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  “It’s an educated guess. It goes to motive—there is no motive for any of these crimes. None. The first victim may not even have been found—he may be a missing person. But the first victim will lead directly to the killer. I’m almost certain of it.”

  “It makes no sense. I’m not saying it’s not possible, only that you can’t be certain.”

  Max was right, but Lucy couldn’t shake the feeling. Justin’s murder was too well-planned. No trace evidence. Though Lucy didn’t know the why, she was certain that Max was correct that adultery played a part in the motive.

  “Don’t think of Victim Zero as a victim per se … think of the killer as suffering a grave loss. There was an inciting incident that started her on the road of murder. She could have killed her own son, or he was taken from her by her husband or someone else, or her son could have been a victim of another crime. Consider that there is a lawyer in each of these families—Andrew and Nelia, Mr. Porter, Mrs. Donovan, Mrs. Caldwell. It could be she lost her son to the system.”

  “And she wants to spread the misery?” Max said.

  Lucy had some ideas, but she needed to confirm facts before she would theorize further.

  “I have a good friend with the National Center for Missing and Exploited Children. I’m going to write some parameters and see if he can give me a list of missing children and unsolved crimes that fit the victim profile, plus a list of crimes against boys under ten during that window that were solved. It may give us a direction.”

  “I’ll have my staff work on that angle as well.”

  “You don’t have access to the same database. Have your staff continue to look at similar crimes post-Justin—perhaps if we identify this victim between Chris and Tommy we’ll gain additional information and narrow our suspect pool. We’ll get more done if we focus on different parts of the whole.”

  Lucy rubbed her eyes. “I need to see my family. Will you be awake around ten if I return? I’d like to bring Sean as well—I know you didn’t hit it off, but he’s sharp—he sees things other people don’t see.”

  “He called me a liar.”

  “He’s protective.”

  Max raised her eyebrow. “I noticed.”

  She wanted more information, Lucy could tell by her expression. Lucy had no intention of sharing anything about herself with the reporter.

  “Ten?” she repeated.

  “I’ll be awake,” Max said. “Sleep is not my friend.”

  Lucy smiled. “See, we already have something in common.”

  Chapter Twelve

  Danielle left work at 2:00 P.M. Thursday, feigning a doctor’s appointment. Because she rarely took time off and always did a good job, no one questioned her.

  She drove to Kevin Fieldstone’s school. Perhaps ironically—or because of fate—Danielle’s house was in this school district. She lived only four blocks away. There had been times—rare though they were—when she called in sick and she’d sit in her living room and watch the children walk by her window.

  Children that weren’t hers.

  Today she waited along with mothers and fathers; grandmothers and grandfathers; aunts, babysitters, and older siblings. She waited in her car, down the block, for school to let out. She didn’t know what Kevin’s grandmother looked like; she did, however, know what Kevin looked like from meeting him in the office and the picture she’d stolen from Nina’s office this morning. One of many pictures Nina had of her son on a bulletin board behind her desk.

  She wouldn’t notice it was gone. If she did, she would assume it had been knocked off and swept away with the trash.

  No one would think that Danielle had taken it.

  “You are perfect,” she whispered to the photo before putting it in her pocket. Too perfect to have such miserable parents. A father who would rather be screwing his mistress than home with his son; a mother who worked long hours and would rather be out with friends and colleagues than home with her son.

  Kevin was perfect; his parents didn’t deserve him.

  Even before the bell rang, children trickled out of the school. Teachers or aides stood at the gates, watching the kids, the buses, the parents. Saying hello to who they knew, and maybe who they didn’t. Boys and girls of all shapes and sizes, every color and ethnicity.

  She was looking for a blond boy with hair that was always a little too long, always seemed to hang in his eyes. A blond boy with dimples and a light smattering of freckles who was just a little shorter than an average eight-year-old.

  The crowd was thickening and she feared she would miss him. Her heart raced as she scanned back and forth. What was the urgency? She could come back. She didn’t have to do this now. She could wait.

