“Phil Beckett fought. He may have broken the killer’s front tooth.” Her words were breathy and rushed, but she was lucky to have gotten them out at all. The nausea was bad. Having spoken, she dropped her head down onto his shoulder and concentrated on not losing the coffee and power bar she’d half consumed in the car on the way over.

“What? How do you know that?”

Charlie wasn’t up to even attempting to answer at the moment. She just shook her head.

“Charlie?” Tony’s arms tightened around her. She took another deep breath. Then she felt something—call it a disturbance in the force—that made her look up. There, standing in the dark a few feet away, looking as solid as the man whose arms were wrapped around her but bigger and a whole lot badder, was Garland. His booted feet were planted apart, his arms were folded over his chest, and his expression as his gaze fixed on her oozed displeasure.

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Just looking at him made her heart beat a little faster. Charlie gathered from the way he was eyeing the two of them that he didn’t much care for finding her in Tony’s arms … and was glad to see him anyway. Something inside her she hadn’t even realized was tense with worry eased.

Not good. In fact, bad. Then she had a corollary thought. If I’m not careful, this—whatever he is—is going to break my heart.

“Charlie. How sure are you about the broken tooth?” Tony’s tone was urgent.

Ignoring Garland, Charlie pushed out of Tony’s arms, took a few unsteady steps toward one of the three plastic lawn chairs on the porch, and sank down on it. It was still dark, but more the charcoal of awakening dawn than the pitch-black of night. There was a warm breeze blowing in through the screen. It carried the scent of rain and wet grass on it. Her stomach was settling down a little bit, and she thought the fresh air might be helping.

“Fairly sure.”

“You have some kind of psychic experience in there?” His tone was slightly cautious.

Charlie sighed. She didn’t like people knowing even a little bit about her ability, for all sorts of reasons, but Tony wasn’t exactly people, and anyway, he knew enough to at least take what she said semi-seriously, so what was she going to do, deny it?

“Phil Beckett spoke to me. That’s where I got the information.”

She could see from his expression that he was curious, that he wanted to know more, and resigned herself to an interrogation. But what he said was, “Okay,” and then, “Sit tight, I’ll be right back” as he turned and strode back into the house.

Charlie didn’t even look up at Garland as he came to stand beside her. She stared out at the night, at the swaying pines, black and tall, at the far end of the yard, at the hammock moving with the breeze closer at hand, at the lightening sky.

“You know, I’m starting to not like that guy,” he said reflectively, and at that Charlie did flick a look up at him.

“You sound like you’re jealous.” She was deliberately cool, deliberately off-hand, deliberately creating as much distance between them as she could, because she was horribly afraid that the alternative was going to make her life unbearable one day soon.

She could feel him studying her. “Except for being dead, I’m a pretty normal guy, and I just fucked you to Sunday and back. So, yeah.” He hunkered down beside her. “You want to tell me what’s with the attitude?”

There were flowers growing over by the garage. She tried to decide what kind. “What attitude?”

“Charlie.”

He was right beside her, gorgeous as always—but unbelievably, achingly dear now, too. And that’s what was twisting her heart, Charlie realized. Almost unwillingly, she met his gaze. Even through the shadows, his eyes were heartstoppingly blue.

“Look, we both know that … what happened … was a one-time thing,” she said. “I don’t regret it, precisely, but I have to move on. So do you.”

His eyes held hers for a moment, and Charlie watched as his hardened and cooled.

“FBI guy what you’re planning to move on to?”

“Maybe. We’ll have to see how things work out.”

“After I’m out of the picture, hmm?”

“Yes.”

He stood up abruptly. Charlie looked at him. His face was unreadable now. “You’re a smart lady, Doc. I always did think so.”

Whatever she might have replied to that was lost as Kaminsky came bursting through the door. “Bartoli sent me to get you. Come on, we’re on the move.”

By the time she finished speaking, Garland was gone.

“He’s escalating.” Tony was staring at the computer monitor in the War Room at Command Central. Kaminsky was seated in front of it, having called up the pictures of the seventeen most viable suspects, which were staring out at them from the screen. In Charlie’s usual seat in front of the other computer, Crane was running checks on credit card, phone, and work records that should provide at least some of these so-called “persons of interest” with an alibi for the previous night. It was not quite seven a.m., and Charlie had already drunk so much coffee she was wired. Any thought that wasn’t centered on finding Hannah Beckett she had blocked out of her mind.

“Big-time,” Charlie agreed. “Also, the attack was more savage. In the other murders, only the mothers bore more than one or two stab wounds. With everyone else, it was just enough to kill them and no more. Nothing egregious. But Phil Beckett was slashed to pieces. That’s a sign that the killer was very angry.”

“Why?” Tony stared at the screen as if the answer was right there, if only he looked hard enough. “Why was he so angry?”

“Something must have interrupted his routine. For whatever reason, he didn’t get to play his fantasy out to the end,” Charlie said.

“Are you thinking he killed Bayley Evans before he meant to?” Kaminsky glanced back over her shoulder at them.

“Before he wanted to,” Charlie corrected. “Something must have gone wrong.”

“What?” Kaminsky asked.

“Once we figure that out, I’m pretty sure we’ll have our killer,” Tony answered.

“With Hannah, there wasn’t a dance,” Charlie said slowly. She looked at Tony. “I think that after he killed Bayley, he went looking for a substitute to take her place. To finish out the fantasy. If, as we’re assuming, he spotted Bayley at the Sanderling, he would have seen Hannah there at the same time. He’s continuing the fantasy with her, not starting anew. But it’s not the same. It’s throwing him off. He’s frustrated. And, like I said, angry.”

Tony’s hands were so tight on the back of Kaminsky’s chair that his knuckles showed white. “Which means we may have even less time than we thought. Instead of a week, maybe two days, you think? If he’s using her to take Bayley’s place.”

“There’s no way to be sure.” Charlie massaged her temples. Her earlier nausea had morphed into a killer headache. “Now that he’s off his routine, there’s no way to judge it.”

“Okay, eight of these guys are definitely out. I’ve got records placing them somewhere else at the time the Beckett family was attacked,” Crane said.

His tie didn’t match his shirt—one blue-striped, the other green plaid—Charlie noticed. Of course, pulling on your clothes at four a.m., which was the approximate time the call had come in, was the equivalent of dressing in the dark. She glanced down at herself, just to be sure: white blouse, black pants. The good thing about an unofficial uniform was it was hard to go wrong. She’d pulled her hair into a ponytail. Charlie looked at Kaminsky, who was wearing her usual suit and high heels: no mistakes for her, either.

“I’m sending you the info,” Crane said. “Take ’em off the grid.”

Kaminsky nodded. A moment later an icon flashed on her monitor. A click of a button, and their prime suspect list was down to nine.

“Still too many. Who else can we eliminate?” Tony looked at Charlie.

“Pets. He won’t have pets,” Charlie said.