to make eye contact with the cops.

"There's trouble," Jim chuckled.

"Not my beat." Miller reached over and gave him a small punch to the shoulder. "You know I'm right. The pair is settled in that house, getting more attention than Lynette's had in years, probably. And her son is there. I have it covered. Two of my best plainclothes twenty-four-seven. I pulled them off a big case for this. Not to mention the Feds are involved."

"Thought Agent Webb went back to Dallas?"

"For now. She left her backup suit to look over my shoulder." Miller turned again, driving in circles. "Do you want her to find this trail before we do?"

Jim wasn't sure. Maybe he just wanted this one over with. Maybe he didn't like the heavy responsibility he felt for Dan and Lynette. It sucked to care. "No."

"Take Double O. You should have enough of that retainer left to cover the two of you for a couple days."

Double O was a damn good choice as a wingman since he was a bounty hunter. "Why are you so interested in me doing this?"

"Because I don't like the FBI all up in my business. Cause you need to solve this. And if shit hits the fan again, I'd rather you be in Dallas so my Chief doesn't filet my butt cheeks for letting you so close to another case." He reached for a folder tucked between his seat and the center console, tossed it on Jim's lap. "I … um … tripped and the FBI file fell in the copier."

Jim barked out a laugh. "Hope that doesn't have to hold up under oath."

"You and me both, brother. You going?" He pulled back into the short cul-de-sac and stopped in the safe house drive. Dan was on the steps. He didn't get up when the two approached him.

"You shouldn't be out here. Makes you a really easy target." Jim hugged the folder as he crossed his arms, going for intimidating. Poor guy was so wiped out it wasn't going to work.

"I guess so. I'm used to being outside at night. I like to look at the stars."

"Lights from the Strip ruin that, so no use taking the risk. Don't make me kick your butt." He cut Dan some slack. "Promise me you'll stay inside from now on."

"How long is that?"

Miller patted Dan on the shoulder as he passed. "Not long if we can help it. How's she doing?"

"Not great. She's calmer. I had to wake up Steven. He gave her something to help her sleep. Said he hated to do it since he hadn't seen her that lucid in months."

The guy looked like the rooster who lost the cock fight. He was skinny, his burgeoning beard was patchy, and his hair was all over the place from being shoved under a cowboy hat.

"Maybe you can get him to give you the same thing, man. You need to rest." Jim did too. He probably looked just as bad.

"I do." Dan stood.

"I'm headed to Dallas," Jim said.

Dan stopped in the doorway, his eyes wide as he turned back to Jim.

"Trail starts there. She's got to have some of that money from the robbery-killings Agent Webb told us about. I find that, then maybe I can track her all the way here. You're in good hands. As soon as I get a clean cell phone, I'll call you."

Dan looked at his feet, then at Miller, and then started to speak. Miller was standing right there, so Jim doubted Dan would say he didn't feel safe even with cops around.

"This is the best plan of attack. I'll be more use in Texas than sitting here staring at a bunch of cops."

That was if Sophie didn't find him and drug him again. Maybe this time she would cut his throat.


The dumb detective led her straight to the house. He made a couple of odd turns, but he was as easy to follow as a kindergartner playing hide and seek. Even a cop wouldn't suspect a minivan of following anyone, would they? There were four billon of the oversized, ugly things on the road and most were the same nondescript silver hers was.

The house was just as obvious sitting back in the cul-de-sac, windows lit up as if they were expecting company. An undercover cop sat in a wooden swing facing the sidewall of the porch. Not much of a view of oncoming trouble or a vantage point to shoot from. They might as well have put a sign in the yard: Occupant in protective custody. Keep off the grass.

Sophie drove past the entrance to the cul-de-sac and parked three blocks away. The puppy was happy to be getting out. The thing had been in the car for hours while Sophie watched the police department waiting for Miller to leave.

Carl needed to walk and she needed to case the area. He pissed almost immediately. Squatted. Huh. She inspected his back end a little closer as he walked on. She was sure if it were a he, she'd see the evidence.

"So, Carla it is." Or maybe Carley? Nah. Carley was too girly and Carla had been the first thing out of her head. Sophie liked things simple and straightforward.

Carla led Sophie between two houses. She followed the dog's lead along a path in the stones and dried grass. That route had been carved by countless kid-sized tennis shoes making thousands of trips between houses. It wound between fenced yards but eventually led right to an excellent place to get a look at the back of the safe house.

The yard was clean and surrounded by a four-foot-high fence that encircled several mature trees. For a Vegas subdivision, a tree that could cast a shadow or make a little shade was big deal. The back porch was lit up by indirect light from the inside. And there was a sliding glass door with eighties vertical blinds closed tight yet still letting a little yellow light seep out.

