"I'm realizing-"

"You're realizing you're past thirty and fluff reporting is for twenty-four-year-old news models."

"Exactly."

"That's a problem."

"No, it's a challenge."

"Anji, what you're talking about is starting back at square one and reinventing yourself. No, actually you're starting at square negative one because you're already known as a fashion and lifestyles reporter-meaning you have all the journalistic heft of a British tabloid. It's going to be a stretch, and at my age, I don't stretch."

Anderson searched for words. This was unraveling fast.

"Honey, you're too old to intern as a serious journalist. Unless you're a proven hard news reporter at thirty, you're not going to be a hard news reporter."

Anderson bit her lip gently. Performed in front of the right man, that used to solve a lot of problems. She realized that Christiane Amanpour probably didn't bite her lip.

"Unfortunately, major networks are consolidating news production in Atlanta, and laying off in most markets. I could try to get you a spot on a cosmetics infomercial casting in L.A."

Tears flowed down Anderson's cheeks.

Chapter 7:// Daemon

Sebeck was already staring at the ceiling when his alarm clock sounded. He switched it off by touch and kept staring at the ceiling. He'd gotten in late last night. Even so, he hadn't slept. He kept turning the case over in his mind. That's what he'd taken to calling it: The Case.

The FBI had taken over. They were forming a temporary task force with local law enforcement, but the Feds were in charge. Agents were photocopying files and interrogating suspects when Sebeck left at two A.M. Decker was some sort of workaholic.

Sebeck explored his sense of loss. The Caseno longer belonged to him. Why did it bother him so much? He was afraid he knew the answer: he felt truly alive only when something horrible was happening. That was the dirty secret behind every promotion he had ever received.

He'd miscast himself in the role of authority figure. A decision made one afternoon fifteen years ago. He had had to grow up fast, back then-after the baby-but he sometimes wondered if he wasn't just pretending. If he wasn't simply acting the way he thought he should act. The way others around him did. He didn't even know who he'd be without this role. Pete Sebeck was just an idea-a collection of responsibilities with a mailing address.

He tried to recall the last time he actually feltsomething. The last time he felt alive. That inevitably led to thoughts of her. Memories of the trip to Grand Cayman. He tried to remember the smell of her hair. He wondered where she was right now, and if he'd ever see her again. She didn't need a damned thing from him. Maybe that's what he loved most about her.

Sebeck's cell phone sounded from the nightstand, scattering his thoughts. He glanced over at his wife's side of the bed. She roused slightly. He grabbed the handset and sat up. "Sebeck."

"Detective Sebeck?"

"Yeah. Who's-"

"This is Special Agent Boerner, FBI. I just sent an e-mail to your home address. The agent in charge wants a response before you're in this morning." Someone yelled in the background. Boerner clicked off without saying goodbye.

"Hello?" Sebeck stared in irritation at the handset. Rude asshole.He glanced at the clock: 6:32 A.M.

His wife sat up on the other side of the bed and stretched in one of her full-length nightgowns.

"Laura, I have to jump in the shower first. I've got a full day ahead."

"Fine, Pete."

"I won't be long. Go back to sleep."

Sebeck ran through his ablutions in fifteen minutes, dressed, and tied his tie on the way downstairs. He ducked into the kitchen.

His son, Chris, sat reading the morning paper. The kid was getting big-muscular big. Sixteen. Almost the age Sebeck was when he and Laura conceived the boy. Had it really been sixteen years? "Why don't you get a shovel, Chris?"

Chris had a bulging mouthful of cereal. The boy grabbed at his dad's suit jacket as he walked past. Chris flipped the paper over to reveal the front page. There was a color picture of Sebeck over the headline: "Internet Killings Spark Federal Investigation." Mantz was also in the picture to his left. Sebeck stopped short and picked up the page, reading slowly as he sank down into a seat at the table.

Chris chewed his way back to speech. "L.A. Times. That's big."

Sebeck just kept reading.

Laura walked into the kitchen.

Sebeck glanced up. "Did you see this?"

She looked down at the page. "Not a great picture of Nathan." She went over to the stove to make tea.

Sebeck handed the paper back to Chris but kept looking at Laura. "I won't be able to pick up Chris from practice today. I've got the FBI here, the national media, and God knows what else."

"We'll manage."

Chris lowered the paper. "The Feds are interrogating the insurance guys. You think they did it?"

"I'm not the one questioning them, Chris." Sebeck stood. "From here on out, I'll be lucky to be in the loop at all." He glanced at his watch. "I gotta go."

Sebeck headed down the hall to the den. Once there, he dropped into the desk chair and hit the power switch on the computer. While the computer booted, he moved a gaming joystick off to the side and tossed two soda cans into the trash. He called to the kitchen, "Chris, I won't keep asking you to clean up in here when you're done!" No answer.

The computer desktop came up. Sebeck launched his e-mail program, then clicked the GET MAIL button. He waited as 132 messages downloaded. Goddamned spam.When it finished, the message subject lines ranged from "Barely Legal Teens" to "Nigerian Exile Needs Help" to "Lolitas Take Horse Cock."

He searched his inbox for the FBI message. It was near the top and had the subject line "Case #93233-CyberStorm/Pavlos" from [email protected].Sebeck double-clicked on it.

Strangely, as the e-mail opened, the screen went black. Then the words "Testing Audio" faded in. The hard drive strained. Sebeck stared in confusion. What did he do? In a moment, the words faded out and were replaced by a grainy video image of a man. It was hard to tell his age or precise appearance due to the poor video quality. It was amateurish-poorly lit and off-center.

The man looked thin and pale-a condition emphasized by his standing against a featureless white background. He was completely bald and wore what looked to be a medical gown.

What the hell was this, some sort of FBI lab report?

It took Sebeck a moment to realize that the video was already playing. The man swayed unsteadily-his pixels adjusting like colored tiles. Then he looked directly into the camera and nodded as if in greeting.

"Detective Sebeck. I was Matthew Sobol. Chief technology officer of CyberStorm Entertainment. I am dead."

Sebeck leaned forward-his eyes fixed on the monitor.

"I see you've been assigned to the Josef Pavlos and Chopra Singh murder cases. Let me save you some time; I killed both men. Soon you'll know why. But you have a problem: Because I'm dead, you can't arrest me. More importantly: You can't stop me."

Sebeck stared in stunned silence.

Sobol continued. "Since you have no choice but to try and stop me, I want to take this moment to wish you luck, Sergeant-because you're going to need it."