  Wait? Wait for his parents to fail him?

  She thought she’d missed him as the crowd thinned. Her hands tightened around her steering wheel. Her vision began to fade.

  No, no, no!

  She watched as an older woman in blue walked to the gate. A moment later a little blond boy ran out and took her hand. He was jumping up and down and talking, then he waved to someone Danielle couldn’t see. He bounced as he walked with his grandmother, chatting freely.

  Carefree.

  Kevin.

  Danielle watched as they reached the corner. When the light turned green, they crossed the street and turned right. Danielle waited a beat, then followed.

  She lost them for a moment and nearly panicked, then she turned around and saw them down a side street. She drove down the street at the legal limit and passed them. She turned down the next street, then watched through her rearview mirror.

  They, too, turned down this street. Walked right by her car.

  “And Daddy said I can play baseball! Sign-ups are this weekend, I’m going to sign up. I want to be a pitcher, Grandma! I want to pitch like Clayton Kershaw! He’s with the Dodgers. You know the Dodgers, right? Daddy took…”

  And then she couldn’t hear them anymore.

  She watched as they walked up the short walkway to a house halfway down the street. She waited five minutes.

  Then she drove by the house before she left.

  I hope I’m wrong. I hope Tony Fieldstone isn’t the bastard I think he is.

  She knew she wasn’t wrong. She’d never been wrong before.

  It pained her greatly that Tony’s son was going to suffer for his sins. But she took some comfort in knowing Tony would suffer for the rest of his life.

  She drove home. As she pulled in to the driveway, her phone rang.

  Nina.

  “Hello?” she answered.

  “Hi, Danielle, sorry to bother you. Can you come back to the office after your appointment? I know I said you can have the afternoon off, but we have an emergency briefing to take care of, and then—”

  “It’s fine. I’m just leaving now. I can be there in twenty minutes or so?”

  “Thank you so much. You’re a godsend!”

  Danielle sat in her driveway for a long minute. She picked up her phone and dialed her ex-husband’s number.

  It rang. And rang. Voice mail picked up.

  “I miss Matthew,” she whispered. “I miss him so much.”

  She stared at the phone for another long minute, until it automatically disconnected the call.

  She pressed redial.

  “I hate you,” she said when voice mail picked up again.

  Then she backed her car out of the driveway and went back to work.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Rosa Kincaid flung open the door Thursday evening, beaming. “Lucia! Sean! This is the best surprise.”

  Lucy hugged her mother. “It’s so good to see you, Ma.”

  “Let me look at you—you are good.” Rosa smiled at Sean and hugged him. “You make her happy.”

  “That’s my job.” Sean kissed Rosa on the cheek. “I’m sorry we called last minute.”

  She waved off his comment with a frown. “Family is always welcome, anytime. Did you ask the FBI to transfer you home?”

&
nbsp; “Mama,” Lucy said. “I told you, that’s not how it works.”

  “But you know important people. Dillon told me that you’ve done a good job, can’t you pick where you work?”

  “No, I can’t. Please don’t talk to Dillon about my work.”

  “I don’t—just making sure you’re okay. I worry. But no details. I don’t need details.”

  Lucy had done everything she could before her wedding to hide the bruises and injuries she’d sustained the week before she married Sean, but her mother had seen some of them. Now, she was worried all the time—even more than before.

  On the day of Lucy’s high school graduation, she’d been kidnapped and raped. She nearly died at the hands of a psychopath. Her brothers had found her, but in the process Patrick had been seriously injured, resulting in a long coma. Lucy couldn’t bear the guilt and pain of what happened to Patrick, on top of the grief she saw in her mother’s eyes. She moved three thousand miles away to Washington, D.C. and lived with her brother Dillon while attending Georgetown University. It had taken Lucy years to put the past behind her, and unfortunately, sometimes her job brought her past to the forefront.