She eased around the north side of the fence and studied the outdoor lights of the neighbor's house. They were on and had motion detectors. So once they were turned off for the night, they'd come on if she got too close. Not good.

She backtracked, moving slow and low so as not to be spotted by the occupants of the safe house, who were undoubtedly on full alert. Might even have someone walking around outside She'd not seen anyone yet.

She gave the leash a gentle jerk to get the mutt's attention. "No barking. You got me?"

Carla stopped and tossed her an as if look.

Sophie eased up to the fence behind the correct house. A shiver made its way from the roots of her hair to the tips of her toes.

He was in there. Danny was so close her body felt his energy. She inhaled, sure she could smell him in the air, almost taste his skin if she closed her eyes. She visualized her future, her plans. The house was set. The plan was laid. Very real.

The dog tugged on the leash and shook her out of her fantasy. Carla was right; not good to linger while one was on reconnaissance.

The dog was happy to continue her exploration of unfamiliar scents. Sophie let her loiter and sniff whatever she wanted as they made their way. Oddly, she was enjoying the dog's curly little tail as it wagged happily. It was a distraction from the stress. Sophie used the opportunity to memorize the landscape and the lighting while Carla tinkled again and again.

Movement grabbed her attention as she came around the far side of the house. A hairy-chested man sat on the back porch of the neighbor's house. Unfortunately, the large-bellied bastard had spotted her as well.

She dropped Carla's leash and tried to appear as if she'd not seen him. Damn her luck if he was a police officer posing as the neighbor. She tapped her fingertip on her blade to check its accessibility and then reached for an injector pen tucked in her waistband. Hidden there for emergencies and loaded for bear in the literal sense of the old saying.

"Odd place for a stroll." He stood, cigarette in hand. The bucket beside the lawn chair he'd occupied overflowed with crumpled butts. His light blue tank had a faded slogan she couldn't read on the front. Dark sweat stains outlined man-breasts above a pumpkin-sized stomach. The slob must be relegated to the backyard to smoke. His shorts were cut-off jeans, a little too short both for the current fashion and his pudgy legs. A glut of empty beer cans was scattered behind the chair.

Likely not a cop, but there was no way to be positive. Her gut told her he was more deadbeat than cop. Her guess was washed-out techie who now works at the auto parts counter.

Sophie put her hand to her chest. "You startled me." She backed up a step. "I'm really sorry to bother you. My dog got loose and I followed her this way." Carla waggled herself right up to him just as the words came out of Sophie's mouth. Good girl.

Sophie glanced over to the safe house. All the shades remained closed and still.

This guy gave her that I'm fantasizing about you naked smile. "Cute dog for a cute lady." He rubbed Carla's little head.

The action made Sophie angry. She didn't want this creep's hands on the pup. She did however want to cut him, badly. But she bit her lip hard enough to taste her own blood. Sometimes it was hard to refrain from killing off the bottom basal slime of the gene pool just for the sake of humanity. But he wasn't worth the attention the body would bring.

"You live around here?" He caught Carla's leash and headed toward Sophie. Moved like a man who sat around a lot, maybe watched TV all day. Maybe she was wrong on her first assessment. He didn't look smart enough for the parts counter. At least three days of smoke and body odor wafted as he approached. No. This guy was unemployed. If she had to guess, Sophie figured he lived off his mother or his girlfriend.

She gripped the injector. Maybe the distraction of this creature's death would be good for her. The pleasure of watching the smoky vapor of his bleeding soul as it left his ugly carcass would boost her, feed her. Might even settle her frayed nerves. The cops would shit themselves if she killed so close to Danny and his crazy mother. So it would accomplish two things: relax her and up the anxiety levels inside that house. Two birds with one shot. Three, really—she could rid society of the burden of this indigent slob.

He was making the decision easy too. His approach kept the two of them in shadow not more than seventy-five yards from safe house.

She glanced back to breath in the air from the safe house, feel for Danny one last time, and check for the best entry when the time came.

She made out two windows on the ground floor of the safe house she could breach with little effort. She blocked her disgust at the man's odor with the more pleasant thought that Danny was sitting just inside those walls. Perfect.

"We're new. My husband and I moved in a couple blocks over." She vaguely tilted her head.

"You buy that place on Falcon Street?"

"Yeah. That's it." Whatever you say, my dear. She reached for the leash.

He handed it over, taking an extra step, standing a little too close for polite conversation. He was trying to be large, intimidating. Oh, he was asking for it. "Cool. Nice place."

She backed up a bit. Carla happily retreated in the direction they'd come. "It is." She nodded to the leash. "Thanks."

She turned and headed off into the dark.

