Nick pulled out the wooden chair in front of the desk, sat down, and opened the laptop. It came to life immediately, still online.

“Looks like you weren’t too careful about security,” Nick murmured. “Let’s see what you were up to…”

A few minutes sorting through Keenan’s e-mails led Nick to something interesting: a message from someone named LW.

“Really looking forward to seeing you tonight,” Nick read out loud. “I hope you’re as hot in person as you are in your pictures.”

There were more messages stored, all of them telling the same story of an online seduction. There were pictures, too, of a young and pretty blonde standing outside different Vegas landmarks: the Bellagio fountains, the MGM Grand, the Luxor. There was nothing terribly racy in any of them, nothing to suggest that they were anything but genuine.

Nick knew better. Photos were easy to find and copy on the Net, and wholesome teenage girls didn’t lure you to a Vegas motel room and kill you with poisonous bugs. Usually.

He backtracked through the e-mails by date until he found their point of origin: a dating site. LW had her own page, with an extensive list of interests, hobbies, favorite movies, and music she liked. Nick found a page for Keenan Harribold, too; not surprisingly , his interests and LW’s synched up nicely.

The e-mails went back six weeks. So you stalked him online, Nick thought. Got into his head, designed the perfect lure. Took your time, didn’t overplay your hand. And when Keenan was confident you were the real thing, you set up a meeting.

Nick closed the laptop, unplugged it, and bagged it as evidence, even though he’d probably already learned all it had to tell him. The real trail didn’t begin at the laptop, or even in Keenan’s bedroom; it began in the vast electronic tangle of the Internet, where a predator had spun his own very specialized web designed to snare Keenan Harribold.

Grissom squinted at the program booklet while waiting for the next presentation to start. Most of the seats in the room were empty, the spotlight on the lectern at the front the brightest point in the room.

“Well,” said Vanderhoff, taking a seat next to Grissom, “how did things go?”

“Yes,” said Quadros, taking the seat on the other side. “Nathan has been telling me about you mysteriously disappearing in the middle of the night. Most intriguing.”

“It was… unusual,” Grissom admitted. “Though I’m not sure it’s appropriate for me to comment further.”

“Why?” Quadros demanded. “We are all men of science. Surely you’re not afraid we’re going to steal your data?”

Vanderhoff shook his head. “Now, Roberto, you know that’s not fair. Mr. Grissom has to concern himself with legalities, not just peer review.”

“I do not see the problem,” said Quadros. “In São Paulo, scientific experts are often consulted by the police. Could you not take us into your confidence under the same conditions? I would be happy to sign any necessary document-and, of course, to offer my own expertise.” He frowned. “Unless, of course, you feel you need no assistance…”

Vanderhoff sighed. “Nathan, Nathan-must you make everything about your stubborn pride? Can’t you see-”

“Gentlemen,” Grissom interjected. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer. But at this stage of the case, the entomological aspect is fairly straightforward. If I needed help in a difficult classification or in analyzing data, you’d be the first people I’d turn to. I still may-and if that happens, I will ask you to sign forms promising not to share any sensitive information. Is that satisfactory?”

Quadros, somewhat mollified, said, “I suppose.”

Vanderhoff raised his eyebrows. “You still may? That sounds promising. Are you expecting more late-night excursions?”

“In Vegas?” said Grissom. “You can count on it.”

Jake Soames caught up with Grissom as he was leaving a slide show dealing with the effects of butterfly migration on bird populations. “Gil!”

Grissom stopped. “Hello, Jake. Enjoying the conference?”

“Haven’t seen a lot of it so far-too busy enjoying the town. Haven’t gotten a lot of sleep yet, if you know what I mean.” He winked.

“If you’re suffering from jet lag, I’d suggest melatonin. It’s quite effective, even in very small doses.”

Soames shook his head, then winced. “Ow. Shouldn’t do that again, or the bloody thing’ll come off. And how was your evening after you left?”

“Short. I visited a crime scene, then went to bed.”

“All in a night’s work, eh? Even when you’re not working. Was it worth the trip?”

“I suppose it was. Saw something I’ve never seen before, in any case.”

“Which you can’t tell me about, right?”

“Not in any detail, no.”

“I seem to always be arriving at the tail end of interesting conversations,” Khem Charong said. Today he wore a suit of dark gray with a black tie. “I must endeavor to improve my timing.”

“We were just talking about Gil’s late-night activities,” Soames said. “Got a phone call in the middle of our festivities, disappeared into the night. Seems the Vegas constables can’t do their job without him.”

Grissom did his best to smile. “It was more of a co urtesy call. The people I work with thought I’d appreciate certain… aspects of the case.”

“Oh? Such as?”

Grissom surrendered to the inevitable. “Millipedes. Harpaphe haydeniana were found at a crime scene.”

Charong tilted his head quizzically. “In a dry, desert climate like this? Very odd.”

“You understand that you can’t repeat that,” said Grissom. “It’s confidential information in an ongoing case.”

“I’ll be the soul of discretion,” said Charong.

“And I’ll keep my gob shut,” said Soames. “Until it’s time to pour some more beer down my throat, anyway. What do you say we go get a drink?”

Riley Adams inspected the spray-painted graffiti carefully. She’d already taken numerous photos, and now she scraped off a tiny sample into a collection vial.

The wall was right next to a concrete path, one well traveled in the daytime. There was no convenient security camera nearby or even a light source. No one had seen the vandal.

She sighed. Though she was sure the two sites were connected, the perpetrator had left even less evidence at this scene. All she had was a vague description, a phony name in a motel register, and a bag full of millipedes. Oh, and twenty dollars less in her pocket after she paid off Brass.

She tried to think it through. Kill a football star to start a riot? Maybe, but why use such an esoteric method? The crime had clearly been carefully planned-but was the quarterback the real victim or just a means to an end?

It seemed to her like a revenge killing-the horrific means of murder, the taunting message left behind. She doubted if the rivalry between the two schools really ran that deep-and if it did, there was more at work than sports teams competing.

No shortage of deep-seated hatreds in high school, she thought. And football players generate more than their share. Spurned girlfriends, bullied geeks, competitors for the same position… if Riley’s experience was any indication, Keenan Harribold probably had more enemies in his own school than at Carston High.

But how many of them could be into bugs?

She walked around the building and found the front entrance for the school. It was locked now, but she spotted someone moving around inside and knocked on the glass of the door. The custodian, a heavyset Hispanic man, let her in when she flashed her ID.

“Can you tell me where the science classrooms are, please?”

To her surprise, there was someone in one of them when she got there: a blond man in his thirties sat at the teacher’s desk, intent on a pile of papers in front of him.