“Play?” He stared at her desperately and then lowered his head. She wanted to put an arm around him, to comfort him, to hold this poor soul and tell him that everything was going to be okay. But that would be both untrue and unprofessional.

“You ever play chess?”

“A game or two.”

“Think of this as a chess match. He’s black and you’re white. He’s made his first move and you’ve made yours. You lost a pawn. As long as he’s interested in the game, he’ll play. Your job is to keep him playing long enough for us to find him. It’s the only way to beat him.”

Kevin ran both hands through his hair. “And what if he’s listening right now?”

“We always assume he’s listening. He’s undoubtedly got the technology to hear what he wants to hear. But for him to hear what I just told you is music to his ears. He’s back in some hole right now, rubbing his hands in anticipation of the game. The longer the better. He might not be sane, but he’s brilliant. Probably a genius. He’ll never toss a match and run scared just because some two-bit FBI agent’s on to him.”

I hope you are listening, you snake. She clenched her jaw.

Kevin offered an anemic smile. Apparently he understood, but he wasn’t in a place to like anything about Slater’s game. “The threes could be coincidental,” he said. “Maybe.”

“Nothing is coincidental with this guy. His mind works on a whole different plane than most. Can I see the cell phone he gave you?”

He pulled it out of his pocket and handed it to her. She flipped it open and scrolled through the activity log. One call at 4:50 yesterday afternoon, as reported.

“Okay, keep this with you. Don’t give it to the police, and don’t tell them I told you not to give it to them.”

That earned her a soft grin, and she couldn’t resist returning it. They’d take a crack at tracking Slater’s number and triangulating his position, but she wasn’t optimistic. There were too many ways to beat the system.

“We’ll bug the phone—”

“He said no cops.”

“I mean we, the FBI. We’ll use a local device that will attach to the cell. I doubt a conventional listening device will do us any good—too easy to scramble and limited on range. The recording device will be noticeable, a small box we’ll fix to the back here.” She drew her finger through an inch square on the back of the silver phone. “It’ll contain a small chip we can remove for analysis later. Not exactly real-time surveillance, but it may be all that we get next time.”

He took the phone back. “So I do what he says? Play his game?”

She nodded. “I don’t think we have a choice. We’ll take him at his word. He calls you; the second you hang up, you call me. He’ll probably know about it, and then I guess we’ll know what he means by no cops.”

Kevin stood and paced to the kitchen counter and back. “Detective Milton grilled me on motivation. Without motivation you have nothing. I can understand that. I think I have an idea.”

“Go ahead.”

“Hate.”

“Hate. That’s pretty broad.”

“Slater hates me. I can hear it in his voice. Raw contempt. There are few things left in this world that are pure, from my observation. The hate in this man’s voice is one of them.”

She looked up at him. “You’re observant. The question is why. Why does Slater hate you?”

“Maybe not me, but my type,” Kevin said. “People tend to react to other people in wholesale rather than detail, right? He’s a minister, so I hate him. She’s beautiful, so I like her. One month later you wake up and realize you have nothing in common with the woman.”

“Do you have firsthand experience on the subject or are you just spinning this from a sociology text?”

Kevin blinked, caught off guard. Unless her intuition was misfiring, he had very little experience with women.

“Well . . .” He ran his hand over his head. “Both, sorta.”

“This may qualify as new knowledge, Kevin, but there are men who judge a woman by more than her appearance.” She wasn’t sure why she felt obligated to say as much; she’d found no offense in his remark.

He didn’t bat an eye. “Of course. I see you and you’re beautiful, but my attraction to you is based on your caring. I can tell that you really do care about me.” He broke eye contact again. “I mean, not in the way it sounds. As your case is what I mean. Not as a man—”

“I understand. Thank you. That was a nice thing to say.”

The short exchange felt absurd. Kevin sat back down and for a moment neither spoke.

“But your point is valid,” Jennifer said. “Most serial offenders choose victims based on what they represent, not on personal offenses. It’s the meticulous thought that Slater has put into this case that makes me wonder if we aren’t dealing with personal motivation here. Obsession comes to mind. He’s taken a very personal interest in you.”

Kevin looked away. “Could be that he’s just a very meticulous person.” He seemed particularly interested in depersonalizing the motive.

“You’re a profiler—what is my profile?” Kevin asked. “Based on what you know, what is there about me that might set off someone?”

“I don’t have enough to offer—”

“No, but based on what you do know?”

“My first blush? Okay. You’re a seminary student. You take life seriously and have a higher intelligence than most. You’re caring and kind and gentle. You live alone and have very few friends. You’re attractive and carry yourself with confidence, notwithstanding a couple nervous habits.” It occurred to Jennifer as she ran down the list that Kevin was an unusually good person, not merely innocent. “But it’s your genuine innocence that stands out. If Slater has no personal stake in you, he hates you for your innocence.”

There was more to Kevin than she could see at first glance, much more. How could anyone dislike, much less hate, Kevin Parson?

“You remind me of my brother,” she said. Then she wished she hadn’t.

What if the Riddle Killer wanted Jennifer to see the similarities between Roy and Kevin? What if he’d chosen Kevin because he intended to make Jennifer live through the hell once again?

Pure speculation.

Jennifer rose. “I have to get back to the lab. The police will be here shortly. If there’s anything you need, or if you think of anything else, call. I’ll have one of our men watch the house. Promise me you will never leave alone. This guy likes to drop his little bombs when they’re least expected.”

“Sure.”

He looked lost. “Don’t worry, Kevin. We’ll make it through this.”

“In one piece, hopefully.” He grinned nervously.

She put her hand on top of his. “We will. Trust me.” She once said those same words to Roy to calm him down. Jennifer removed her hand.

They stared at each other for a moment. Say something, Jennifer. “Remember, he wants a game. We’re going to give him a game.”

“Right.”

Jennifer left him standing in his doorway looking anything but confident. Trust me. She considered staying until the techs arrived, but she had to get back to the evidence. She’d cornered the Riddle Killer once, before he’d gone after Roy, and she’d done it through careful analysis of the evidence. She did her best work when climbing around in criminals’ minds, not holding their victims’ hands.

On the other hand, Kevin was no ordinary victim.

Who are you, Kevin?Whoever he was, she decided that she liked him.

9

KEVIN HAD NEVER FELT entirely comfortable around women—because of his mother, Sam insisted—but Jennifer seemed different. As a professional it was her job to engender trust, he knew, but he’d seen more than the expected professional facade in her eyes. He’d seen a real woman who’d warmed to him beyond the demands of her job. He wasn’t sure how that translated to her capability as an investigator, but he felt certain he could trust her sincerity.

Unfortunately, it did nothing for his confidence.