"See ya." The dumpy man said to her back. It was more of a question than a statement. Ridiculous. Did the fat fuck think he had a chance with a woman like her? Her pulse was thundering through her veins, rushing in her ears. She could visualize the slow surge of his blood, lazy with cholesterol, pumping through his carotid artery. She needed to hit the road but wanted to cut him.

Never act impulsively. You almost got yourself caught last time.

Carla tugged to go off exploring again, but Sophie reined her in.

Even that mutt's smarter than you.

She wanted to shout at the voice in her head, curse it. Her own self-deprecating critic making sure she evolved. Never good to be static. So she listened to that voice. Argued with it. No matter what drugs she took, it was impossible to ignore. Besides, she could ignore it. Disobey it. No matter what the voice had to say, the urges were strong. She tasted her desire like a strong shot of tequila, burning and acrid.

She turned to see the man still watching her, staring at her ass. She was next to a little shed, blocked from view from his house and the safe house. He would only take a few moments, even seconds.

She smiled at him and leaned against the shed. She crooked her hip and tossed her hair over her shoulder.

He let his cigarette fall to the ground and snubbed it out with his flip-flop-encased foot.

So easy to extinguish.

He stopped, facing her, aligning himself so his body was looming. "Forget something?"

She nodded, let the leash go, and eased in closer to him. The stench of cheap tobacco and two days' worth of Vegas sweat rolled off his skin. The idiot grinned like he'd won a prize.

She palmed the injector in her left hand, walked as if to circle around him, trailing her right fingers across his chest and over his shoulder. She brushed her breast against his back as she stepped in behind him. She wanted to give the sap the impression she was embracing him. She had to hold her breath to avoid the stink of his skin.

The slug was five-seven, roughly two hundred and fifty pounds, and she guessed most of it was in his stomach.

"You like it rough, baby?" she asked him. In her head the words echoed along with the images of others who'd answered that question with an exhilarated yes. Just as he would. Her pulse was drumming, her head cloudy with lust.

He looked over his shoulder, his lips curved in delight. A quick nod.

She tightened her grip on his neck, not enough to frighten him, just enough to make him think he was about to get the fuck of his sad, stinky life. She reached up and put her lips on his left shoulder. Made her think of salt mixed with old trash. He was moist with sweat, maybe from his arousal or it could be the miserable evening heat. She bit down. Hard.

At the same time she hammered the injector right next to her seductive bite. He jerked from the unexpected sting.

"Sorry." She kissed the spot a couple of times and he relaxed immediately. This guy wouldn't lift a finger to defend himself. "Too much?"

He shook his head, turned to her. He reached for her neck. Maybe to pull her head back. Maybe to return the bite, but his hands came to rest on her arm. Gripped. His body began to veer backward, she widened her stance to hold his weight. She wanted him upright.

He reached for her face, but missed. "I … what …"

She put the knife at the base of his ear. The exceptional blade encountered no drag as she drew it. The steel sliced though his skin and the platysma muscle that shaped the side of his unshaven neck like a shark slicing through a breaking wave.

Blood surged as she severed the jugular and the carotid. Once she felt the bump of her blade on the solidity of the hyoid, she yanked, speeding up the process, repeating the damage to the far side of his neck.

He bucked only once, his effort to cry out far too late. The drugs and the lack of oxygen to his lungs and brain made that impossible.

She shoved his body off to the side as he started to bleed out. She didn't want any more of his blood on her than was necessary. The clothes would have to be burned, but she still needed to hit the store, ditch the van, and head home to regroup. She cleaned the blade on a portion of his shirt that wasn't yet scarlet. He had landed on his side so most was draining on the ground.

Don't leave them bloody fingerprints for Christ's sake!

"I didn't. Shut up."

It was beautiful work. But you have to control yourself. I know five-year-olds who are better with delayed gratification than you.

Heaven forbid her inner voice give her a compliment without knocking her down at the same time.

"Can't you just let me enjoy the symphony of the moment every now and then?"

Time to go. Stroke your ego later.

She looked back at the house, the one Danny was sitting in. Maybe he was right there behind those blinds. Killing that slob left her wanting and aroused and she wanted to run right up to the door, but the inner bitch was right. Sophie needed to exercise more restraint.

The yahoos would watch this place like a hawk for days after this, but after some time, Danny would get restless and his protectors would get complacent. She could be a patient girl when she was well motivated. Dead body in her wake notwithstanding.

It was time to go home. This trip had taken longer than she'd expected as it was. She had to go to work for a while or she'd get fired. Again.

"Carla?" She half called, half whispered the pup's name. The scruffy thing trotted toward Sophie. The dog headed to the mess on the ground but Sophie caught her leash. "Don't sully your fur with that."