But he’d murdered Genelle.

Like all those people who’d responded to endless media polls, Gina was positive of his guilt. Aimes had murdered her twin. Her other self.

And hadn’t paid for it.

Gina had paid and was still paying, and what a dear price it was. And Gina still hated Bradley Aimes. Not only was he the reason Genelle was dead, he was the reason for all of Gina’s nightmares. Twins were not like other people. The pain of her sister’s death was still a powerful force in Gina’s life. What Aimes had done meant to Gina a grief that became part of a soul no longer whole, difficult sessions with an analyst, medication, and nights that presented horrible dreams of a dead Genelle who lingered like a specter in the daylight.

Gina knew a sad truth she’d heard from other unfortunate twins: when one twin dies, it’s almost as if the other also dies, only without stoppage of breathing or heartbeat. Gina was left alive in the conversational sense of the word, but part of her was missing, glimpsed in agonized memory only in shadows or unexpected reflections in mirrors or shop windows.

The part of her that remained craved vengeance the way an addict craved a drug.

Her need to avenge her twin’s death might have been the reason Gina read all the true crime literature she could find, and had followed the Justice Killer investigation so carefully in the news. She knew that a copycat killer was briefly suspected in the murder of one of JK’s victims. The concept of a copycat killer more and more fascinated her. She’d researched such killers thoroughly, who they were, why they killed. It was surprising, in widely publicized cases, how often they killed. Surprising to most people, anyway, but not to the police.

Might a copycat killer murder the killer of her twin? Her other self? Fair and just. Double double.

There was no reason a copycat killer had to be motivated only by the unreasonable compulsions Gina read about in the crime literature she so tirelessly consumed. It wasn’t as if there was a law. Injured ego, feelings of inferiority, and a powerful lust for attention didn’t have to be the reasons a copycat killed.

Vengeance would do just fine.

As in most crimes of daring, an alibi would be necessary. Gina thought about Eunie Royce, her coworker and friend at the Middle World Restaurant in Tribeca, where Gina waited tables part time. Gina had lied for Eunie more than once, so Eunie wouldn’t be caught cheating on her husband Ray. Gina had marked restaurant checks with Eunie’s initials so she could prove to Ray she’d been working as she claimed.

If Gina asked, Eunie would forge her initials on some tabs, establishing Gina’s presence at work at the time of…say, a murder. Eunie would never admit she’d done such a thing, mainly because she wouldn’t believe for a moment that Gina had stalked and killed someone, even if the someone was Bradley Aimes. Not until it was too late and she couldn’t admit to a lie without implicating herself.

If it ever came to that.

The Justice Killer was widening his qualifications for victims. Bradley Aimes would seem a logical choice. Especially if an exonerated guilty defendant like him were to be killed by the real Justice Killer.

Then a copycat killer would probably get away with claiming another JK victim. If the Justice Killer were killed rather than arrested, no one would ever know or even suspect. If the police arrested him and he stood trial, who would believe anything he said?

Gina opened her eyes and saw nothing but the swirling maelstrom of her own thoughts. Her own desires.

A copycat murdering the killer of a twin. Double double. Such an intriguing idea.

Mom and Dad would approve, though they surely wouldn’t say so.

They didn’t have to know. The secret would be forever held between Gina and Bradley Aimes, and Genelle.

Well, something to think about.

Gina scooted sideways on the bed, then stood up and returned to sit at her computer, where Castle Strike waited.

The battle was rejoined.

31

The crème brûlée was delicious.

Nell wore her good navy blue dress, pleased that it still fit so well, along with a cream-colored light jacket and navy high-heeled shoes. A string of white pearls completed the simple but—she thought with some surprise when she looked in her full-length mirror—fetching outfit.

Fetching. A strange description. Yet a man like Jack Selig probably could convince some women to fetch for him. He looked like something off the cover of a romance novel, with his chiseled good looks, his flawless grooming, his casual beige sport jacket with just the right amount of gold flashing when he raised an arm to expose a cufflink or wristwatch. This guy was every mother’s dream, but not for her daughter.

“Did I mention that you look stunningly beautiful?” he asked.

“Not that I can recall,” Nell lied, spooning in the last of her dessert. Outside the dark windows, topiary pinpointed with strings of tiny white lights looked like earthbound constellations. Inside, the light was soft and flattering, the food and service excellent. Nell could almost believe there was a world where this kind of ease and quality could be a daily occurrence.

And of course there was such a world. And Jack Selig could afford it.

“Consider yourself told for the first time tonight, then,” he said.

The waiter arrived and topped off their coffee. Selig’s gaze strayed for a moment away from Nell. She needed the break. It was a relief not to be regarded as an object of worship.

“Are we going to be honest with each other?” she asked.

He looked back at her, slightly surprised. “Or course. We’ve taken the oath.”

Nell didn’t recall any oath, but then he might have slipped it in somehow. “What were you thinking just a moment ago?” she asked.

“Of how much you resemble a younger Iris.”

Jesus!

“I hope that doesn’t upset you,” he said.

“No. Well, yes…At the same time, I guess I’m flattered.”

“You see my problem,” he said.

“Yes. But I’m not sure I’m the solution.”

“Oh, I know you’re not. No one is. But believe me, I enjoy being with you not only because of your resemblance to my late wife, but because of who you are.”

“But you don’t know me that well.”

“Maybe better than you think. I have connections, Nell, and I confess I used them to gather some information about you. I know that you’re spirited, generous, smart, and ambitious.”

And that I’m divorced and assumed by some to be a killer cop.

Nell wasn’t sure just what to make of this. “That’s all not very specific.”

“I’m not that interested in specifics, more in who you are. I know you’ve had marital problems in the past, and some scraps. Some run-ins with superior officers. I don’t care.”

“Mr. Selig—”

“Jack.”

“Jack, I’m not Iris.”

“I don’t expect you to be, wouldn’t want you to be. Would never ask that you be.” He sipped his coffee and smiled at her. “You look confused.”

“Is it companionship you want, Jack?”

“More than that, Nell. But we pledged honesty—”

Did we?

“—and the pathetic truth is that I’ll take what I can get.”

“Don’t expect—”

“—I would never expect. Anything.”

Nell looked across the candle-lit table at him. “I don’t think you could ever seem pathetic, Jack.”

He was obviously greatly pleased. “Ah, what you can do for me. Do I sound selfish?”

“Sure. We’re all selfish.”

When they were finished with coffee, Selig paid the check, leaving an outsized tip, probably to show off.

Outside the restaurant, the evening had cooled and a breeze carried the fragrance of nearby flowerbeds. There was a bright half moon, with only a few clouds scudding across the night sky. It wasn’t far to the edge of the park and the brighter lights of the city.