“God, let him be a decent man,” she muttered.

Jennifer dismissed the thoughts with a sigh and pulled onto his street shortly after eight. Old track houses, mostly two-story, modest, decent starter homes. She glanced at the file Milton had given her. Kevin Parson lived in the blue house two doors up. She pulled to the curb, shut off the engine, and glanced around. Quiet neighborhood.

“Okay, Kevin, let’s see what kind of man he’s chosen this time.”

She left the file and walked to the front door. A morning newspaper featuring a front-page spread of the car bombing sat on the porch. She picked it up and rang the doorbell.

The man who answered was tall with messy brown hair and deep blue eyes that held hers without wavering. A white T-shirt with a “Jamaica” logo over the pocket. Faded blue jeans. He smelled of aftershave, although he obviously hadn’t shaved today. The rugged look worked on him. Didn’t look like the kind of man who’d run down the freeway naked. More like a man she’d expect to find featured in Cosmopolitan. Especially with those eyes. Ouch.

“Kevin Parson?” She flipped open her wallet to show her badge. “I’m Agent Peters with the FBI. Could I have a few words with you?”

“Sure. Sure, come in.” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Sam said you’d probably be coming this morning.”

She handed him the paper and walked in. “Looks like you made the news. Sam? That’s your friend from the attorney general’s office?”

Travel posters covered the walls. Odd.

“Actually, I think she’s with the California Bureau of Investigation. But she just started. You know her?” He dropped the paper out on the porch and closed the door.

“She called the police this morning and reported the bugs. Could I see them?”

“Sure. Right over here.” He led her to the kitchen. Two soda cans sat on the counter—he’d had a drink last night, presumably with Sam. Otherwise the kitchen was spotless.

“Here.” He indicated the sink and placed the two cans in a small recycling bin. Four small eavesdropping devices that resembled watch batteries, one infinity transmitter she’d obviously pulled off the phone, and a device that resembled a common electrical splitter all sat in the water.

“Did Sam wear gloves when she removed these?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl. Not that we’ll find anything. I doubt our friend’s stupid enough to leave prints on his toys.” She faced him. “Anything unusual happen in the last twelve hours? Any phone calls, anything out of place?”

His eyes twitched, barely. You’re going too fast, Jennifer. The poor guy’s still in shock and you’re giving him the nth degree. You need him as much as he needs you.

She held up her hand and smiled. “Sorry. Listen to me, barging in here and interrogating you. Let’s start over. You can call me Jennifer.” She reached out her hand.

He searched her eyes, took her hand. Like a child trying to decide whether to trust a stranger. For a moment she felt drawn into his gaze, exposed. They held their grip long enough to make Jennifer feel awkward. There was an innocence about him, she thought. Maybe more. Naiveté.

“Actually, there ismore.”

She dropped his hand. “There is? More than you told the police?”

“He called me again.”

“But you didn’t call the police?”

“I couldn’t. He told me that if I called the police, he’d do something. Carry out his next threat prematurely.” He looked around nervously, breaking eye contact for the first time. “I’m sorry, I’m a bit on edge. I didn’t sleep that well. Do you want to sit down?”

“That would be nice.”

Kevin pulled out a chair and seated her. Naive and chivalrous. A first-year seminary student who graduated from college with honors. Not exactly the kind of guy who wakes up in the morning thinking of ways to make enemies. He sat across from her and ran a hand haphazardly through his hair.

“When did he call you?”

“After I got home last night. He knows when I’m here; he knows when I’m gone. He can hear everything I say. He’s probably listening to us right now.”

“He may very well be. There’ll be a team here in less than an hour. Until then there’s not much we can do about surveillance. What we can do is try to get into this man’s head. That’s what I do, Kevin; I figure people out for a living. But to do that I need you to tell me everything he said to you. You’re my link to him. Until we put this guy away, you and I are going to have to work very closely. No secrets. I don’t care what he says you can or can’t do—I need to hear it all.”

“He said I couldn’t tell the police anything. He also told me the FBI would be involved, but he didn’t seem bothered by that. He doesn’t want the city to come unglued every time he calls me.”

She nearly broke her professional facade then. The killer expected the FBI. Did he expect Jennifer? It really had started again, hadn’t it? He knew that she would come after him again—even welcomed it! The faint taste of copper washed through her mouth. She swallowed.

Kevin tapped his foot and stared at her without breaking eye contact. His gaze was neither piercing nor intimidating. Disarming perhaps, but not in a way that made her uncomfortable—his eyes held a quality she couldn’t quite put a finger on. Maybe innocence. Wide, blue, tired innocence.

Not so different from Roy, really. Was there a connection?

You’re staring back, Jennifer.Suddenly she was uncomfortable. She felt a strange empathy for him. How could any sane man threaten someone as innocent as this? Answer: Nosane man.

I’m going to keep you alive, Kevin Parson. I won’t let him hurt you.

“One step at a time,” Jennifer said. “I want you to start from the phone call after you got home and tell me exactly what he said.”

He relayed the phone call in meticulous detail while she asked questions and took notes. She covered every conceivable angle—the choice of words, the sequencing of events, the tone Slater used, the nearly unlimited ways in which Slater might have had access to his life.

“So you think he’s been in here on more than one occasion. On one of those occasions he found Samantha’s number. He thinks you and Samantha are romantically involved, but you’re not.”

“That’s right.”

“Have you ever been?”

“No, not really.” Kevin shifted in his seat. “Although I’m not sure that wasn’t a mistake on my part.”

Obviously Slater had decided that Kevin and Samantha were more than friends. Who was mistaken, Slater or Kevin? She eyed the man before her. How naive was he?

“You should talk to her,” Kevin said. “Maybe she could help somehow. She’s not a cop.”

“Sure.” Jennifer dismissed the suggestion even as she spoke. She had no interest in consulting some rookie at this stage. All she needed was one more gunslinger on the case. “How long have you known her?”

“We grew up together here in Long Beach.”

She made a note and changed the subject. “So actually Slater called you three times yesterday. Once on your cell phone, once at home here, and once on a cell phone he left for you? The third call just to make sure the phone worked.”

“I guess. Yes, three times.”

“We have three minutes, three calls, three rules, a riddle with three parts, three months. You think our guy likes threes?”

“Three months?”

She had to tell him. “You ever hear about the Riddle Killer?”

“The guy from Sacramento.”

“Yes. We have reason to believe this is him. He killed his last victim three months ago.”

“I heard that on the news.” Kevin closed his eyes. “You really think it’s him?”

“Yes, I do. But he’s never let anyone live that we know of. I’m not trying to be crass—there’s just no other way to deal with this. We have a chance, an excellent chance, of stopping him before he goes further.”

He opened his eyes. “How?”

“He wants to play. It’s not the killing that drives him; it’s the game. We play.”