She’d already checked on flights back. No red eyes, one at 6 A.M. and one at 9 A.M. She needed sleep. The nine o’clock United flight would have to do. It would take her through the Denver hub and put her in Long Beach at noon.

“Okay . . .” Kevin watched Jennifer pace the warehouse floor. They’d delayed plans to share details of the warehouse with the police and instead decided to use the place as a staging area. It was the only way to keep Milton off her back, Jennifer said.

“Let’s review what we doknow.”

Agents Bill Galager and Brett Mickales straddled chairs by the table, chins in their hands, focused on Jennifer. Kevin leaned against the wall, arms crossed. It was hopeless. They were beat; they were clueless; they were dead. They’d rehashed a hundred ideas in the two hours since Slater’s note had been discovered.

“We know that he’s escalating. Car, bus, building. We know that all of his other threats made reference to damage of some kind. This one did not. We know that we have until 6 A.M. to solve or . . . or what we don’t know. And we know the riddle. Who escapes their prison but is captive still?”

Jennifer spread her hands.

“You’re forgetting the most crucial bit of knowledge,” Kevin said.

“Which is?”

“The fact that we’re toast.”

They stared at him as if he’d just walked in and flashed his pecs. A wry grin crossed Jennifer’s face. “Humor’s good.”

“People,” Mickales said. “He’s gonna do people this time.”

“There were people every time.”

“But he went after a car, a bus, and a building. This time he goes straight after people.”

“Kidnapping,” Kevin said.

“We’ve suggested that. It’s a possibility.”

“If you ask me, it’s the best one,” Mickales said. He stood up. “It fits.”

Jennifer crossed to the table, eyes suddenly wide. “Okay, unless anybody has a better idea, we’ll chase that.”

“Why would Slater kidnap anyone?” Kevin asked.

“For the same reason he threatened to blow up a bus,” Mickales said. “To force a confession.”

Kevin stared at the man, suddenly overwhelmed. They’d been at it ad nauseam and they kept coming up with the same thing, which was essentially nothing. In the end it always came back to his confession.

“Look.” He could feel the heat rising up his spine. He shouldn’t be doing this—he was beyond himself. “If I had the slightest clue as to what this wacko wanted me to confess, you think I would hold out?”

“Easy, man. Nobody’s suggesting—”

“I don’t have the foggiest notion what his crazy confession is! He’s nuts!” Kevin stepped toward them, aware that he’d crossed a line already. “They’re out there screaming bloody murder for Kevin’s confession. Well, I gave them one, didn’t I? I told them I killed someone as a kid. But they want more. They want real blood. They want me to bleed all over their gossip columns! Kevin, the kid killer who brought down Long Beach!”

His fingers were trembling. They looked at him in silence.

He ran his fingers through his hair. “Man . . .”

“Nobody’s screaming bloody murder out there,” Jennifer said.

“I’m sorry. I’m just . . . I don’t know what to do. This isn’t all my fault.”

“You need rest, Kevin,” Jennifer said. “But if Slater’s planning to kidnap someone, you may be a target. I know he said it wasn’t you, but I’m not sure what that means.” She turned to Galager. “Keep the watch on the house, but I want a transponder on him. Kevin, we’re going to give you a small transmitting device. I want you to tape it where it won’t be found. We’ll leave it inactive—this guy’s into electronics; he may scan for signals. Anything happens, you turn it on. The range is roughly fifty miles. Fair enough?”

He nodded.

She walked toward him. “Let’s get you home.”

Galager headed for the van, which was still parked on the street. Kevin walked outside with Jennifer. The weight of two days without sleep descended on him. He could hardly walk straight, much less think straight.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to blow up.”

“No apology needed. Just get some sleep.”

“What are you going to do?”

She looked off to the east. The helicopters were down for the night. “He said no cops. We could put a guard on likely targets, but for all we know, he’s planning on kidnapping the mayor. Or it could be another bomb.” She shook her head. “You’re right, we’re pretty much toast.”

They stopped at the car. “It meant a lot,” he said. “Talking to you tonight. Thank you.”

She smiled, but her eyes were tired. How much sleep had she gotten in the last three days? He suddenly felt terrible for her. Flushing out Slater was more than a job for her.

“Go home and get some sleep,” she said, squeezing his arm. “Galager will follow you home. We have someone outside. If Slater makes contact—if anythinghappens—call me.”

Kevin looked up to see Galager pull up in the black car. “Somehow I doubt it’ll be me. That’s not what he wants. I’ll be fine. The question is, who won’t be?”

What if it was Jennifer? Sam was in Houston.

“What about you?” he asked.

“Why would he want to kidnap me?”

Kevin shrugged. “It’s not like I have a lot of friends.”

“I guess that makes me a friend. Don’t worry, I can handle myself.”

By the time Kevin finished with Galager’s little lecture on the operational procedures for the transmitter and climbed into bed, the three o’clock hour had come and gone. His head was numb before it hit the pillow. He fell into an exhausted sleep within the minute, lost to the horrors of his new life.

For an hour or three.

Slater stands by the fence, stock-still in the darkness. He’s given them until six, but this time he will be done before six, before the first light grays the sky. He said six because he likes threes, and six is three plus three, but he can’t risk doing this in the light.

No one has stirred in the house since his arrival thirty minutes ago. When he first conceived the plan, he considered just blowing up the house with all its occupants trapped inside. But after thinking very carefully about his ultimate objective, because that’s what Slater does the best, he settled on this plan. Putting this woman in a cage will send the city through the roof. It’s one thing to wonder which unnamed citizens might be the next to discover a bomb under their bed; it’s far more disturbing to know that Mrs. Sally Jane who lives on Stars and Stripes Street and buys her groceries at Albertsons is locked up in a cage, waiting desperately for Kevin Parson to fess up.

Besides, Slater’s never kidnapped anyone before. The thought brings a chill to his spine. The sensation of pleasure so intense that it runs up and down the spine is interesting. It is not boring like teenagers poking holes in their noses.

Slater looks at his watch. 4:46. Is 4:46 divisible by three? No, but 4:47 is. And that’s one minute away. Perfect. Perfect, perfect, perfect. The pleasure of his brilliance is so intense that Slater now begins to shiver a little. He stands by the fence with perfect discipline, resisting a desperate urge to run for the house and drag her out of bed. He is perfectly disciplined and he is shivering. Interesting.

He’s waited so long. Eighteen years. Six times three. Three plus three times three.

The two minutes crawl by very slowly, but Slater doesn’t mind. He is born for this. He glances at his watch. 4:47. He can’t stand it any longer. It’s one minute early. Three is divisible by one. Close enough.

Slater walks up to the sliding glass door, pulls out the pick with a gloved hand, and disengages the lock in less than ten seconds. His breathing comes thick, and he pauses to still it. If the others wake, he will have to kill them, and he doesn’t want to mess with that. He wants the woman.