She was feeling too good right now to stress, so she opted to pour herself a cup of coffee. She tore open a packet of sugar and dumped in one of the fake creamers.

She sipped and moved to the small table and chair beside the bed. Ramsey’s files were arranged in a neat line. The guy was meticulous. Last night the clear demarcation both had adhered to had been obliterated. But now she was counting on that laser mind of his getting back on track.

She opened the first file and was quickly rewarded with a grisly rural murder scene. The tab was marked Denver, Colorado. She opened two other files with similar gruesome scenarios.

The shower shut off. She crossed her legs and sat back in the chair, sipping coffee that was barely this side of acceptable.

He stepped out of the steam, a towel wrapped around his waist. He had shaved and combed his hair. All he needed was a suit and he would be ready for any boardroom.

“Good morning,” he said.

She held up the cup. “Thanks for the coffee.”

“There’s a coffee shop in the lobby if you’d rather have something tastier.”

“This will do just fine. I can already feel the caffeine shaking off the cobwebs.”

He poured himself a cup. And for the first time, some of that trademark intense energy had shifted in a way she found really appealing. “We have to be at the crime lab at nine thirty.”

“That’s almost ninety minutes.” She took one more sip of coffee and set her cup down beside the closed files. Again, the warnings demanding distance and the impersonal went silent. “I have a few ideas, but it’s going to mean messing up that pretty hair of yours.”

He crossed to her and set his cup down beside hers. She rose and reached for his towel, unfastening and tossing it aside.

“I can’t find my panties,” she said, nestling closer to him.

“That’s a damn shame. Better call a cop.”

He cupped her naked buttocks and pushed her against his erection.

“I just did.”

The morning school bus was making its rounds in the neighborhood as Bonnie sat in Ralph’s car, which she had promised to have back to him by the end of the day. Poor Ralph. Still worried she would out his extracurricular activities.

The little neighborhood children were gathered on the corner, and a couple of the mothers stood post with them. Everyone looked tired, as if they were still adjusting to the school schedule. The excitement of the first days had worn off, and they were all settling into the long grind of another school year.

Bonnie had never bothered with formal schools for her kids. Schools required registration forms, identification, and immunization records that she ignored. She did not buy into the conventional wisdom that kids needed school. Hers had learned well enough. Life was the best teacher as far as she was concerned.

Mrs. Shepard and Elena came out on the front porch and watched as the kids got on the bus and it drove off. Mrs. Shepard was talking to Elena, and together they were waving at the kids on the bus as it passed.

Shepard was probably feeding that girl a line of bull. Telling her about all the fun things she could do at school. Elena seemed to be paying attention, as if she could easily be led to a conventional life.

The two rose and vanished inside, reappearing fifteen minutes later. They crossed the lawn to the car, and Mrs. Shepard hooked Elena into her car seat.

Bonnie could not make her move now, but if she bided her time, there would be an opening. And when it came, she would reach in and grab Elena. Elena, Sonny, and she would leave this damn town for good.

A smart fisherman knew the right bait was critical for success. And his little donation was just the kind of lure he needed to access the Mission records, which he hoped had information about Ms. Perky Breasts.

Mecum reached for a cold beer, watching a movie on his computer while he waited for his little fish to take the bait.

The movie was Pretty Woman. All the hookers wanted to be Julia Roberts’s character, Vivian, the whore with the heart of gold. The young ones might have stepped over the line into prostitution, but they could still look back and see who they had been. The older ones had accepted their fate and no longer looked back.

He watched the computer screen, knowing that he needed to find his Vivian and get her into his van before this damn disease rendered him useless. He had spent the better part of the last twenty-four hours outfitting his van with new restraints so that it was almost a mirror image of the one he had lost.

A small bell chimed on his computer. He turned off the movie just as Vivian was about to see what was in the blue velvet-lined jewelry box. This was a favorite place for him to stop. He loved denying her the surprise and pleasure.

The good reverend had sent an email to the fake address he had given her, offering her humble thanks. Her response immediately created a virtual tunnel that burrowed under firewalls and brought him up in the Mission’s computer. He was like a vampire. He could not enter a home unless he was invited. But once the link was clicked, he was over the threshold in a nanosecond, and there was no getting rid of him.

His fish took the bait and issued him his invitation at 9:15 a.m.

“Gotcha.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

Friday, August 28, 9:30 a.m.

Melina followed Ramsey as he drove from his hotel to the forensic lab. As they approached the facility, she took an extra turn around the block so they would not arrive at the exact same time. Neither had suggested a shared ride to the office. As intimate as they had been, showing up in the same vehicle made a personal statement she was not ready to make. First sex, then a car. What would be next? Holding hands? The image made her chuckle as she showed her identification.

“What’s so funny?” the guard asked.

“Can you picture me living the white picket dream?”

It was his turn to chuckle. “With who? You’re married to your job.”

“Exactly.”

“What brought that up?” His eyes glinted as if he had caught her doing the walk of shame.

She laughed, catching Ramsey’s approach in the corner of her eye. “Nothing. Nothing at all.”

Ramsey’s stoic features always struck a good balance between disinterested and mildly impatient. He studied human expression and used it to peer into minds, so it stood to reason he was an expert at masking his own thoughts.

Her shoes clicked against the tiled floor as she walked toward the elevators. Raising her gaze to the polished door, she caught a hint of brittleness in her eyes. Those eyes had always held a measure of wariness, but she’d believed hope had tempered it. Maybe not so much anymore. She sensed Ramsey’s gaze on her but did not look toward him. Maybe because she did not want him seeing her worry.

They rode the elevator to her floor, and while he headed to the conference room to get situated again, she entered her office. As soon as she set her backpack down, her phone rang. It was Andy.

“Agent Shepard,” she said.

“It’s Andy. I have an update on your half brother.”

“Really?” She sat, not quite sure if she should be standing. “That was very fast.”

“I do work magic.”

Melina leaned forward a bit, unable to summon a smile. “And?”

“Your DNA was a familial hit to a young man by the name of Dean Guthrie, who it turns out does have a juvenile record. He was arrested for vagrancy and petty theft when he was seventeen. The records were in sealed juvenile courts, which is why I didn’t find them immediately. Dean received six months’ detention followed by probation. After that, he wasn’t arrested again.”

“Do you have a picture?”

“An old picture. It was taken about twenty years ago when he was arrested. It should be in your email now.”

Once Mecum got into the Mission’s personnel files, he had access to all the employee and volunteer information for anyone who worked at the Mission. However, the data required that he search each individual, and he did not have that kind of time. Then he spotted the draft of the Mission brochure Sarah Beckett had mentioned.

It was full of pictures from everyday life at the Mission. He scrolled through the pages, searching the faces of the women who had been through the doors of the Mission. He looked through each not once but twice, but he did not see his girl. He sat back, disappointed that he had not found her. “Where are you?”

He scrolled to the volunteers’ page, not sure what to expect. Midway down the page, he saw her. It was a headshot, and she was staring into the camera. Her lips were compressed into a not-quite-grim line that was somewhere between a smile and annoyance.

“Melina Shepard. Ms. Perky Breasts!” he said.

He scrolled to the next page and saw a group shot of the volunteers. Everyone was staring at the camera except the man standing beside Melina. Instead he was staring at her. As he continued through the brochure, there were more group pictures. Each time this man was in a picture with Melina, he was either close to her or looking at her. The man’s name was Sam Jenkins.