measure up to.
Jennifer had replayed the events leading up to his death a thousand times, knowing each time that she could have prevented it. If only she’d pieced the riddle together twenty minutes earlier. If only she’d gotten to him sooner. If only she hadn’t been assigned to the case.
Until this moment, no one had even hinted at blame—to do so would be beneath the Bureau. But her own blame had beaten her raw over the last three months. The fact was, if she had not been on the case, Roy would be alive. Nothing would ever change that. In some way she was personally responsible for the death of her brother.
Her mission in life was now painfully simple. She would stop at nothing to remove the Riddle Killer from the face of the earth.
If Frank knew the depth of her obsession, he might have pulled her from the case long ago. Her survival depended on her ability to remain calm and reasonable.
“Sir, I’m begging you. You have to let me lead the investigation. He hasn’t killed yet. He’s growing bold, but if we let him think he can play the FBI, he’ll grow bolder. Pulling me from the case would send the wrong message.”
The thought dawned on her only as she spoke it. By the look on Frank’s face, he hadn’t considered that angle yet.
She pressed. “I’ve had three months to grieve, Frank. Last time I took inventory I was lucid. You owe it to the public to let me go. No one stands a better chance of stopping him before he kills again.”
Frank looked at her in silence.
“You know I’m right.”
“You’ve got tenacity; I’ll give you that. Tell me that you have no leanings to any kind of personal vendetta.”
“I want him out of circulation. If that’s personally motivated, so be it.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“You think I would compromise justice with a quick trigger?” she said with a bite of sarcasm. “Or withhold information from other agencies to get the collar myself? Do you think so little of me?”
“None of us are exempt from strong emotional pulls. If my brother had been killed, I’m not sure I wouldn’t turn in my badge and go after him outside the law.”
She wasn’t sure what to say. She’d considered the same a dozen times. Nothing would give her more satisfaction than pulling the trigger herself when it came right down to it.
“I’m not you,” she finally said, but she wasn’t so sure.
He nodded. “You don’t see the kind of love you shared with your brother much these days, you know. I’ve always respected you for that.”
“Thank you. Roy was an incredible person. No one will ever replace him.”
“No, I guess not. Okay, Jennifer. You win. You’ll have a half-dozen agencies climbing around; I want you to work with them. I’m not saying you have to spend all day playing footsie with them, but at least give them the respect of keeping them up to date.”
Jennifer stood. “Of course.”
“Detective Paul Milton will be expecting you first thing. He’s not the gun-shy type if you know what I mean. Be nice.”
“I’m incapable of anything less.”
5
K EVIN CLEARED THE FIRST FOUR STAIRS in his first step. He tripped on the last and sprawled on the landing. “Come on!” He grunted and jumped to his feet. Samantha’s phone number was on his desk—please say it was still on his desk. He crashed through the door. His best friend. Who could that possibly be?
He shuffled through papers and knocked a hermeneutics textbook off the desk. He’d left it right here on top; he could swear it! Maybe he should just call Milton. Where was that number!
Slow down, Kevin. Gather yourself. This is a thinking game, not a race. No, a race too. A thinking race.
He took a deep breath and put his hand to his face. I can’t call the cops. Slater will hear the call. He’s got the house bugged or something. Okay. He wants me to call Samantha. This is about her too. I need Samantha. Only two minutes have passed. Twenty-eight left. Plenty of time. First thing,
Jennifer had replayed the events leading up to his death a thousand times, knowing each time that she could have prevented it. If only she’d pieced the riddle together twenty minutes earlier. If only she’d gotten to him sooner. If only she hadn’t been assigned to the case.
Until this moment, no one had even hinted at blame—to do so would be beneath the Bureau. But her own blame had beaten her raw over the last three months. The fact was, if she had not been on the case, Roy would be alive. Nothing would ever change that. In some way she was personally responsible for the death of her brother.
Her mission in life was now painfully simple. She would stop at nothing to remove the Riddle Killer from the face of the earth.
If Frank knew the depth of her obsession, he might have pulled her from the case long ago. Her survival depended on her ability to remain calm and reasonable.
“Sir, I’m begging you. You have to let me lead the investigation. He hasn’t killed yet. He’s growing bold, but if we let him think he can play the FBI, he’ll grow bolder. Pulling me from the case would send the wrong message.”
The thought dawned on her only as she spoke it. By the look on Frank’s face, he hadn’t considered that angle yet.
She pressed. “I’ve had three months to grieve, Frank. Last time I took inventory I was lucid. You owe it to the public to let me go. No one stands a better chance of stopping him before he kills again.”
Frank looked at her in silence.
“You know I’m right.”
“You’ve got tenacity; I’ll give you that. Tell me that you have no leanings to any kind of personal vendetta.”
“I want him out of circulation. If that’s personally motivated, so be it.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“You think I would compromise justice with a quick trigger?” she said with a bite of sarcasm. “Or withhold information from other agencies to get the collar myself? Do you think so little of me?”
“None of us are exempt from strong emotional pulls. If my brother had been killed, I’m not sure I wouldn’t turn in my badge and go after him outside the law.”
She wasn’t sure what to say. She’d considered the same a dozen times. Nothing would give her more satisfaction than pulling the trigger herself when it came right down to it.
“I’m not you,” she finally said, but she wasn’t so sure.
He nodded. “You don’t see the kind of love you shared with your brother much these days, you know. I’ve always respected you for that.”
“Thank you. Roy was an incredible person. No one will ever replace him.”
“No, I guess not. Okay, Jennifer. You win. You’ll have a half-dozen agencies climbing around; I want you to work with them. I’m not saying you have to spend all day playing footsie with them, but at least give them the respect of keeping them up to date.”
Jennifer stood. “Of course.”
“Detective Paul Milton will be expecting you first thing. He’s not the gun-shy type if you know what I mean. Be nice.”
“I’m incapable of anything less.”
5
K EVIN CLEARED THE FIRST FOUR STAIRS in his first step. He tripped on the last and sprawled on the landing. “Come on!” He grunted and jumped to his feet. Samantha’s phone number was on his desk—please say it was still on his desk. He crashed through the door. His best friend. Who could that possibly be?
He shuffled through papers and knocked a hermeneutics textbook off the desk. He’d left it right here on top; he could swear it! Maybe he should just call Milton. Where was that number!
Slow down, Kevin. Gather yourself. This is a thinking game, not a race. No, a race too. A thinking race.
He took a deep breath and put his hand to his face. I can’t call the cops. Slater will hear the call. He’s got the house bugged or something. Okay. He wants me to call Samantha. This is about her too. I need Samantha. Only two minutes have passed. Twenty-eight left. Plenty of time. First thing,
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