  Back then, her mother had called her all the time, but they’d worked through the trauma and for years enjoyed a pleasant weekly conversation that wasn’t tainted with Rosa’s fear and worry for Lucy. But now, since Rosa had seen Lucy’s injuries and scars and learned that her job was dangerous—more dangerous, according to Rosa, than Carina’s job because Carina never came home with bruises and cuts and had never been shot—she called or e-mailed her almost every day. Lucy had to respond or her mother would worry about her safety. And now, apparently, Rosa was talking to Dillon about her.

  That couldn’t continue, but Lucy didn’t know how to make it stop. She loved her mother and didn’t want to hurt her feelings. Yet … how could she tell her that this was her chosen life? That while she didn’t seek out dangerous situations, they often found her?

  Lucy didn’t want to work out of the San Diego Field Office. She loved her family, but there were some things she wanted to keep from them. Dillon was different—not only was he married to Lucy’s best friend, Kate, but he was a forensic psychiatrist. Lucy could talk to him when no one else would understand. She’d lived with Dillon and Kate for six years and there was a comfort and trust there that she didn’t really have with anyone else. If Lucy lived here in San Diego, she didn’t think she’d be able to keep anything from her family.

  Sometimes, ignorance was better. Safer.

  “Who’s here?” she asked.

  “No one yet, except John Patrick. I’m so blessed, I watch him when both Nick and Carina have to work. They’ll be here any minute.”

  Lucy felt a pang she hadn’t expected … her mother had also watched Justin all those years ago. That’s why Lucy felt so close to her nephew, she was practically raised with him. Like a brother. A twin. Lucy had wanted Justin to be her brother because her real brothers and sisters were all so much older than she was. In fact, they’d often pretended they were twins—though they were born ten days apart, they always had a joint birthday party.

  Justin would forever be seven to Lucy. He should have been here with her. He should have graduated from high school with her. Gone to college. Fallen in love. He should have had a full life with friends and family, but it was stolen from him.

  Sean rubbed her back, then kept his hand on her. She leaned into him, grateful beyond all measure that she had Sean not only here tonight, but in her life.

  “Where’s J. P.?” she asked, hoping her mother didn’t sense her melancholy.

  “Your father is spoiling him, I’m sure.”

  Pat Kincaid walked in carrying the seven-month-old boy in one arm. “Here’s the little bruiser.” They were both grinning—though J. P. was drooling profusely. Her mother reached over and wiped his chin with a tissue, then kissed J. P. on the head.

  Lucy smiled, though she felt that all-too-familiar pang of loss because she was sterile. She didn’t think it would ever go away, but it was a little better now than it had been the first time she saw J. P. after his birth.

  Sean entwined his hand in hers. “Let us help you in the kitchen,” he said to Rosa.

  “You can set the table—don’t let my daughter touch the stove or we’ll be ordering out for pizza. Why is it none of my daughters can cook? I don’t understand it. My boys, they cook. My girls?” She shook her head and mumbled rapidly in Spanish that Lucy decided not to translate for Sean.

  Nothing had changed in the kitchen. The dishes were in the same cabinet they had been in when Lucy was growing up, the napkins in a drawer, the place mats in the dining-room hutch. She brought everything out to the table and let Sean set the places. Eight—there was a high chair in the corner.

  “Lucy,” Sean whispered, “what’s wrong?”

  “Nostalgia,” she said.

  “Your mom’s right—you could request a transfer at the end of the year.”

  “Sean, would you really want to live in the same town as my family?”

  “I like your family. You love them.”

  Sean had a large family as well, but they were wholly different than the Kincaids. Not as close. And he’d recently faced the truth that he didn’t know all of them as well as he’d thought.

  “Or,” Sean said, “maybe we can just stay in San Antonio and visit more often.”

  “That would be perfect.” She leaned up and kissed him.

  “I could buy a house here—a beach house.”

  “Don’t spend that kind of money for a place we might visit once a month.”

  “I want to.”

  “You just bought the house in Vail.”

  “I could sell it.”

  She must have looked panicked, because he laughed and kissed her again. “I won’t sell it.”

