"They?"

"You know, serial killers, the guys who bump off hookers."

Cyn considered. “Did you make the 911 call?"

"How?” he scoffed.

"So how'd the cops know to come?"

The boy shrugged. “Someone else called them, I guess."

"Did you talk to the police? Tell them what you saw?"

"Fuck no. I split when I heard the sirens. Didn't go far, in case they weren't coming here, but then they did, so...” He shrugged again.

Cyn stared at the ground, thinking hard. The killer had probably called it in. And why would he do that? Because he wanted it reported before the sun came up, because he wanted the cops to think vampire. She stood slowly, reaching into her backpack. “When's the last time you ate?” she asked casually.

Another shrug.

She pulled out several gift certificates for McDonalds, along with Liz's picture. She handed him the coupons. “Get yourself some food, share it if you want, but be sure you eat some of it yourself.” She flipped the photo. “Have you seen this girl?"

The boy glanced at the photo, but didn't say anything.

"You won't believe this, but I'm trying to help her."

"How do I know that?"

"You don't. Listen, I understand if you don't want to talk to me, but...” She found one of Luci's cards and held it out. “If you see the girl in the picture, give her this number. Tell her to call. Tell her Mirabelle says it's time for the cows to come home. That's important. She'll know what it means."

He gave Cyn a look that said he doubted her sanity. “Cows?"

"Yeah, I know, but tell her anyway. If you see her, that is."

He studied Luci's card with its information on the runaway shelter. “I've heard of this place,” he said, gesturing with the card.

"Yeah?"

"It's supposed to be all right."

"It is."

"Maybe I could call too?"

"Absolutely.” Cyn handed over a few more cards. “There's always room."

"I'm not saying I will."

"Nope. But just in case."

"That's right. Just in case."

Cyn walked away, thinking he might go to the shelter, knowing he probably wouldn't. But hoping he'd at least use the food coupons and not trade them away for booze or drugs. Can't save them all, Cyn.

She walked back to her truck slowly, tired and discouraged. She hated the runaway cases. These kids never wanted to talk to anyone, and with good reason, but it made her job much more difficult when she really did want to help out. She reached the Land Rover and beeped the locks open, throwing her backpack across the seat. On the other hand, this kid had seemed to recognize Liz's picture. Maybe he'd pass on the message. Maybe Liz would know her sister was looking for her and get in touch. Maybe.

The rising sun glared in her rearview mirror all the way back to Malibu. She pulled into the cool darkness of her garage with relief and closed the door behind her, shutting out the daylight. Ten minutes later, she was in her own bed, with the quiet sounds of the ocean lulling her to sleep. She told herself she didn't care if she dreamed or not. But it was a lie.

Chapter Twenty-eight

She woke up less than an hour later with the vague memory of a helicopter zooming down the beach. Irritated, she turned away from the open door and pulled the blanket up, determined to sink back into unconsciousness. After her third restless roll, she surrendered, throwing back the covers in disgust. She could never go back to sleep once she woke up and her mind started churning.

Sitting on the side of the bed, elbows on her knees, she rubbed her fingers back through her hair and stood with a curse. Might as well get something done. Maybe she could catch a nap later. Right now, she needed coffee. Lots and lots of coffee. Alone in the condo, she eschewed any clothing beyond the t-shirt she'd slept in and made her way down to the kitchen where it took two cups of coffee and the start of a third before her brain cleared enough to focus on any meaningful activity. A bleary glance around the kitchen brought a blinking light into focus, and she realized her phone was trying to tell her something. She hit speed dial for her voice mail.

The smooth bourbon of a Southern accent poured out. “Hey, Cyn, it's Nick. I'm getting a little worried here, darlin'. It's been a while. Call me."

Nick was an old friend. Actually, more, and less, than a friend. A friend with privileges. The two of them had a long-standing arrangement that was mutually very satisfying, both physically and emotionally. Nick lived on the other coast and called whenever he was in town. Over the years, they had both enjoyed great sex with no commitment, each free to move on if they met someone they wanted to spend time with. When the other relationships petered out, as they invariably did, the old convenience was always waiting. The affair with Raphael had come and gone so fast, Cyn had never even had a chance to tell Nick about it, and the wound was still too raw to even think about someone else. Nick, unknowing, had left a couple of his usual messages in the meantime, but she'd never called back. But now ... Now what, Cyn?

