Jeffrey could do nothing but swallow.

"They all wanna know why I picked 'em. 'Why me? Why me?' " he trilled, his voice higher. "Her, I wanted to see was she a real redhead."

Jeffrey stood there, unable to move.

"I guess you know she is, huh? I can tell by looking in your eyes." Wright crossed his arms over his chest, his eyes on Jeffrey's. "Now, she's got some great tits. I loved sucking them." He licked his lips. "I wish you could've seen the fear on her face. I could tell she wasn't used to it. Hadn't had herself a real man yet, know what I mean?"

Jeffrey put his hand around the man's neck, backing him into the car. The action was so fast Jeffrey wasn't even sure what he was doing until he felt Jack Wright's long fingernails digging into the skin on the back of his hand.

Jeffrey forced himself to take his hand away. Wright sputtered, coughing, trying to catch his breath. Jeffrey walked a tight circle, checking on the neighbors. None of them had moved. They all seemed entranced by the show.

"You think you can scare me?" Wright said, his voice raspy. "I had bigger than you, two at a time, in prison."

"Where were you last Monday?" Jeffrey asked.

"I was at work, brother. Check with my PO."

"Maybe I will."

"She made a spot check on me around"-Wright pretended to think this through-"I'd say around two, two-thirty. That the time you looking for?"

Jeffrey did not answer. Sibyl Adams's time of death had been printed in the Observer.

"I was sweeping and mopping and taking out the trash," Wright continued.

Jeffrey indicated the tattoo. "I see you're a religious man."

Wright looked at his arm. "That's what caught me up with Sara."

"You like to keep up with your girls, huh?" Jeffrey asked. "Maybe look through the newspapers? Maybe keep up with them on the Internet?"

Wright looked nervous for the first time. "You been in my house?"

"I like what you did with the walls," he said. "All those little Jesuses. Their eyes just follow you when you walk around the room."

Wright's face changed. He showed Jeffrey the side that only a handful of unfortunate women had ever seen as he screamed, "That is my personal property. You don't belong in there."

"I was in there," Jeffrey said, able to be calm now that Wright was not. "I went through everything."

"You bastard," Wright yelled, throwing a punch. Jeffrey sidestepped, twisting the man's arm behind him. Wright pitched forward, falling face first into the ground. Jeffrey was on top of him, his knee pressed into the man's back.

"What do you know?" Jeffrey demanded.

"Let me go," Wright begged. "Please, let me go."

Jeffrey took out his handcuffs and forced Wright into them. The clicking sound of the locks sent the man into hyperventilation.

"I just read about it," Wright said. "Please, please, let me go."

Jeffrey leaned down, whispering in the man's ear. "You're going back to jail."

"Don't send me back," Wright begged. "Please."

Jeffrey reached down, tugging the ankle bracelet. Knowing how the City of Atlanta worked, this would be faster than dialing 911. When the bracelet would not budge, Jeffrey used the heel of his shoe to bust it.

"You can't do that," Wright screamed. "You can't do that. They saw you."

Jeffrey looked up, remembering the neighbors. He watched wordlessly as they all turned their backs, disappearing into their houses.

"Oh, God, please don't send me back," Wright begged. "Please, I'll do anything."

"They're not going to like that nine mill under your mattress, either, Jack."

"Oh, God," the man sobbed, shaking.

Jeffrey leaned against the Nova, taking out the business card Keith had given him earlier. The name on the card was Mary Ann Moon. Jeffrey glanced at his watch. At ten till eight on a Friday night, he doubted very seriously that she would be happy to see him.

Chapter Twenty-three

LENA closed her eyes as the sun beat down on her face. The water was warm and inviting, a slight breeze crossing her body as each wave gently rolled under her. She could not remember the last time she had been to the ocean, but the vacation was well earned to say the least.

"Look," Sibyl said, pointing above them.

Lena followed her sister's finger, spotting a seagull in the ocean sky. She found herself concentrating on the clouds instead. They looked like cotton balls against a baby blue backdrop.

"Did you want this back?" Sibyl asked, handing Lena a red kickboard.

Lena laughed. "Hank told me you lost it."

Sibyl smiled. "I put it where he couldn't see it."

With sudden clarity, Lena realized it was Hank and not Sibyl who had been blinded. She could not understand how she had gotten the two confused, but there was Hank on the beach, dark glasses covering his eyes. He sat back, propped up on his hands, letting the sun hit him square on the chest. He looked more tan than Lena had ever seen him. As a matter of fact, all the times they had gone to the beach before, Hank had stayed in the hotel room instead of going out on the beach with the girls. What he did in there all day, Lena did not know. Sometimes Sibyl would join him to take some time out from the sun, but Lena loved being on the beach. She loved playing in the water or looking for impromptu volleyball games she could flirt her way into.

That was how Lena had met Greg Mitchell, her last boyfriend of any consequence. Greg was playing volleyball with a group of his friends. He was about twenty-eight years old, but his friends were much younger and more interested in looking at girls than actually playing the game. Lena had walked over, knowing she was being sized up, rated like a side of meat, by the young men, and asked to join the game. Greg had thrown the ball at her straight from his chest and Lena had caught it the same way.

After a while, the younger men trailed off in search of alcohol or women or both. Lena and Greg played for what seemed like hours. If he had been expecting Lena to throw the games in honor of his masculinity, he had another think coming. She had beaten him so badly that by the end of the third game, he had forfeited, offering to buy her dinner as her prize.

He took her to some cheap Mexican place that would have made Lena's grandfather keel over had he not already been dead. They drank sugary sweet margaritas, then they danced, then Lena gave Greg a sly smile instead of a good night kiss. The next day he was back in front of her hotel, this time with a surfboard. She had always wanted to learn how to surf, and she took up his offer for lessons without having to be asked twice.

Now, she could feel the surfboard underneath her, the waves sending her body up into the air, then down. Greg's hand was at the small of her back, then lower, then lower, until he was cupping her ass in his hand. She turned over slowly, letting him see and feel her naked body. The sun beat down, making her skin feel warm and alive.

He poured suntan oil in his hands, then started rubbing her feet. His hands encircled her ankles, pushing her legs far apart. They were still floating on the ocean but the water was somehow firm, holding her body up for Greg. His hands worked their way up her thighs, stroking, touching, moving past her intimate parts until his palms were cupping her breasts. He used his tongue, kissing then biting her nipples, her breasts, working his way up to her mouth. Greg's kisses were forceful and rough, like Lena had never known from him. She felt herself responding to him in ways she could not have imagined.

The pressure of his body on top of hers was alarmingly sensual. His hands were calloused, his touch rough, as he did with her what he wanted. For the first time in her life, Lena was not in control. For the first time in her life, Lena was completely helpless under this one man. She felt an emptiness that could only be filled by him. Anything he wanted, she would do. Any wish he uttered, she would fulfill.