“No,” Adam said. “I don’t think so. I think he’s really enjoying himself. I think at last he’s discovering who he really is and what he really likes. I can practically hear him thinking, ‘I want to scare Rebecca shitless, prove to her I’m so bad that when I call her again I won’t hear any more cockiness from her. No, I’ll hear fear in her voice, helplessness. Now, what can I do to really make this happen?’” Adam paused a moment, then said, “And so he decided to kill Linda Cartwright and make her into his fictional dog.”

“Yeah,” Tommy said, “I think Adam is right. There’s nothing but control here. Too damned much of it.”

“I need to make some calls,” Savich said, but he didn’t move, just stared down at the note and at what had been Linda Cartwright.

There was silence in the small, bright kitchen and the harsh breathing of six men and two women, one of them drawing hard on a pipe that wasn’t lit. Then Becca broke free, ran out the back door, and fell to her knees, vomiting until her body was jerking and heaving and there was nothing more in her belly. Still she crouched there, holding her arms around herself, shuddering, wanting to die because she’d brought death to Linda Cartwright, just as she had to that poor old woman standing outside the Metropolitan Museum, just as she’d nearly brought death to the governor of New York. She felt him coming up behind her, knew it was Adam.

“Her face—he obliterated her face, Adam, for a sick joke that only he thought was funny. He murdered her and smashed her face so—”

“I know.” Adam fell to his knees behind her, pulling her back against his chest. “I know.”

She felt him begin to rock her, back and forth. “I know, Becca.”

“I’m responsible for her, Adam. If I hadn’t shot him, if I hadn’t—”

Adam pulled her around to face him. He handed her a handkerchief, waited for her to wipe her mouth, then said, “Now, you will listen up. If you feel any guilt about that poor woman, I’m going to deck you. None of this is your fault. He’s the evil one. This guy will do anything to terrorize you, to hear you whimper, beg, plead with him to stop. Anything.”

“He’s succeeded.”

“Yeah, you’ve got to stop that as well. You can’t let him crawl under your skin. That means he wins. That means he’s got the control, he’s got the power. Do you understand me?”

She pulled away from him and began kneading his arms with her hands, not even realizing what she was doing. “It’s hard, Adam. I know he’s evil. I know there must be a reason he’s doing all this, a reason that makes perfect sense to him, but in my gut, it feels like I smashed in that poor woman’s face. Oh, God, if I hadn’t fired at him, hit him—”

“Stop it,” he said and shook her good. “Now, here’s the bottom line. We’re going to leave her just as she is in the kitchen and make an anonymous call. No, don’t argue.” He lightly tapped his fingers against her mouth. “Listen, I know this is very hard to do, given the fact that we’re breaking the law and she’s not going to get the attention she deserves right away. Even Savich and Sherlock are having a real problem with it.

“Even though they’re part of the highest police force in the land, they realize that nothing good would be served if the world suddenly found out that you’re here and you’re up to your ears in another murder. The cops and the Feds would fight to see who could hold you and question you. On the other hand, you’d be protected, and that’s something, but not enough. All of us agree that you would be charged with murder and accessory to murder. It would be a nightmare and it would continue even if they ever let you go. Why? Because he would still be there, just waiting, and it would start all over.

“So, Savich and Sherlock have agreed to keep our connection under wraps for a while. He’s getting the woman’s phone records right now. We’ll find out how long he’s been here, holding her prisoner. We’ll find out who he called besides you. All the guys are going over the house, top to bottom, right now. They’re pros. If there’s anything to find, they’ll find it. If there are fingerprints, and I’m willing to bet there are, they’ll pull those up, too. But it’s going to take time because we’ll have to clean up after ourselves. The last thing we want is to have the police notice some stray fingerprint powder. So we can’t call in her murder for another couple of hours.”

“He knew the phone was tapped.”