“And you’ll show that, when you get all Simon’s friends in a room and they all start pointing their fingers at each other. It’ll fall like dominoes.”

He sighed, most of his rage spent. “I can’t get them to turn on each other until I know who’s doing this killing now. And I can’t move on that person without giving a warning to Simon’s group of degenerates. I’m in a catch-22 from hell.”

She went to him then and smoothed her hands across his chest and up his back. “Let’s sleep, Daniel. You haven’t had a full night’s sleep in almost a week.”

He rested his cheek on the top of her head. “I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in eleven years, Alex,” he said wearily.

“Then it’s time to stop blaming yourself. If I can, you can.”

He leaned back and met her eyes. “Can you?”

“I have to,” she whispered. “Don’t you see? I’ve lived my life just skimming the surface, never digging deep enough for roots. I want roots. I want a life. Don’t you?”

His eyes flashed, intensely bright. “Yes.”

“Then let it go, Daniel.”

“It’s not so easy.”

She pressed a kiss against his warm chest. “I know. We’ll deal with it tomorrow. For now, let’s go to sleep. In the morning you’ll be able to think clearly. You’ll catch this guy, then you can put all Simon’s friends in a room and let them tear each other apart.”

“Will you stitch them back together after they tear each other apart?”

She lifted her chin and narrowed her eyes. “No way in hell.”

He smiled his half smile. “God, you’re sexy when you’re ruthless.”

And that quickly she wanted him. “Let’s go to bed now.”

His brows lifted, detecting the change in her voice. “To sleep?”

She wrapped her arms around his neck. “No way in hell.”

Atlanta, Thursday, February 1, 11:15 p.m.

Mack lowered his camera with its telephoto lens when the shade on Vartanian’s bedroom window came down. Damn, just when it was starting to get interesting. He wished he could have heard the conversation between Vartanian and Alex Fallon, but his listening device had a range of only a hundred yards and didn’t let him listen through walls. Two things were clear-Vartanian was still furious with Frank Loomis and Vartanian and Fallon were about to be joined at more than the hip.

The evening had been most illuminating. Mack hadn’t expected to see Frank Loomis waiting in front of Vartanian’s house. Apaprently, Vartanian hadn’t expected to see Loomis there either. Loomis was under investigation and worried about it. So worried the high and mighty sheriff had swallowed his pride and asked Daniel to intercede on his behalf. Mack rolled his eyes. Daniel, of course, was too ethical to do such a heinous thing, but he was just loyal enough to have been tempted.

As intelligence went, it didn’t come much more valuable than this. Between the botched hit-and-run and the ransacking of her house, Fallon was on her guard and Vartanian wasn’t letting her out of his sight. So I’ll bring them to me. He now knew exactly how he’d bait his trap. Desperation plus a little loyalty, mixed with the hint of Bailey was a combination they’d find irresistible.

He looked over his shoulder to where Delia Anderson lay in the back of his van, wrapped in a blanket and ready for disposal. He’d dump Delia, then get some sleep before he had to hit his delivery route. Tomorrow was going to be a very busy day.

Chapter Twenty-two

Atlanta , Friday, February 2, 5:50 a.m.

The phone woke him. Beside him, Alex stirred, burrowing her cheek into his chest, her arm hugging his waist. It was an incredible way to wake up.

Daniel squinted at the clock, then at the caller ID, and his heart began to race as he reached across Alex’s warm body for the phone. “Yeah, Chase. What is it?” Alex slid off him onto her side, blinking quickly to full alertness.

“The tail we put on Marianne Woolf called. She pulled out of her driveway and flipped him the bird. She’s off somewhere, alone in her car. He’s right on her bumper.”

A spurt of fury burned inside his chest. “Dammit, Chase. What part of stay inside and lock your doors and windows did one of these women miss? And what’s Jim Woolf thinking, letting his wife do his dirty work for him? How the hell can they jump when this guy snaps his fingers? He murdered Jim’s sister, for God’s sake.”

“Woolf may not know his wife’s on the move. He’s still in lockup. He doesn’t get his bail hearing until this morning.”

“She could just be going out for a jug of milk,” Daniel said without much conviction. “Or having a clandestine affair.”

Chase grunted. “We should only be so lucky. Get moving. I’ll have the tail call you.”

Daniel leaned over Alex to hang up the phone, then leaned in to kiss her mouth. “We have to go.”

“Okay.”

But she was warm and fluid and responding to his simple morning kiss, so he took another, blocking out the world for another few minutes. “We really have to go.”

“Okay.”

But she was lifting to him, her hands in his hair, her mouth hot and hungry, and his heart was suddenly thudding to beat all hell. “How fast can you get ready?”

“Including a shower, fifteen.” She surged against him, impatient. “Hurry, Daniel.”

Pulse pounding in his ears, he drove himself into her wet warmth and she climaxed with a low, startled cry. Three hard thrusts later he followed, shuddering as he buried his face in her hair. Her hands stroked up his spine and he shuddered again. “Are you sure they have grits in Ohio?”

She laughed, a sated, happy sound, and he realized he’d never really heard her laugh like that. He wanted to hear it again. “And scrapple,” she said, then stretched around him and smacked his butt. “Up with you, Vartanian. I want the shower first.”

“I am up,” he muttered, unwilling to withdraw yet, needing another minute before facing what he feared he’d find in yet another ditch. But he lifted his head and saw her sober smile and knew she understood. “I have two showers. You take the master and I’ll take the one in the hall and we’ll see who’s ready first.”

Warsaw, Georgia, Friday, February 2, 7:15 a.m.

He’d been ready first, but not by much. He’d only been waiting at the front door for three minutes when she rushed down his stairs, perfectly coordinated, light makeup on her face and her wet hair in a neat French braid. She would have been faster, she’d insisted, if she hadn’t had to pull all the price tags off her new clothes.

Now Daniel threw a backward glance over his shoulder as he walked from his car to the ditch where Ed already waited. From the front seat of his car Alex gave him a little wave and an encouraging smile and he felt like a first-grader on his first day of school.

“Alex looks better this morning,” Ed said.

“I think so. I took her to Leo’s target range after we left Bailey’s and let her take it all out on a paper target. That and a good night’s sleep seem to have helped.”

Ed lifted a brow. “Amazing what a good night’s sleep will do for you,” he said mildly, and Daniel met his eyes with a half smile.

“That, too,” he acknowledged, and Ed nodded once.

“We moved Marianne Woolf back past the police tape,” Ed said, pointing to where the woman stood snapping pictures with her husband’s camera. “We made sure we strung the tape really far back.”

“What did she say?”

“Unprintable. That woman’s a piece of work.”

Marianne lowered her camera, and from more than a hundred feet away, Daniel could feel her glare. “I don’t understand that woman.” He turned his attention to the ditch. “I don’t understand this perp.”

“It’s the same,” Ed said. “Blanket, face, key, hair around the toe, everything.”

It was a shallow ditch and Malcolm Zuckerman from the ME’s office was well within earshot. “Not everything,” Malcolm said, looking up at them. “She’s older. She’s had a face-lift and collagen injections to her lips, but her hands are wrinkled and tough.”