She dialed. It rang twice before he picked up. “Well, it's about time, Leighton. Where the hell have you been?"

"Nice to talk to you too, Nicky."

"Yeah, yeah. Come on, Cyn. I was worried."

"You're right. I'm sorry."

"Because we're friends, right?"

"Yeah. I said I was sorry."

"So what is it? Big case taking all your time? Met a new guy, madly in love? But then you'd be happy and call me. So I figure someone's broken your heart. You want me to kill him for you?"

Cyn laughed. “He might be hard to kill."

"Yeah? And I might surprise you. So what's going on? I'll be in town next week, if you want to get together."

Cyn was silent, thinking.

"Cyn, darlin', if you have to think that hard about it, you're not ready. The bastard. How about I just break a few of his bones?"

"I appreciate the offer, Nicky. Both of them. And you're right, I'm not ready. Not yet anyway. But I wanted to let you know everything was okay."

"Well, I do appreciate the call. So you keeping busy at least? You're not like hanging around the house and eating ice cream right from the carton, are you? ‘Cuz it'd be a shame to ruin that fine ass of yours."

"Gee, Nicky. Here I thought you were worried about me and it turns out it's only my ass."

"Well, it is a very fine ass, darlin'."

"Maybe I'll take my ass for a run on the beach later. Might clear some cobwebs and help me figure out a way to get some answers."

"So you are working a new case."

"Missing girl, my favorite kind. Not. And to make it more interesting, we've got a serial killer loose in town, and he seems to favor runaway girls. No pressure."

"You've still got pretty good ties in the department, though, right? That should help some."

"The department's not too happy with me these days. Even my regular guy's being cagey. He let me in a little, but he's closed the door for now. It's frustrating."

"So talk to his secretary or clerk or whatever those guys have. That's what I do. Secretaries know everything that's going on, and if they like you, they'll talk."

"Since most secretaries are female, I'm sure that's not a problem for you."

"Hey, the ladies like me, what can I say?"

Cyn didn't respond right away. “You know, Nicky,” she said thoughtfully. “You're not just a pretty face, after all. That's a great idea."

"Okaaay ... I'm not sure if that was an insult or a compliment."

"A compliment all the way. I'm glad I called."

"Yeah, me too. I have no idea what you're talking about, but okay."

Cyn laughed. “Thanks, Nick. I'll stay in touch."

"You do that. And take care of that sweet ass."

Cyn disconnected, then raced upstairs to rummage through her closet. She found the paper Hartzler had shoved into her pocket and unfolded it. He'd written his name and a cell phone number in neat block letters. She checked her watch. It was too early to call a guy who worked nights. Maybe she'd take that run on the beach after all, get some daylight and fresh air for a change. By the time she got back, showered and dressed, Mr. Ian Hartzler should be getting ready for his shift at the County's very special para facility. Which was precisely where Cyn wanted him.

Chapter Twenty-nine

The sun was a smear of light in the fog shrouded sunset when Cyn parked again in front of the two-story brick building. The day had been cold and damp, the sun completely obscured by low hanging clouds. She'd taken a steaming shower after her run, staying extra long beneath the hot water, trying to warm up.

The security cameras swiveled as she made her way up the walk to the para facility. The cameras were much more obvious in daylight, their movements almost distracting as they tracked her progress. The door opened before she could push the buzzer.

"Ms. Leighton.” Hartzler's voice held an excited tremble. He'd been more than eager when Cyn had called earlier, telling her in a hushed voice of his honor at this opportunity to help Lord Raphael. He was trying for cool now, with limited success. Cyn was still a little creeped out, but gave him a friendly smile. After all, he had volunteered to help her, knowing fully well it could cost him his job if anyone found out.

"Mr. Hartzler. Thank you for agreeing to meet me."

"Oh, of course.” He closed the door carefully behind her. “As I said on the phone, I'm honored to be asked."

"Well. Thank you anyway. As I mentioned, what I'd really like is another chance to review the files you have on the victims. Of course, the case files would be ideal, but I understand you probably don't have access—"

"But I have those too,” he said eagerly. “Well, not the latest ones, of course, and not the detective's murder book, but I've got all the initial reports, the crime scene photos, witness statements. I have a friend...” He paused, as if aware he was about to admit something that was definitely against procedure and possibly criminal. “Well, let's say I'm not the only one who wishes to serve."