“A pattern.” She looked down at the sheet of paper in front of her. “The dates of the disappearances of the first three girls are approximately five months apart. Janey Bristol, six years, disappeared from Dunwoody three years ago on August 10. Linda Cantrell, eight years, was reported missing on January 30 from her home in Marietta. Natalie Kirk got off the bus but never made it home on June 5.” She glanced up. “But the other disappearances were less predictable. The next disappearance didn’t happen for another eighteen months. And the next two followed almost immediately. Within a few weeks of each other.” She tapped the third pile of files. “And none of these out-of-town disappearances took place during those eighteen months. They were all before the local Atlanta killings started. And there was over a year between those kidnappings. If he’s what you say he is, I don’t think he was taking a vacation. Where was he? What was he doing?” She added unsteadily, “Who was he killing?”

“That’s what we’re going to find out. He could have been away from the area. Or he might have been in jail.” His gaze narrowed thoughtfully. “First a year, then five months. He’s getting hungrier.”

“Bonnie would have been three months. So maybe she wasn’t one of— I’m trying not to think of Bonnie.” She took another sip of orange juice. “That was one of the nightmares I was having last night.”

“And my nightmare is your having a nervous breakdown and leaving me without someone to help me find this bastard.” He took a pile of files from her. “So we’ll both go over these files and make notes and talk about them for another two hours. Then I’ll keep on, and you’ll take a nap on the couch.”

“I won’t be able to sleep.”

“Then I’ll call a doctor and get him to give you a shot. Take your choice.”

“We’ll talk about it later.” She went back to the file in front of her. “What are we looking for?”

“Circumstances surrounding the disappearance. Similarities, indications of any common traits in the victims or family members.”

“Family members?”

“It’s possible revenge was taken against the child for a perceived slight by the parents.”

“Why wouldn’t he just kill the parents?”

“It could still be on his agenda. He might want them to suffer first.”

“Yes, that would do it.” She opened the first file. “That’s a lot of things to look for, Joe.”

“And better done with a clear head.”

She ignored the jab. “How can you continue to work on cases like this? Doesn’t it make you sick?”

“Sometimes. But it makes me sicker to know that some arrogant son of a bitch is out there killing whoever he pleases and thinking no one is going to catch him.” He was scanning the files in front of him. “Seasons don’t seem to make any difference to him. In some instances, killers only murder in certain seasons or time of the month. Here we have victims in summer, fall, winter…”

“Maybe they’re not all dead,” Eve said. “We keep talking about killings. Maybe some of them were runaways or taken by relatives. Maybe they’re not— But I have to think of them as victims, don’t I? I have to look at these damn reports and think that a monster grabbed them and how and why he did it.”

“You don’t have to do it. Let me bundle up all these reports and take them away. No one is forcing you but yourself.”

“I know that.” She focused her gaze on the report in front of her. “Linda Cantrell.” The picture of the girl showed a child with dark hair and eyes and a wide white smile. “She was Hispanic, but that didn’t seem to have anything to do with her being chosen. The other children were black, white … no Asian…”

*   *   *

“I DON’T WANT TO DO THIS.” Eve glared up at him even as she lay down on the couch three hours later. “I can keep on going. I don’t want to sleep. You have no right to threaten me with your damn doctor.”

“No, I don’t. But might is always right, and I have the advantage.” The sun had gone down an hour ago, and he turned off the lights in the living room. “So go to sleep.” He sat down in a chair across the room. “Four hours at least. Then I’ll let you work a little longer before I leave and go back to my place.”

“Go now. I don’t want you sitting there in the dark like a guard at an asylum.”

“Asylum. Strange choice of words. Why not a guard at a jail?”

She didn’t answer.

“Unless you’re worried because you might have a nervous breakdown. Do you think about it?”

“No, I don’t think about myself at all. I don’t matter. That just came out. Now stop trying to dig into my psyche.”

“Naturally, you’re distraught, and all kinds of crazy ideas are going through your mind. You’re walking a fine line, but we’ll get through it.”

“We? I’m the one who is walking that line. You’re strong and sane, and everything is in control in your world.”

“I’ll walk the line with you. If you think you’re going to fall, reach out, and I’ll be there.”

She was silent. “Why are you being so kind to me? You’re tough and cynical and … I don’t think that you’re one of those do-gooders who want to save the world.”

“The world is too big a project. You’re damn right I’m not a do-gooder. I usually run the other way. But every now and then, I run across someone who it bothers me to see struggling. I want to see you come out on top of this. It will make me feel good. It’s purely selfish.”

“Well, that relieves me,” she said dryly. “I’d hate being someone’s project.”

He chuckled. “No chance. You’d toss me out on my ear.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “I told you that I didn’t feel as alone when I was with you.”

“Then I may be safe for a while. Until the situation turns around, and you don’t need me any longer. Now why don’t you stop talking and try to nap.”

“I don’t want to sleep. You can force me to lie here, but you can’t make me sleep.”

“Are you paraphrasing that proverb about leading a horse to water?”

“I guess so.” She was silent again, and the next words came haltingly in the darkness. “Three months. The pattern is wrong for Bonnie. She has a chance that it wasn’t that monster, doesn’t she?”

“She has a chance.”

“You’re so damn encouraging. Give me a break.”

“I’d like to give you anything that you want from me. But I won’t give you lies … or false hope.”

“Damn you.” She said a moment later, “No, bless you.”

“Go to sleep, Eve.”

“If I do, the nightmares will come.”

“No, they won’t. I’m here for you. After you go to sleep, I’ll turn on that little stained-glass lamp by the door. If you show any signs of distress, I’ll wake you.”

“You’ll keep them away?”

“I’ll guard you through the night.”

“I shouldn’t be this weak. I hate it. I should be able to handle … I hate it.”

“I know you do. But it’s my turn now. When I’m walking my fine line someday, I’ll expect you to guard me from the night monsters.”

“I’ll do it. I promise…”

She was still, but Joe didn’t hear her breathing even and steady for another five minutes. Then he got to his feet and turned on the stained-glass lamp. He tucked a worn red cotton throw over Eve before he went back to his chair across the room.

He leaned back and watched the play of the soft, colored light on her face. Her cheekbones were more prominent than he had noticed before. She had lost weight in the short time since he had first met her. She couldn’t afford to lose it. He had to get her to eat more, dammit.

Eat and sleep so that she could survive.

So that he could survive.

*   *   *

HE DIDN’T HAVE TO WAKE Eve until almost three hours later.

She jerked upright when he put his hand on her shoulder. “No!”

“It’s okay,” Joe said. “You were starting to breathe hard. I figured that you were being ambushed.”

“I was.” She pushed the hair back from her forehead. “But you showed up with the cavalry just in time.” She swung her feet to the floor. “I need to get a glass of water and wash my face.” She glanced at the clock. “I assume I’m being permitted to get back to work?”