Lifting her head, she looked both ways out the window before slipping her gun from the bag to her coat pocket and suddenly felt much safer. She opened her laptop to make sure Natalie and Kathy were safe as well. They were, Kathy’s avatar on her Ninth Circle bar stool and Natalie’s still at the poker table.

Natalie was losing big. Dasich, conversely, had a mountain of chips. So not fair. Guy’s a damn cheat. Eve watched the next hand go to Cicely, the avatar who always sat next to Natalie’s. Once she’d had Greer bump into her to get her screen name, to determine if Cicely was one of her subjects. She wasn’t.

At least not that you know of. A new chill chased down her spine.

“Shit.” I have a dozen avatars. Any one of them could, too. She could have red-zones she’d never identified. And at the moment she had no idea what to do about it.

A roar from the casino had her looking down. The Cicely avatar had won a hand she shouldn’t have. It was extraordinarily lucky, totally skillful, or totally cheating.

Natalie agreed, filing a formal complaint. A brawl was building. More fun and ga-

Eve was yanked from the action by a knock on the car window that had her stifling a yelp. She rolled down the glass, drawing a breath. “Captain Abbott, you startled me.”

He didn’t smile. “Did Web tell you that we’ve arranged a safe house for you?”

Eve smiled, brightly. “He did. Thank you for your concern.”

Abbott opened her car door. “I’ll take you there now. Come with me.”

Eve leaned back, shaking her head. “I’ve made alternate arrangements.”

“You can’t stay here. This is a crime scene.”

Eve looked up at him, keeping her expression bland although in her mind, her eyes were narrowing suspiciously. “I’ll leave as soon as my ride gets here.”

Abbott’s jaw clenched. “What are your alternate plans?”

The hairs on the back of her neck lifted. “I’m staying with Sal and his wife,” she lied.

“I cannot have Webster distracted. This mess with Jack is bad enough.”

“How is Jack?” she asked, changing the subject before he decided to call Sal.

“They’ve pumped his stomach, but he’s not out of the woods. Don’t change the subject, Eve. I don’t want Noah to miss a threat because he’s looking after you. It could mean his life. Or yours.”

Put that way, Abbott made sense. “I understand.”

“Then you’ll back away from him until this case is resolved.”

Eve studied his face, harshly illuminated by a streetlamp. “I will not be a distraction.”

He glared at her, knowing she had not agreed. “See that you don’t.”

He closed her car door and had started to walk away when Noah emerged from the Bolyards’ house with Micki Ridgewell, both looking grim. Eve muted Shadowland, so she could listen to what was being said outside the still-open car window.

“Time of death?” Abbott asked Noah.

“Between seven and eight,” he replied and Eve’s heart sank. That would have been when they’d been kissing in the backseat of his old car.

“Any indication of what they’d planned to tell you?” Abbott asked.

“No.” Noah rubbed the back of his neck. “But they did make a phone call at 7:47.”

Micki pointed to a local TV news van that was just slowing to a stop. “To them.”

A woman approached wearing a stylish coat and high heels. “I’m Regina Forest,” she said. “Can you tell me what’s going on here?”

“This is a crime scene,” Noah said. “You’ll have to leave.”

Forest’s expression became a deliberate mix of horror and interest. “Mr. Bolyard?”

“No comment,” Noah said, but before he could step away Regina came closer.

“Stuart Bolyard called our office. Talked to one of our staff members.” Her eyes narrowed, catlike. “I’ll tell you everything I know if I get an exclusive.”

“Depends on what you know,” Noah said. “So what do you know?”

“Mr. Bolyard said he’d seen the Red Dress story on the news and recognized one of the women. That he’d seen her at a coffee shop and that he’d called the police for a meeting. I asked why he just didn’t tell the police everything when he called and he said his wife was ‘into celebrities.’ She wanted to meet Jack Phelps. Where is Phelps?”

“Not on duty right now,” Abbott said. “What else?”

“So you already knew all that?” she asked. “He also said he saw a man leave just after them.” Her smile bloomed, cagily. “And that he didn’t tell you.”

Noah’s smile was unpleasant. “Ma’am, we have an ongoing homicide investigation, as you’re well aware. Please don’t play games with us.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it. The staffer called me to the phone and when I introduced myself, Mr. Bolyard said his wife wanted to meet me, too, and be on TV. I told him I’d need to hear more. He told me he’d seen the man again, in the same coffee shop. Said he was a professor at one of the local colleges. Fifties, horn-rimmed glasses and a bow tie, and that his hands shook when he drank his coffee.”

Donner, Eve thought. To his credit, Noah didn’t blink.

“Do you know him, Detective?” Forest asked shrewdly.

“Did Mr. Bolyard approach this man?” Noah asked instead of answering.

“Yes. When he saw him today he asked if he was the one who’d left with the woman who got killed. He said the professor got angry and denied it. So, do you know this man with the bow tie?” She wagged her finger. “And no fair answering with a question.”

“We may,” Noah said. “As soon as we confirm, we’ll give you your exclusive. And you’ll hold back on broadcasting the tape your assistant is shooting right now?”

Forest scrutinized him. “Sure. Just don’t double-cross me, okay?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Noah murmured as another car raced up the street, stopping behind the news van with a screech of brakes. Two men emerged, one with a camera.

“Detective Webster?” The one without the camera jogged across the street. “Can you comment on Detective Phelps’s attempt at murder-suicide?”

Forest’s brows shot up and Noah’s eyes flashed dangerously.

“No comment,” Noah said softly.

“I’d say that qualifies as a double-cross,” Regina Forest said, equally softly, and motioned at her assistant in the van to keep rolling tape.

The reporter looked annoyed that he’d been scooped. “Nelson Weaver, the Mirror. Is it true that Jack Phelps murdered his girlfriend and OD’d on booze and pills?”

“No. Comment,” Abbott repeated forcefully.

Forest’s lips curved, this time in disdain. “Nelson, I think we should grab a coffee. Chat.” She walked away, the confused newspaperman at her side.

“Goddamn it,” Abbott muttered. “So much for Jack’s privacy.”

“But now we know who killed five women,” Noah said, sounding oddly disconnected. “I’ll go pick up Donner.”

Abbott turned slowly toward Noah’s car, as if remembering Eve still sat there. “I’ll send a squad car to Donner’s house to hold him there, then I’ll pick him up. Drop her off at Sal’s before you meet me at Donner’s.”

Well, that was interesting, too, Dell thought, watching through his zoom. The guy from the Mirror he’d fully expected since he’d called him, but the chick from the TV news was a bit of a surprise. Looked like Phelps would be covered coming and going.

Phelps could still die, he thought optimistically, but even if he doesn’t, his face will be plastered all over the Twin Cities. A murder-attempted-suicide by a cop was big enough to be picked up by CNN. Hell, maybe even big enough for Yahoo.

Everyone had read that MSP article and thought Phelps was a god. Now they knew he was a murderer and a coward. In other words, everyone would know the truth.

“Now, on to Webster,” he said with a big grin. He knew how to hit Webster where it would really hurt. The man cared for his family.

Wednesday, February 24, 10:15 p.m.

Noah clenched his steering wheel as he drove away from the Bolyards’ house. “What happened between you and Abbott?”