  “Good. We have memories there. Great memories.” They’d spent their honeymoon in Vail, and Lucy hadn’t wanted to leave.

  “I would never sell the house. Maybe we’ll retire there.” He kissed her. “Celebrate every anniversary alone.”

  She smiled. “I miss the hot tub on the deck.”

  “We have a Jacuzzi at home.”

  “Not the same.” She wove her fingers in the hair that curled at Sean’s collar and pulled him down for another kiss.

  The front door opened and Connor and Nick walked in together.

  “What, the honeymoon isn’t over yet?” Connor said. He came over and gave Lucy a hug, then shook Sean’s hand. “What a great surprise, sis,” Connor said. “When Mom called this afternoon and said you were coming for dinner, I thought it was a ruse to get me over to fix something.”

  “Connor Kincaid,” Rosa said as she came in with a basket of freshly made tortillas. “If I want you to fix something, I would tell you so. I don’t need to lie.”

  “I was joking, Ma,” Connor said and kissed her on the cheek.

  “Nick, Pat has John Patrick, took him out back to watch the sunset. Don’t think J. P. knows what he’s seeing.” But she smiled. Rosa loved having her grandson here as often as possible. Lucy was so happy her mother was finding peace. She’d be seventy at the end of the year … Lucy was used to having older parents—older than her friends at any rate—but seventy was a turning point.

  “Thanks.” Nick nodded to the group and went out to the backyard.

  “Where’s Julia?” her mother asked Connor.

  “On her way, she had a late meeting. Stanton took the afternoon off, dumped a shitload of—um, a bunch of work—on her desk.”

  “Go toss the salad, then dish up the carnitas. Use the brown bowl, with the lid, not the blue one. Check the rice—it should be done by the time you’re finished with the salad.”

  “Yes, Ma.” Connor winked at Lucy, then followed their mother into the kitchen.

  “I hope Andrew didn’t say anything,” Lucy said. “I want to be the one to tell my family.”

  “Why would he? He didn’t even want you talking to the
m.”

  “That simply isn’t an option.” She paused. “Max wanted to come.”

  Sean snorted. “You know what I would have enjoyed? Putting Max in the same room with Jack. Now that would be fun.”

  “You’re impossible.”

  “Your brother would take her down a peg or two.”

  “She’s very smart. She thinks like a cop.”

  “You like her?”

  “I don’t know her, not yet. I just think she’s more complex than she seems on the surface. She’s very straightforward, she’s obviously driven—and she doesn’t have much tolerance for people who get in her way. As long as she doesn’t think I’m hindering her, the temporary partnership should work.” Might be wishful thinking on Lucy’s part.

  “I meant it, Luce, if she starts digging around again, I’ll retaliate.” He kissed her. “I’m not going to have either of us the subject of a news program.”

  “I sense she’s someone of her word.”

  “She didn’t promise not to dig around, Lucy, she only promised she wouldn’t write about us. What if she changes her mind if she thinks there’s a juicy story?”

  Her stomach tightened, but she said, “With you, I can handle anything.”

  “I don’t want you to have to.”

  “Isn’t the table done yet?” Rosa walked in with a bowl of jalapeño corn bread.

  “My favorite,” Lucy said and reached for a piece, glad for the distraction from her conversation with Sean.

  Rosa slapped her hand. “You wait, Lucia,” she said. “You’re the absolute worst at nibbling before dinner. Remember the Christmas dinner when you ate the entire basket of corn bread?”

  Lucy put her hand to her stomach. “Ugh. I was sick all night.”

  “That’s right. Too much of a good thing.”

  Rosa left and Sean kissed Lucy. “I love you.”

  Lucy put her hands around his neck. “Right back at you.”

  “We’d better finish the table before your mom slaps my hand, too.”

  “Geez, get a room.”

  Lucy jumped. “Carina, I didn’t hear you come in.”

  “I came around back. Saw Nick and Dad out there with J. P.” Carina hugged Lucy, then Sean. “What a surprise, and you hate surprises.”