The Man from Gossamer Ridge. Пола Грейвс

an apartment building, you hyper-excitable idiot. This isn’t where he does his work.

      She put the bat down beside the sofa and forced her feet toward the front door, looking through the security peephole. Her body buzzed with relief at the sight of Gabe Cooper’s impossibly broad shoulders and stubborn chin distorted by the fish-eye lens.

      She waited for his knock before opening the door. He blinked, as if surprised by her quick response.

      “Is it all right that we’re back?” he asked, not bothering with any sort of customary greeting.

      They weren’t friends, she reminded herself, nor likely to be. This was business.

      “Of course.” She backed up, letting him and Cissy inside.

      Gabe crossed to the sofa and stopped, looking down at the bat and back up at her. “Worried about intruders?”

      Alicia grabbed the bat. “Just seeing if I still have my home run swing,” she joked, not wanting him to know how spooked she’d been only moments earlier.

      “Cissy told me about the two new murders.” Gabe sat on the sofa and gave her a look of pure, stubborn-male challenge. “I’d like to know why you think they’re connected to Brenda’s.”

      Alicia felt her own bulldog side snapping inside her head, but she held the beast back as she set the bat carefully aside and sat on the ottoman. Cissy stayed a little apart from the fray, her arms crossed and her gaze watchful. She’d done her part, getting Gabe here to talk to Alicia. But she clearly wasn’t going to take Alicia’s side against her uncle.

      Like Gabe before her, Alicia didn’t bother with a preamble. “On January 22nd of this year, a coed named Meredith Linden was working at a television repair shop in Blicksville, about ten miles from here. She did their books, reconciled receipts, that sort of thing, and because she was attending college during the day, she worked at night. She lived off campus in an apartment by herself, so nobody noticed she didn’t come home. The owners of the repair shop found her body the next morning. She’d been raped, then stabbed several times, laid on her back and left to die. No fingerprints left, no DNA from the rape.”

      Gabe met her gaze, unflinching. “Next?”

      She felt herself grinding her back teeth. Forcing her jaw to relax, she continued. “On March 12th, Addison Moore was cleaning a small office in Pekoe, out near the railroad tracks. Also a college student, also going to school by day and cleaning at night after the business closed and her classes ended. Her roommate got worried when she didn’t show up at ten, as she usually did. She found Addison’s body in the first floor lobby, stabbed several times and positioned on her back.”

      Alicia sat back, glancing from Gabe to Cissy, who gave a small shrug. She looked back at Gabe, who was watching her with slightly narrowed eyes.

      “Two dead coeds in similar crime scenes and similar circumstances in the same town is possibly a sign you have a serial killer working here,” Gabe conceded, his jaw set in concrete. Alicia could see a spark of triumph in his eyes, as if he’d just proved to himself that his instincts were right, that these recent murders weren’t connected to Brenda Cooper’s death or the slayings of the other women chronicled in Victor Logan’s barbecued scrapbook.

      She was pretty sure she knew why Gabe had dismissed her presentation as irrelevant, but she pressed him on the question anyway. “What about the similarities in the killer’s M.O.?”

      “Ms. Solano, your two coeds have to be a good four or five years younger than any of Victor Logan’s victims. Victims in their mid-to late twenties are clearly part of Logan’s signature. M.O.s change. Signatures don’t. I’d think someone doing her dissertation on serial killers would know that already.”

      She ignored the mild condescension, because she had him exactly where she wanted him. “They weren’t four or five years younger. Meredith Linden was twenty-eight. Addison Moore was twenty-nine. Both brunettes, just like the other victims. Curvy women, like the others.”

      Gabe’s eyes shifted, his gaze dropping to her body as if searching for her own curves. They were camouflaged by the plain skirt and loose-fitting blouse she’d chosen from her closet this morning, but she could tell he was seeing beyond the shapeless clothing and picturing what lay below.

      “Now do you understand?” Cissy asked her uncle.

      He looked at her, his brow wrinkled. “There’s never been any evidence in Brenda’s murder that would suggest a second killer, Cissy. Evidence matters, too.”

      “There aren’t two killers,” Alicia said. “Just one.”

      Gabe swung his puzzled gaze her way. “You said you thought Victor was one of the killers.”

      “He’s not one of the killers. Just one of the people involved.” Alicia could see his skepticism growing. “Look, Cissy says you’re a deputy, so I know you probably know this—sometimes there are serial killer pairs. Some of the time they both kill, but sometimes, the weaker of the two—the beta—only aids the killer by doing things like taking care of his kit or acting as a lookout. And sometimes, they just help the killer stalk the victims to pick the right time to strike. I think that was the case for Victor Logan. And I think now our killer has a new wingman.”

      “Interesting theory.” He cut his eyes toward his niece. “Not one I find particularly plausible, but—”

      “I don’t need you to believe it,” Alicia conceded grudgingly, although a little openness to hearing her theories would have been nice. “I just need—”

      “Yeah, that’s another thing I’ve been wondering,” Gabe interrupted. “What do you need me for? Cissy probably knows everything I know about the murders. Maybe more, since she’s apparently been making them a subject of study.”

      Alicia looked up at Cissy, an apology in her eyes. “Cissy doesn’t know what it was like to find Brenda’s body. You do. And that’s why I need to talk to you.”

      Gabe shook his head quickly. “I’m not rehashing all of that with you. Certainly not with Cissy here.”

      “I’ve read your statement to the Chickasaw County deputies,” Cissy said.

      He looked up at his niece, his expression wary. “It’s not the same as hearing it.”

      “Actually, what I’m hoping we can do is go a step beyond your statement,” Alicia said, her stomach tightening into a fist-sized knot. What she was going to suggest was invasive under the best of circumstances, and this definitely wasn’t the best of circumstances. “I think we should try hypnotic regression.”

      Gabe’s hard gaze whipped around to flood her with molten fury. “You’re nuts.”

      “Uncle Gabe—” Cissy warned.

      Gabe pushed to his feet. “You want to play some sort of mind game with me so you can make a nice score on your paper? Too bad. I’m not playing. I’m done here.” He moved around the coffee table and strode angrily toward the door.

      Cissy caught up with him before Alicia. “I know it’s a lot to ask, and I know it’s not something a lot of people are comfortable taking part in—”

      Gabe interrupted with a hard laugh. “I hope you and Ms. Solano find what you’re looking for. I really do. But you’re going to have to count me out.”

      Alicia caught Cissy’s arm when she was about to argue further. “Thank you for hearing me out,” she said sincerely. It was more than she’d had a right to hope for. “I’m sure Cissy will be in touch if we find anything new your brother needs to know about. And if you think of anything, here’s my card.” She pulled one of her business cards from the desk near the door, handing it to Gabe.

      He tucked it into his pocket.

      Alicia unlocked the front door and opened it for him. “Thank you,” she said again.

      “I’ll walk you to the truck,” Cissy